Chapter 672: Fall or Not

With the drumbeats, the Qi army surged toward Gancao City like a tide; the ladders were shouldered, and the battering rams, pushed by dozens of soldiers, emitted a screeching "creak—creak" and rushed fiercely at the city gate.

The catapults fired in succession, huge stones whistling through the sky and smashing the walls; with a booming "Boom—" the wall bricks splintered, dust and smoke billowed.

Many defenders were struck by the stones, instantly reduced to blood and flesh, their wails rose and fell.

Wang Xiong's eyes hardened, and he shouted, "Roll the stones! Pour the oil!"

The defenders on the wall acted at once, rolling stones and logs rained down on the Qi troops below, scorching hot oil poured down the wall, making a "sizzle" sound, accompanied by the Qi soldiers' mournful cries.

Many soldiers were scalded by the oil; their clothes ignited instantly, they rolled on the ground wailing— the scene was unbearably gruesome.

But the Qi army, like enraged beasts, showed no retreat, surging forward in wave after wave toward the wall; some soldiers braved the rain of arrows, forced the ladders against the wall, climbing with hands and feet, letting out fierce snarls.

Huang Shizhang brandished his Great Sword, hacking at the Qi soldiers climbing the rampart; the sound of blade cutting flesh was clear, blood splattered all over him.

"Hold the line! Don't let them get up!" he roared, the wound on his arm tearing open again from the strain, blood streaming down his arm, dripping onto the rampart, mixing with other soldiers' blood into dark red streams.

Wang Xiong thrust his spear at a Junior Officer of the Qi army who had climbed the rampart; the spear pierced the opponent's chest, blood gushed along the shaft.

He ripped the spear out violently, and the Junior Officer let out a howl as he fell to the ground below.

But as soon as one was dealt with, several more Qi soldiers scrambled onto the rampart, brandishing weapons and lunging at him.

Wang Xiong was unafraid; the spear in his hand darted like a swimming dragon— thrust, thrust, slash, sweep— each move precise and ruthless, repelling the attacking Qi soldiers one by one.

Below the tower, the battering rams struck the gate again and again, the "Bang—Bang—Bang" of impact sounding like heavy hammers pounding everyone's hearts.

The gate now bore obvious cracks, wood shavings flew, and it seemed about to be breached.

Wang Xiong's heart tightened, and he quickly ordered, "Send fifty men to reinforce the gate! Hold it at all costs!"

A few sturdy youths answered and went, pushing the heavy top‑beam bar, bracing the gate firmly; no matter how the battering rams outside slammed, they gritted their teeth and held.

But the Qi assault was too fierce; the gate's cracks widened, and the top‑beam bar began to moan under the unbearable load.

The siege lasted two days and two nights, sun and moon alternating, stars revolving, and the clamor of battle never ceased.

The walls of Gancao City were stained dark red with blood; the ramparts piled with corpses of both sides, the air thick with the stench of blood and rot, making one vomit.

The Qi troops, fueled by a surge of foul energy and the "Three Days No Sealing Blades" order, fought recklessly, each fierce and fearless, charging on regardless of casualties, showing no sign of retreat.

Meanwhile the defenders of Gancao City were already exhausted; youths, women, and children took turns on the front, many heavily wounded, yet clung to a belief and fought to the death.

Wang Xiong's eyes were blood‑shot, his lips cracked and bleeding, his armor soaked through with blood, heavy against his body.

He had personally slain dozens of Qi soldiers; the spear tip was now dulled, his arms ached from prolonged exertion, barely able to lift.

Yet he still stood on the rampart, his gaze steady on the frenzied Qi onslaught below, like an immovable war god.

Huang Shizhang was also drenched in blood, his Great Sword slick with flesh, the blade riddled with several notches.

A stray arrow had struck his left leg; he limped, yet still swung his Great Sword, fighting to the death against the Qi soldiers on the rampart.

On the third morning, when the first ray of sunlight again illuminated the battlefield, Gancao City's gate finally could bear no more; under the Qi army's last fierce battering ram, a "Boom—" resounded and it collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Gate fragments flew, dust and smoke billowed, Qi soldiers surged in like a tide through the broken gate, shouting and roaring, their eyes flashing with greed and bloodlust.

"The gate is broken!" a desperate cry rang out from the rampart.

Wang Xiong felt a weight settle in his heart, a wave of helplessness rising.

But he quickly suppressed the feeling and shouted, "Everyone, fall back into the city, engage them in street fighting!"

Street fighting is the defenders' final stubbornness, and also the most tragic resistance.

Inside Gancao City the streets were narrow and winding, houses dense; Wang Xiong led the remaining two hundred‑plus defenders and youths, using the terrain advantage to wage a life‑or‑death battle with the Qi army.

They hid behind houses, around alley corners, using Bow and Arrow, stones, Great Sword, launching ambushes on the invading Qi soldiers time after time.

Every street became a battlefield, every house a fortress; both sides fought hand‑to‑hand in the cramped spaces, cries, clashing weapons, collapsing houses interweaving into a tragic war song.

After the Qi entered the city, they began a frenzy of burning, killing, and looting.

The soldiers ran like unbridled horses, storming into civilian homes, looting, raping women, setting houses ablaze.

Flames roared skyward, thick smoke rolled, turning half the sky a dark red.

Innocent civilians wailed and fled under the Qi's blades; many elders and children were slaughtered alive, bodies strewn across the streets, blood flowing along the roads, forming rivers of crimson.

The once‑peaceful Gancao City now lay a living hell.

Wang Xiong stared at the carnage, his eyes full of sorrow and rage, his teeth chattered, his nails dug deep into his palms, blood pouring.

"Beast!" he roared, leading his soldiers toward the looting Qi troops.

His spear flashed, cold light gleaming, piercing a Qi soldier committing assault, rescuing the woman about to be violated.

But more civilians were still suffering; their forces were limited, unable to protect everyone, forced to watch tragedy after tragedy unfold.

Huang Shizhang fought side by side with Hong Xi; both were drenched in blood, yet their gazes remained sharp.

Huang Shizhang swung his Great Sword, cutting down the charging Qi soldiers, while Hong Xi wielded Bow and Arrow, accurately shooting distant foes.

They led a contingent of soldiers, engaging in a tug‑of‑war on the streets; each meter forward cost a painful price.

Soldiers fell one after another, numbers dwindling from over two hundred, to over a hundred, then to dozens, yet they still refused to give up; as long as they had breath, they would never retreat.

They fought while retreating, using familiar terrain to shake off Qi pursuit, only to meet them again in new alleys.

Their wounds multiplied, stamina exhausted; many soldiers leaned against walls to catch breath, yet still gripped their weapons tightly, eyes vigilant ahead.

Wang Xiong knew they were at a dead end, but he could not give up; Su Mo, Chen Laogen and others had paid the ultimate price to defend Gancao City.

He could not let their sacrifice be in vain, could not let Gancao City be trampled by the Qi army.

Finally, in a narrow alley, Wang Xiong, Huang Shizhang, Hong Xi and others were surrounded by the Qi army led by Ding Weize.

The alley's sides were towering walls, the rear a dead end, the front blocked by Qi troops, leaving no escape.

At this moment, only about thirty men remained beside Wang Xiong, each drenched in blood, their clothes tattered.

All bore heavy wounds— some arms cut off, some legs pierced by arrows, some chests slashed— blood soaked their garments, dripping to the ground, forming dark red pools.

Yet they straightened their spines, weapons in hand, gazing resolutely at the Qi ahead, none showing fear, only a death‑defying resolve.

Ding Weize urged his warhorse forward; the horse's hooves struck the blood‑stained ground, making a "clop—clop" sound, inching toward Wang Xiong and his men.

He wore brand‑new armor, spotless, starkly out of place amid the surrounding carnage.

He looked down from his lofty height at the front, the blood‑soaked yet still combat‑ready Wang Xiong, his eyes bearing a hint of appraisal and contempt.

It was this fellow who managed to block the Great Qi King's Army's fierce assault for so long, causing them heavy losses, and became a thorn in his mind.

At this moment, looking at the opponent before him, Ding Weize curled a cold smile at the corner of his mouth and asked, "You are the Wang Xiong who defended Gancao City and blocked my troops for so long, aren't you?"

In the narrow alley, the scent of blood mingled with a burnt odor, and viscous bloodstains congealed on the Qingshi board into dark brown patches; when stepped on by horse hooves, they made a sticky sound.

Wang Xiong was drenched in blood, his armor shattered beyond repair, and his exposed arms were covered with wounds of varying depth, with fresh blood slowly flowing from them.

The drops fell onto the ground beneath his feet, mingling with the blood of his comrades to form a small pool of blood.

Yet he completely ignored the pain on his body, suddenly thrust his head up and puffed out his chest.

The broken armor reflected a faint glimmer in the morning light, like an unextinguished fighting spirit.

His gaze was sharp as an eagle, piercing straight through the dense Qi army formation ahead, colliding directly with Ding Weize's high‑overlooking stare.

That look contained no trace of captured fear or cowardice, only battlefield‑hardened resolve and pride, as if the one surrounded at this moment were not him but the countless troops before him.

"It is indeed this official!" Wang Xiong's voice rang loud and powerful, cutting through the dead silence of the alley, bearing an undeniable authority.

Even in a desperate situation, that bearing did not diminish in the slightest.

As his words fell, he tilted his head slightly, raised an eyebrow, and a flash of contempt crossed his eyes as he loudly retorted, "Who comes forward? State your name!"

This question, neither servile nor arrogant, seemed like a confrontation with an equal on the battlefield.

Rather than a trapped beast reduced to a cornered prisoner, it made the surrounding Qi soldiers pause, their breathing instinctively slowing a few beats.

Ding Weize, mounted on his Warhorse, looked down from his height at Wang Xiong, seeing him trapped yet still so brazen, and a cold grin curled at the corner of his mouth.

He tugged the Horse Rein; the warhorse beneath him shifted its hooves uneasily, kicking up a spray of blood‑froth. "I am the Great Qi General Ding Weize!"

His voice carried a deliberately arrogant tone, each word enunciated heavily, his gaze scraping across Wang Xiong's face like a knife, "Wang Xiong, never thought the day would come when you'd fall into my hands, would you?"

The mockery and ferocity in that tone were unmasked, as if victory were already secured, holding Wang Xiong's fate firmly in his grasp.

In his eyes, the Dark Hawk was like a cold pool, hiding deep hatred toward Wang Xiong.

It was this man, relying on the small Gancao City, who blocked the road, delayed the grand plan, causing countless casualties among his troops and making the Crown Prince lose face.

Now finally surrounded, Ding Weize's pleasure and malice intertwined, only wishing to see Wang Xiong's pitiful kneeling plea for mercy.

Hearing this, Wang Xiong's face showed a hint of disdain; he curled his lip, let out a clear light snort from his nostrils, thick with sarcasm, "General Ding, your words are premature!"

Before his words finished, he abruptly raised the already serrated Chang Qiang in his hand; though the spear tip no longer held its former sharpness, it still pointed straight at Ding Weize's direction, and the blood clots on the shaft fell away with a rustle.

"You still haven't captured this official!" His voice rang resonant and powerful, each syllable like a heavy hammer striking every listener's heart.

Ding Weize, seeing Wang Xiong encircled by three layers inside and three layers outside by the Qi army, and the over thirty similarly blood‑soaked, scar‑covered remnants behind him, couldn't help but let out a contemptuous snicker.

"What difference does it make?" He spread his hands, his tone full of indifference, as if looking at a self‑deceiving madman, "Now you're wing‑clipped and cannot fly, just a trapped beast still fighting; do you really think you can escape beneath my eyelids?"

"Of course it does!" Wang Xiong retorted resolutely, his voice suddenly rising a few notes, carrying an unstoppable determination.

He gripped the Chang Qiang tightly, his knuckles whitening from the force, the shaft trembling slightly in his hand—not from fear, but from an uncontainable battle fervor.

"This official can still fight!"

"How do you know this official cannot break out of the encirclement?"

Wang Xiong's gaze swept over the more than thirty brothers behind him; each stood upright, even though wounded, even though exhausted, their eyes flashing the same steadfast light as his, none retreated, none showed fear.

This collective resolve in the dire situation made Ding Weize's smile tighten slightly, a barely perceptible apprehension flashing in his mind, but it was quickly replaced by anger and arrogance.

"Foolish delusion!" he shouted fiercely, the ferocity in his eyes deepening, and he suddenly raised the Great Sword in his hand; the blade flashed a cold glint in the morning light, pointing straight at Wang Xiong, "I ask you, surrender or not!"

"Surrender or not! Surrender or not!" The surrounding Qi soldiers immediately echoed in unison, their voices shaking the heavens, like thunder reverberating through the narrow alley, creating a powerful sense of oppression.

Attempting to crush the psychological defense of Wang Xiong and his companions entirely with sheer momentum.