Chapter 677: Is it not the sharpest sword in Yuwen Hu

He no longer hesitated, fully aware that each moment of delay brought the Zhou Army closer to the Central Army camp, making defeat harder to reverse, and he immediately shouted loudly, his voice shaking the whole tent: "General Liu!"

Liu Zaizhou snapped back to attention, immediately took large strides forward, clasped his fists heavily, the armor clanged with a dull crisp sound, and replied loudly: "Subordinate General here!"

Gao Xiaoyu inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed dead on the increasingly near shouts of battle beyond the Shupan, rapidly calculating the battlefield in his mind.

A decisive ferocity flashed in his eyes; in an uncompromising tone he issued a death order, each word weighing as heavy as a thousand pounds: "Immediately assemble all elite troops of the Central Army, and go out of the city with me to meet the enemy!"

"Send the orders down, the whole army must fight to the death, we must not let the Zhou Army break our formation!"

"Anyone who dares step back will be executed on the spot without mercy!"

"Understood!"

Liu Zaizhou dared not delay a moment, loudly accepted the command, turned and rushed out of the main tent with heavy armor clanging, his footsteps rapid, and immediately went to rally the Central Army's elite.

Outside Gancao City, the Qi army camp stretched for several li; the euphoria of just having broken the city had not yet faded, and everywhere within the camp exuded a lax, idle atmosphere.

On the wilderness to the south, originally only insects chirping and wind rustling through grass could be heard, but in an instant a faint yet weighty tremor began to emanate slowly from the far horizon.

At first the tremor was inaudible, only causing the ground to quiver slightly, like a distant muffled thunder, but in a heartbeat the vibration grew increasingly violent and clear.

Like ten thousand horses galloping, bearing a force that could shatter heaven and earth, it surged toward the southernmost fortifications of the Qi army camp with a deafening crash.

In the night, a Black Armored Iron Cavalry rode out of the darkness like a death god unleashed, charging with a force that could fell trees and crush everything.

It was a thousand elite cavalry of the Left Martial Guard!

These thousand cavalry were each a warrior selected one in a hundred miles, their warhorses plump and robust Hexi steeds, their hooves wrapped in thick cloth yet still unable to stop the bamboo‑splitting charge.

The knights wore dark armor, helmets, and gripped cold‑glinting horse spears, standing as upright as pines, eyes as icy as ice, making no sound, showing no panic.

Only the uniform hoofbeats, like the drum of a death god, shattered the last tranquility surrounding the Qi army camp.

The southern fortifications of the Qi camp were already poorly defended; after the recent breach, most of the garrison troops were restless, some napping against wooden stakes, others gathering in small groups to whisper and laugh, dreaming of the loot they could seize after entering the city, never having imagined an enemy raid.

Until the deafening hoofbeats drew near, until the black, oppressive mass of Black Armored Iron Cavalry appeared in the night, the Qi soldiers finally snapped out of their dreamlike stupor.

The scattered calm on their faces was instantly replaced by extreme terror; one by one they were frightened to the point of soul‑shaking, their shouts turning hoarse and trembling.

"Enemy raid!"

"It's the Zhou Army!"

"The Zhou Army is charging!"

The mournful alarm had just sounded, then was completely drowned out by the even more ferocious hoofbeats.

At the forefront of this Zhou Army iron cavalry, a lone rider stood like a mountain, tearing through the night's veil, leading the charge straight toward the southern fortifications of the Qi camp.

The rider was only about ten years old, yet stood nearly two meters tall, broad‑shouldered, massive‑boned, muscles bulging, clad in heavy dark armor that was still dust‑stained from the recent onslaught, adding to his fierce, death‑defying aura.

He sat atop a towering warhorse, like a moving small mountain, his massive figure terrifying; ordinary soldiers before him seemed as small as children.

This man was Lu Ming.

Lu Ming gripped a refined iron horse spear two zhang long, its tip flashing cold light, carving an icy arc in the night.

His face was stern, his brows bearing an innate murderous aura, his eyes wide open, fixed on the loose Qi camp fortifications ahead, showing no fear, only boiling battle spirit and blood‑thirsty excitement.

He clenched his legs hard against the horse's belly; the warhorse sensed his battle will, let out a long whinny, and its four hooves flew.

Speed surged, like an arrow released, and he surged first toward the Qi army camp with a deafening crash!

A few steps behind Lu Ming, Chen Yan spurred his horse and galloped, following closely.

Chen Yan's gaze was sharp as an eagle; likewise clad in Xuan Armor, wielding a horse spear, lithe and superbly skilled, his robes fluttering as he rode.

His eyes, like torches, first swept over the leading Lu Ming, flashing a hint of approval and certainty.

Then he looked toward the rapidly charging cavalry under his command, his expression cold, exuding composure...

On Chen Yan's left and right, two generals steadily protected him, both core forces of the Left Martial Guard.

On the left was General of the Left Martial Guard Dong Xuqing, steady and seasoned, with many years of campaigns, extremely experienced, clad in heavy armor, holding a horse spear.

His eyes scanned the surroundings warily, constantly guarding against hidden arrows and ambushes from the Qi army, protecting Chen Yan's side, as steady as Mount Tai.

On the right was Middle Colonel Pang Chong, his horse spear held horizontally, ready to charge into battle, his gaze full of eager desire to slay the enemy.

The four riders led a thousand dark‑colored iron cavalry, like an extremely sharp Xuan‑steel dagger, thrusting straight at the Qi army camp's weakest southern fortifications!

Lu Ming surged ahead; when he was only dozens of steps from the southern fortifications, the Qi soldiers in the camp panicked and raised weapons to try to block.

But their movements, in Lu Ming's eyes, were as slow as snails.

Lu Ming's eyes burned red, battle spirit soaring, he let out a deafening roar, and his refined iron horse spear surged like a poisonous dragon emerging from a cave, sweeping straight at the few Qi soldiers ahead!

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

Three consecutive dull thuds; wherever the spear passed, it was unstoppable.

Several Qi soldiers could not even utter a scream before the massive force struck them, their bodies flung like cut‑string kites, spitting fresh blood, dying on the spot.

The wooden stakes that had stood upright in the camp snapped cleanly under Lu Ming's brute force, splintering wood.

The southern fortifications that the Qi army had painstakingly built were ripped open by him and his horse, leaving a huge breach!

Lu Ming plunged into the Qi camp, instantly like a tiger entering a wolf pack, a flood‑dragon returning to the sea!

The Qi soldiers, already unprepared, now seeing Lu Ming's demonic form and power, were already terrified, their formation shattered, scattering in panic, unable to muster any resistance.

Lu Ming rode his horse, spear horizontal, cutting through the chaos, the spear either piercing enemy chests or sweeping them violently into the air...

Every strike sent a Qi soldier crashing to the ground dead, killing with such relish as if slicing melons and vegetables.

His warhorse, almost human‑like, kept a steady gait, weaving through the chaos, dodging fleeing Qi soldiers, deliberately charging toward the crowded spots.

Lu Ming's arms powered the refined iron horse spear, making it seem weightless, flipping up and down, its cold light flashing, while wails rose and fell.

The fresh blood of Qi soldiers splashed onto his Xuan Armor, dripping slowly through the seams, forming grotesque blood flowers on the ground.

Surrounding Qi soldiers swarmed, trying to surround and kill this fierce warrior, but no matter how many surged forward, none could get within three feet of Lu Ming.

Lu Ming's strength was boundless; his spear swept, sending several people flying at once.

The horse spear thrust straight; a single thrust can pierce the bodies of two people.

Some Qi soldiers swung their blades at his warhorse, but he thrust his spear backward, piercing their shoulder blades, lifted them high, and slammed them to the ground, killing them on the spot.

Some tried to fire hidden arrows; the arrows struck his Iron Armor, clanging uselessly, failing to breach his defense, and instead provoked Lu Ming to roar, charge on horseback, and end their lives with a spear thrust.

In a brief moment, dozens of Qi soldiers fell by Lu Ming's hand, their corpses littering the ground, blood forming a river.

Lu Ming fought with rising fervor, his qi and blood roiling, feeling the fatigue of days of battle melt away, and his full battle spirit and hot blood erupted completely.

He looked up and laughed loudly, his coarse, heroic laugh shaking the ears of the surrounding Qi soldiers, their eardrums buzzing; the laugh contained no hint of killing intent, only extreme exhilaration and glee:

"Exhilarating! So exhilarating!"

"It's been a long time since I've killed with such exhilaration!"

While laughing, he continued to swing his horse spear, slashing through the Qi camp; wherever he passed, Qi soldiers stepped aside, none daring to meet his blade, carving a bloody path through the Qi camp, unstoppable!

Behind Lu Ming, Chen Yan charged into the camp on horseback, his horse spear also constantly swinging, cutting down the panicked fleeing Qi soldiers.

His riding skill was superb, his moves precise and ruthless; each strike hit vital points, highly efficient, with his personal guards close behind, forming a small charge formation that continuously expanded the battle gains.

Yet Chen Yan's gaze never left the god‑like figure ahead.

He watched Lu Ming, alone, barreling through the masses of Qi troops as if in an uninhabited realm, seeing Qi soldiers discard armor and break, the Refined Iron Horse Spear flashing cold light in the night, unstoppable.

Pride and satisfaction welled up in Chen Yan's heart; his hand kept moving, a hint of smile appearing in his eyes, and he silently thought:

"Ah Ming, you truly are the sharpest spear in my Duke's hand!"

With Ah Ming such a fierce warrior at his side, there is no worry that the war will go poorly, no worry that the Qi army won't be broken!

Dong Xuqing on the left saw Lu Ming charging too far forward, fearing a mishap, and hurriedly shouted, "Lu Colonel, be careful!"

"Watch for Qi encirclement!"

But as soon as the words fell, they saw Lu Ming thrust his spear, flinging a Qi Junior Officer who tried to sneak attack into the air, still unstoppable, and he relaxed, turning to protect Chen Yan, advancing steadily.

Pang Chong on the right fought with rising fervor; seeing Lu Ming so valiant, he would not be outdone, spurred his horse and raised his spear, charging fiercely at the nearby Qi soldiers, shouting, "Follow me in killing!"

"Don't let that Lu kid take all the credit!"

A thousand Left Martial Guard elite cavalry followed the commander like a tide, surging into the Qi camp's southern side, their cavalry advantage fully exploited amid the chaos.

Warhorses crashed, horse spears thrust, Horizontal Blades slashed; the already loose Qi defensive line collapsed completely, soldiers discarded armor, crying and fleeing, unable to mount any effective resistance.

Gao Xiaoyu and Liu Zaizhou led cavalry, racing from the central camp, and met this scene of troops collapsing like a mountain of defeat.

Ahead, the routed troops retreated like a tide; armor tilted, weapons abandoned, many even lost their helmets, hair in disarray, faces showing lingering terror, repeatedly shouting:

"The Zhou army is coming!"

"That Zhou general is not human!"

They could not reform their formation at all.

Gao Xiaoyu tightened the horse rein; his warhorse pawed anxiously, snorted loudly, his splendid battle armor standing out, his proud brows now replaced by solemnity, his sharp eyes fixed on the smoky battlefield ahead.

In the distant wilderness, a formation of black‑clad cavalry remained intact, its momentum as vivid as a rainbow, like a black dragon weaving and crashing through the chaotic ranks.

Where it passed, people were thrown from horses; no one could stand in its way.

Though that cavalry numbered only a little over a thousand, each rider was a death‑defying elite, their riding skill superb, coordination flawless, their charge like thunderous force.

Not only did they not scatter after breaking into the enemy camp, they grew fiercer, their sharp vigor astonishing.

Gao Xiaoyu's brows knit tightly, his finger joints unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword at his waist, his fingertips paling.

Even though the Qi army had countless fierce generals, few had seen cavalry with such overwhelming vigor.

Wang Xiong's forces in Gancao City, though they held out for so long, were tenacious but relied mainly on lone bravery and the city's fortifications—a trapped beast's fight.

But the Zhou cavalry before them were battle‑hardened, disciplined, exuding murderous aura—a true elite; each charge and slash bore the iron‑blooded tactics of long training.

He gazed solemnly at the unstoppable Black Armored Iron Cavalry, his voice low, carrying a barely perceptible weight, murmuring:

"The vigor of this Zhou cavalry..."

"... even far surpasses that of the Gancao City garrison..."

His words halted; a flash of sharpness crossed his eyes, his tone suddenly deepened, almost each word punctuated as he demanded:

"Who is their commander!"

Liu Zaizhou beside him also wore a solemn expression, clad in heavy armor, riding to protect Gao Xiaoyu, his eyes slightly narrowed, piercing through the smoke and chaos, fixed on the heroic, upright figure at the center of the Black Armored Iron Cavalry.

That person, though amid the formation, did not merely charge; he stood upright, his gaze cold, his every movement exuding the authority to command thousands.

Clearly he was the core figure of this Iron Cavalry.

Liu Zaizhou pondered briefly, his mind flashing through the current Zhou State's leading generals; one name suddenly rose, weighing on his heart, his voice bearing some gravity as he voiced a speculation:

"Crown Prince... could it be the sharpest sword in Yuwen Hu's hand?"

Hearing this, Gao Xiaoyu's pupils contracted sharply.

The sharpest sword under Yuwen Hu's command...

He was all too familiar with this metaphor.

In an instant, an image he had once seen in a portrait involuntarily flashed in his mind.

It was an exceptionally heroic and handsome face, young yet with eagle‑sharp eyes, brows bearing a composure and iron blood beyond his years—none other than that damned Chen Yan.

Gao Xiaoyu slowly nodded, his voice low yet certain: "Highly possible..."