Chapter 756: Golden Wolf weeps blood in a three-day meat grinder

The heavy hoofbeats shattered the mud at the foot of the Jinshan Mountains, which had already been soaked soft by blood.

Moheduo gripped the gold-inlaid curved saber with both hands and personally led these five thousand Golden Wolf Guards, who were armed to the teeth, swooping down from the extremely steep hillside on the flank of Jinshan like a floodgate opening.

Those warhorses, which were covered in heavy anti-arrow horse armor, formed an unstoppable steel flood under the addition of gravity.

Accompanied by a deafening roar, this cavalry formation carrying terrifying destructive power was like a sharp knife heated red, ruthlessly cutting into the flank of the Rouran main army, which appeared loose and elongated due to slaughter.

The massive bodies of the warhorses, relying on the powerful kinetic energy of charging from a high place, bumped those Rouran soldiers who were trying to raise their horse sabers to resist into broken bones and tendons, throwing them around in mid-air.

Batu, who was at the very front of the Rouran formation, didn't even have time to make any adjustments to the military order before he desperately discovered that the connection between the vanguard camp he led and the main army of Wen Gexi behind him had been forcibly cut in two by this sudden steel monster.

The vast plain, which had lost unified command and formation depth, completely turned into a massive flesh-and-blood meat grinder dedicated to devouring blood and life at this moment.

Countless corpses were piled up like mountains on the battlefield, and the warhorse carcasses and incomplete human limbs were intertwined, forming blood-and-flesh barriers that hindered the charge.

Those light cavalry who originally relied on mobility were unable to move an inch in such an environment, and the iron hooves of the warhorses would lead to the horse losing its footing if they weren't careful and stepped into the slippery intestines.

Whether it was the Rouran people who were fanatically seeking revenge or the Turkic Golden Wolf Guards who were trying to crush them with armor advantages, all the cavalry were forced to dismount and extremely humiliatingly step their feet into the warm blood that submerged their ankles.

They abandoned all the techniques of mounted combat, waving short blades and long spears, and launched the most primitive and tragic hand-to-hand combat in this bloody mud.

Batu, who was trapped in heavy encirclement, breathed heavily. The tattered leather armor on his body had long been completely hacked to pieces, revealing his sturdy body covered in countless deep-to-the-bone knife wounds.

A tall Golden Wolf Guard took advantage of the gap when he hacked down others, and the sharp long spear in his hand was like a venomous snake coming out of a hole, cruelly opening the defense line on Batu's left abdomen.

A large section of white-colored intestines, accompanied by the gushing blood, instantly flowed out from that ferocious mouth, throwing out a few shocking blood beads in mid-air.

Batu, who suffered such a fatal wound, not only didn't fall down with wails like ordinary people, but instead raised his face covered in blood and let out a shrill, crazy laugh toward the gloomy sky.

He stretched out his large, mud-covered hand extremely roughly, and stuffed the slippery intestines back into his bloody stomach messily.

Batu tore off a piece of tattered cloth used to wipe sweat on his arm, bit his teeth, and tied it tightly around his waist, forcibly blocking the terrifying blood cavity that was still constantly seeping blood.

"Come on, you bunch of Turkic bastards."

He held the Qi State great saber, which had curled its edge due to violent hacking, with both hands, and crashed into the dense iron armor formation of the Golden Wolf Guard like a prehistoric beast that had lost its reason.

Accompanied by a few crisp metal breaking sounds, Batu forcibly split the solid ear guards on the heads of those Golden Wolf Guards with brute force, embedding the blade deeply into their skulls.

Until he hacked down more than a dozen well-equipped Turkic cavalry, this Rouran fierce general who was famous on the grassland finally exhausted the last trace of life, extremely unwillingly kneeling heavily in the pool of blood, his straight spine never falling again.

Moheduo, who had been overlooking the overall situation from a high place, looked at the broken limbs and arms that were hacked into pieces on the ground, but there was no joy of victory on that angular face, instead, it was as cold as ten-thousand-year-old ice.

He stepped on a remnant Rouran corpse, bent down and picked up a horizontal saber that had fallen into the mud water with an extremely regular style.

Moheduo stretched out his slender fingers, using his fingertips to slowly wipe away the sticky blood stains on the hilt, and the three characters 'Great Qi Arsenal', clearly engraved on the metal texture in Central Plains small seal script, forcefully stabbed his pupils.

His breathing stopped for a moment, and a bone-chilling coldness of being shrouded and calculated by a giant net rushed straight to the back of his head along his tailbone.

Moheduo gripped the hilt of the horizontal saber forcefully, the veins on the back of his hand bulging like small, knotted snakes.

On the other side of the battlefield, general Zhishi Sili, who was responsible for coordinating the Turkic logistics, looked through the permeating smoke with eyes as bright as hawks, keenly capturing the massive grain transport convoy that was moving slowly behind Rouran.

He knew very well that the reason why the Rouran people could erupt with such terrifying combat power was all because of this Central Plains grain and grass hanging that last breath. As long as this grain was burned, Rouran's last madness would completely turn into the wails of hungry ghosts.

Zhishi Sili didn't have any hesitation, directly leading one thousand of the most elite Turkic light cavalry, like a sharp pair of scissors, forcibly tearing a hole from the flank and rushing straight to those baggage carts filled with millet.

Qiu Sheng Tou, who was responsible for guarding the grain road, looked at the Turkic cavalry rushing toward him, a flash of crazy determination to die and not stop in the bottom of his eyes.

He led the remaining few hundred Rouran death warriors beside him, not retreating at all, and blocked the charge route of Zhishi Sili firmly.

The two met beside the broken grain carts that were burning with raging flames. There were no probing moves, directly opening the fatal fight of seeing blood at every knife.

Qiu Sheng Tou risked the cost of his left shoulder being cut off another large piece of skin and flesh, and the curved blade in his hand carried a violent wind, cruelly cutting into the outer side of Zhishi Sili's thigh, deep to the bone.

This kind of tragic blood-fighting of trading life for life turned the area that should have been a life-saving straw into a purgatory.

The snow-white millet, which was supported by Great Qi and contained sufficient heat, was overturned by the hacked carts and fell into the mud and mud full of blood.

The burning fire arrows fell continuously, igniting the grain soaked in blood, and finally burned into a pile of black charcoal emitting a pungent burnt smell.

This crazy fierce battle, which had completely lost reason and any strategic tactics, lasted for three full days and nights on this small Jinshan plain.

The shrill screams and the clashing of weapons never ceased for a single moment, and even the clouds drifting in the sky were reflected into a nauseating, dark red hue, stained by the pervasive aura of blood below.

The Turkic foundation of hundreds of thousands of young and strong combat power, which was originally intended to sweep across major tribes and unify the entire grassland, was frantically reduced at an extremely exaggerated and heartbreaking speed in this consumption war unfolded to fill the abyss of hatred.

Blood dried up, life withered.

Moheduo stood in front of the dilapidated camp, looking at the casualty figures with a combat loss rate of over forty percent counted in the book, the fingers holding the pen snapped the wolf-hair brush into two segments due to anger and unwillingness.

He knew too well what this forty percent elite loss meant to the Turks. It meant that in the next few years, he would completely lose the qualification to lead troops south to compete for the hegemony of the world with those behemoths in the Central Plains. ===== CHAPTER 757 =====