Chapter 901: Miraculous Feat Shakes the Heavenly Palace

East of Shenyang City, west of the Firearm Workshop, east of Shijia Mountain.

As Jia Cong finished forming his formation, a large cavalry force surged from the distant clouds of dust, hooves thundering, blades gleaming like snow, sweeping toward them like a tidal wave.

The three hundred shield-bearing imperial guards in the front line, along with the pikemen in the rear, many of whom had never seen battle, trembled slightly as the black-cloud cavalry charge bore down on them.

Jia Cong galloped along the front of the formation, shouting: “The enemy is attacking with ferocious force! Any hint of retreat means certain death—only by fighting can you survive!”

“All pikemen and archers, follow my command to form ranks and fire! If you respond correctly, you will live!”

Jia Cong rode along the front, shouting defiantly before the ten thousand enemy cavalry, his bright armor gleaming, his expression solemn—his presence inspired awe.

A general is the soul of the army. Jia Cong’s calm confidence, unwavering before ten thousand enemy troops, quickly steadied the entire military formation.

The three hundred pikemen formed a triple-strike line; the rear ranks loaded their powerful crossbows with iron-tipped arrows; every soldier stood utterly focused, awaiting Jia Cong’s order to fire.

…

The Canmeng elite cavalry detachment departed from Wawu Town, bypassed the mountain road, formed a loose formation on open ground, and began their standard rapid charge.

At a distance of more than ten li from the Firearm Workshop, the cavalry closed the gap at breakneck speed—now they could clearly see the Zhou army’s formation.

Manhai, surrounded by his hundred personal guards, galloped through the cavalry ranks and barked: “The Zhou army has formed a force of only a thousand—weak and isolated. No need to hesitate!”

“All units charge full speed! No archery allowed—do not risk killing Jia Cong by accident!”

“Break into their lines, close in, and cut them down! Spare no one except Jia Cong! Whoever captures him alive shall receive a thousand taels of gold and a ten-thousand-man command!”

Manhai’s orders spread rapidly through the cavalry ranks; the riders erupted in excited shouts, blood boiling, their killing intent surging higher.

A thousand taels of gold and a ten-thousand-man command—each cavalryman saw this as an irresistible prize, and all surged forward, vying for this supreme military honor.

None of them believed achieving this feat would be difficult, for the enemy formation ahead numbered barely a thousand.

Under the charge of ten thousand cavalry, they would shatter in an instant. Capturing the Marquis of Weiyuan, Jia Cong, would be as easy as plucking fruit—only speed mattered.

…

Jia Cong retreated behind the imperial shield wall, sat astride his horse, gazed ahead, drew his curved blade, and shouted: “Hold the line! Wait for my command to fire!”

The vanguard of the Canmeng cavalry charged forward with roars, entering the range of the firelocks—their Mongol faces, snarling and fierce, now clearly visible.

The overwhelming momentum of ten thousand charging horses seemed capable of trampling and crushing all before them; Jia Cong felt the earth tremble as if a furious dragon were turning beneath it, about to burst forth and split the ground.

Yet the deafening roar did not shatter his nerves—it sharpened his focus. He poured every ounce of his will into sensing the precise moment the cavalry charge would enter range.

At the instant the Canmeng vanguard entered firelock range, the waiting gunners finally heard Jia Cong’s thunderous command: “Triple volleys—fire!”

His words had barely left his lips when over a hundred firelocks discharged simultaneously, a torrent of bullets spewing forth with the thunderous boom of rolling thunder, instantly drowning out the thunder of hooves.

The Canmeng cavalry vanguard, just entering range, was struck by the first volley—dozens of riders toppled from their mounts; the front of the charge collapsed into chaos.

The ten-thousand-strong cavalry formation, now thrown into disarray by the mass fall of its vanguard, could not slow in time—those behind surged forward, trampling their own comrades.

Countless riders collided and fell, crushed beneath the hooves of those behind; panicked, riderless horses screamed and bolted wildly; the front of the cavalry formation descended into utter confusion.

…

This was the first time the Canmeng cavalry had faced a coordinated volley of firelocks—an experience utterly foreign to them, their minds unable to comprehend the weapon’s lethality.

Even their warhorses had never heard gunfire; the thunderous roar of a hundred firelocks sent these elite steppe steeds into terrified, shrieking panic.

The convergence of these factors maximized the impact of the first volley—the ten-thousand-strong Canmeng charge, moments ago unstoppable, now halted abruptly.

The first volley of a hundred firelocks killed only dozens, but the ensuing collisions and trampling turned hundreds of riders into fallen corpses.

Even Jia Cong, seasoned in firelock warfare, was taken aback by the effectiveness of this volley—and seized this precious opening.

Though most of the three hundred gunners were in combat for the first time, their triple-volley drills were etched into muscle memory—flawless, automatic.

As the first volley ended, the second and third followed in rapid succession, like waves crashing one after another, drenching the cavalry in a storm of bullets.

The devastating impact of the first volley boosted every gunner’s confidence; reloading, stepping forward, stepping back, firing—all movements flowed seamlessly.

Many Canmeng riders who had narrowly escaped being trampled now died in the next volley; casualties among the cavalry swelled again.

Jia Cong watched the stalled Canmeng vanguard and ordered all imperial archers and crossbowmen to fire—no respite for the enemy.

A rain of powerful crossbow bolts filled every gap left by the firelocks, sealing the air with impenetrable death.

The eight-hundred-man formation became a single, efficient killing machine, mercilessly harvesting Canmeng cavalry lives in mere moments.

…

Within the Canmeng cavalry ranks, Manhai heard the deafening gunfire and saw his front line reeling, men and horses falling, cries of agony rising—he turned pale.

His deputy rode up, terrified: “Second Prince! These are Jia Cong’s firelock troops—their guns spit fire! The vanguard is decimated!”

Manhai snapped: “How many firelock troops were in that formation?”

The deputy replied: “Three or four hundred. Their formation is strange—the main force cannot break through.”

Manhai’s eyes gleamed: “Only three or four hundred firelock troops—and they’ve already broken our vanguard’s momentum? The Zhou’s fire weapons are truly formidable.”

Jia Cong is a man of extraordinary talent. If we could capture him alive and make such weapons for Mongolia, how could we fail to dominate the world?”

He has only three or four hundred firelock troops. Even if they hold out for now, can they stop ten thousand Mongol warriors? He is still within my grasp.”

“Order the center to slow and retreat—avoid their strength. Flank them on both sides, strike their wings, encircle them—and capture Jia Cong alive!”

…

The three hundred gunners fired in continuous volleys, their rhythm growing smoother; the crossbowmen behind kept up a steady barrage, pinning the Canmeng cavalry beyond effective range.

Yet Jia Cong’s expression grew heavier—eight hundred gunners and crossbowmen alone could not hold back ten thousand cavalry for long.

The Mongols, encountering firelocks for the first time, were momentarily stunned—hence their disadvantage. But this state would not last.

The commander of these twenty thousand cavalry was no fool. A single setback would spur him to adapt swiftly.

Ai Li laughed: “Yu Zhang, their vanguard has slowed—showing signs of retreat. The Mongols are truly pitiful.”

Ai Li spoke carelessly, but Jia Cong’s face darkened—he realized the sudden retreat of the Canmeng center meant their commander had just awakened to the threat.

Forcing the center to charge through the gun line would cost dearly; now they sought to avoid the front and strike the flanks instead.

If the eight-hundred-man formation’s wings were breached, they would be instantly surrounded—no victory possible, only death beneath ten thousand hooves.

Jia Cong leapt onto his horse and shouted: “All cavalry, mount up! Retreat toward Shijia Mountain—evade the Canmeng flanking maneuvers!”

He called over the imperial guard captain, Yu Chengzhong: “I will lead the cavalry westward to draw off the Mongol main force. You retreat immediately toward the city walls.”

“Once you enter the range of our archers on the ramparts, you’ll likely survive. If we win this battle and both live, I will petition for your merit!”

Yu Chengzhong’s face was solemn: “Our survival is thanks entirely to the Marquis of Weiyuan drawing the enemy upon himself. I am deeply grateful—my lord, please, protect yourself!”

Jia Cong’s three hundred cavalry and five hundred imperial guards scattered almost instantly, retreating in separate directions.

The three hundred cavalry galloped off like the wind; Yu Chengzhong’s five hundred infantry, fighting for their lives, fled with speed rivaling horses…

As the five hundred imperial guards retreated past the Firearm Workshop, they saw five carts burst from within, swiftly overtaking the three hundred Shenji Camp cavalry.

…

Within the Canmeng cavalry ranks, Manhai directed the center’s retreat, preparing to encircle the enemy from both flanks to crush and annihilate them.

But as he ordered the center to fall back, before the flanks could even move, he saw the eight-hundred-man Zhou formation cease fire—and abruptly disband.

The Zhou troops split into two groups, retreating in opposite directions, leaving the Canmeng forces confused—uncertain which to pursue.

Especially the three hundred cavalry—they moved like a gust of wind, slipping past the right flank of the Mongol elite just in time, racing northwestward.

Manhai flung his whip in fury—he had lost hundreds of his own cavalry in moments, while the enemy suffered not a single casualty, slipping away right before his eyes.

He roared in rage: “Damn Jia Cong! So cunning—he exploited the moment our formation shifted, reorganized instantly, and escaped!”