Chapter 147: Slaying the Yuan Commander, Gaining Full Attributes, First Merit Reported to Yingtian!

Mahawu’s blade slashed with ferocious intensity, the seasoned strike of a battle-hardened general, its howling wind carving a brutal arc straight toward Zhu Ying.

In his heart, if he could die alongside Zhu Ying, that would be the greatest victory possible.

For his Great Yuan, eliminate Zhu Ying!

But!

Facing Zhu Ying.

Yet that seemingly lethal strike passed through nothingness; Zhu Ying’s expression remained calm. As the blade neared his body, he sidestepped slightly, and the vicious slash grazed past his side—leaving not a single scratch.

Almost the instant he dodged, Zhu Ying’s war blade lashed out.

A direct overhead slash through the air!

A sharp *crack*.

Bone shattered, flesh split, blood sprayed.

Mahawu froze mid-motion, his body stiffening instantly—he hadn’t yet registered what had happened when his torso slowly collapsed, his head separating from his body, blood gushing like a fountain, rapidly pooling across the ground.

“Slain Northern Yuan commander [Haohai Dayu]. Gained +100 to all attributes. Gained 200 days of lifespan. Awarded: Tier-1 Treasure Chest.”

As he slew Mahawu, Zhu Ying’s internal panel prompted him.

“Mahawu. Haohai Dayu.”

Zhu Ying murmured silently: “The father of that Mahamud from history?”

He still recalled the name—a faint trace amid the vast sea of historical records.

But Zhu Ying had no time to dwell on it; the battlefield shifted in an instant.

He raised Mahawu’s severed head high, blood dripping down his arm, merging with the battlefield’s crimson stains.

Zhu Ying roared, his voice echoing across the entire battlefield: “Ming soldiers! The Northern Yuan’s commander, Mahawu, has been slain by me!”

His voice carried boundless might, piercing through the clamor of battle, radiating overwhelming authority.

“All Northern Yuan troops within the city—those who do not surrender, will be executed without mercy.”

Zhu Ying added sharply, his tone cold and absolute.

“Kill!”

That cry ignited the fire in every Ming soldier’s heart.

Countless Ming troops surged with exhilaration, their eyes blazing with fervor, roaring back in unison.

“General’s divine might!”

“General is invincible!”

“General is the reincarnation of Xiang Yu!”

“Slaughter every Tartar!”

“Kill… kill them…”

The Ming soldiers’ shouts rose and fell in waves, each louder than the last.

Their weapons swung with greater force, their killing intent fiercer, launching even more brutal assaults against the Northern Yuan.

Meanwhile, the Northern Yuan troops, who had barely held their ground, saw their morale shatter the moment their commander fell—like scattered clouds swept away by a gale.

Fear and despair spread across their faces; without command, they became headless flies, their formation collapsing, defeat cascading like a mountain crumbling.

At this moment!

The battle was already decided.

Nearly a hundred thousand Ming troops surged into the city like a tidal wave.

Every Ming soldier was consumed by the thrill of imminent victory; their eyes saw only enemies, their weapons falling relentlessly, reaping lives.

Outside the city!

Only a few thousand central troops remained to guard the position.

Zhu Di and Li Jinglong stood atop a war chariot in the center, waiting silently.

The banners atop the chariot snapped fiercely in the wind, as if cheering for the coming victory.

Then—

A swift rider burst from within the city like an arrow loosed from a bow, racing toward the center.

Hooves kicked up clouds of dust, charging straight for the central command.

“Your Highness, Prince Yan! General Li!”

The rider dismounted with swift precision, bowed deeply, and shouted: “We’ve just received word: the Northern Yuan commander Mahawu has been slain by General Zhu Ying. Zhenxiacheng will fall imminently.”

His voice trembled with excitement, his face flushed with battle fervor.

Upon hearing this,

Zhu Di and Li Jinglong exchanged a glance.

A flicker of surprise crossed their eyes; though they’d expected victory, such a swift decapitation of the enemy commander—and the city’s fall within a single day—still stunned them.

“General Zhu.”

Li Jinglong spoke first, voice thick with admiration: “Truly a peerless warrior!”

“Even Xiang Yu could not compare.”

“In one day, he shattered a heavily fortified city defended by elite Northern Yuan troops—and slew their commander.”

“Such ferocity—I cannot find words to describe it.”

Li Jinglong exclaimed, exhilarated.

Zhu Di, deeply shaken, slowly raised his gaze to the sky.

Though the sun had not yet reached its zenith, the sky remained bright—still an hour before sunset.

Sunlight fell across his face, revealing his complex expression.

“Zhenxiacheng didn’t just house ten thousand troops—it held fifty or sixty thousand, not counting able-bodied civilians.”

“Its walls were high and thick, its defenses abundant.”

“One day to break it.” Zhu Di sighed. “Now I finally understand why the Emperor and my elder brother placed such faith in Zhu Ying.”

Zhu Di shook his head slightly, his eyes holding both admiration and an unspoken, tangled emotion.

“Indeed.”

Li Jinglong nodded in agreement, his face beaming with excitement.

He did not notice Zhu Di’s hidden unease.

All he thought of was the first great victory of the northern campaign—Zhu Ying had claimed it, and that meant glory reflected upon him as the commanding general. A real, tangible achievement, like gold gilding his record.

But Zhu Di’s heart churned with deeper complexity; his fist clenched unconsciously as he thought: “If he cannot serve me, he must not serve my enemies.”

“The Shen family!”

“You’ve cost me a peerless warrior—and made me an enemy of great power.”

The more outstanding Zhu Ying became, the fiercer his rage toward the Shen family grew.

Originally, Zhu Ying had been from his Beiping Prefecture—but now, all was lost.

“Your Highness.”

Li Jinglong turned to Zhu Di, smiling: “Once the battle ends, we must personally commend General Zhu.”

“Such a great achievement—such a tremendous gain—it must be counted as the foremost merit.”

Li Jinglong’s eyes narrowed into slits, already envisioning the glory he’d reap from this victory.

Praising Zhu Ying was encouragement—ensuring Zhu Ying fought harder in the future.

The greater Zhu Ying’s achievements, the greater Li Jinglong’s own gains.

“Naturally.”

Zhu Di, though inwardly seething, nodded with a smile—though his grin was stiff.

Within the city.

With Mahawu slain, the battle neared its end.

Many Northern Yuan troops had already been terrorized by Zhu Ying’s onslaught, their morale shattered.

Now, with vast waves of Ming troops surging in and their commander dead, they lost all will to fight.

Many dropped their weapons and knelt to surrender, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear; others, clinging to luck, turned and fled in disarray.

Zhu Ying seized the moment, leading his troops in relentless pursuit—he remained at the forefront, his war blade swinging, felling enemies wherever he passed.

His figure moved across the battlefield like a black lightning bolt, leaving behind trails of blood.

Before sunset, the Ming army had fully secured Zhenxiacheng.

Now, the city reeked of thick blood; corpses and crimson stains littered every street and alley.

Flickering flames, still burning here and there, swayed in the evening wind, casting eerie light over the gruesome battlefield.

Of course,

Some Northern Yuan soldiers likely still hid in civilian homes or disguised themselves in shadows.

But there was no need to worry—the city was tightly sealed, and Ming patrols combed every corner.

These remnants would be hunted down and eliminated in due course.

Within the city—the General’s Residence!

Compared to the corpse-strewn, blood-drenched outer city, the inner city bore fewer signs of slaughter—but the air still hung heavy with tension and blood.

Zhu Ying sat on the steps before the governor’s hall, leaning against a pillar to rest.

His personal guards, like him, sat or lay scattered around, exhausted.

With battle over, the surge of adrenaline and strength vanished instantly—fatigue washed over them like a tide, drowning them.

Around Zhu Ying, none of the soldiers could be clearly seen—their entire bodies were caked in blood, their clothes soaked through and clinging tightly to their skin.

If you twisted their garments, blood would drip out.

Even though the battle’s outcome was settled, the soldiers were utterly exhausted, too drained even to speak; they collapsed onto the ground, heedless of the bloodstains beneath them or the corpses surrounding them.

Their faces bore deep weariness and relief, the quiet elation of survival after a brutal clash—in this fleeting stillness, they savored their hard-won rest.

“Logistics Command Assistant Liu Wang has come with rations, as ordered.”

At that moment, footsteps approached.

A commander in battle armor hurried forward to Zhu Ying’s side, bowing deeply with reverence on his face.

“Have the logistics men bring out the bread.”

“The soldiers have fought all day—they’re spent.”

Zhu Ying looked up and spoke gently to the logistics officer: “Also, ask the logistics troops to hurry with clearing the battlefield—move the wounded from the war carts to the infirmary.”

“Your orders are received,” Liu Wang replied at once, his voice loud and clear.

He waved his hand, and a group of logistics soldiers swiftly advanced, carrying boxes.

Inside the boxes were food; amid the stench of blood, the aroma of bread spread through the battlefield.

They began distributing food to the surrounding soldiers in orderly fashion, moving quickly and skillfully.

After a full day of fighting and storming the city, the assault troops were utterly drained—exhausted and starving.

So as soon as the battle was won, Zhu Ying ordered the logistics corps to prepare rations and deliver them into the city at once.

He also ordered Mu Sheng’s Huizhouwei to clear the city’s battlefield, carefully search for wounded soldiers to treat, locate and finish off enemy troops feigning death, while the Danningwei rested in place to recover strength.

“Brothers,” Zhu Ying stood up; though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly to every soldier’s ear: “Eat the bread first—then rest.”

“After you’ve eaten, we’ll return to camp and sleep our fill.”

A faint encouraging smile appeared on Zhu Ying’s face, his eyes filled with concern for his men.

Hearing Zhu Ying’s voice, the soldiers snapped back to awareness, responding with fervent zeal and reverence: “We obey your command!”

They looked at Zhu Ying with trust and respect in their eyes.

In their hearts, Zhu Ying was their anchor—so long as he stood, they feared nothing.

As the logistics troops distributed the food, the soldiers reached out eagerly, devouring the bread in large bites.

They ate like men who had not tasted food in generations.

To prevent choking, the logistics men brought water jars; soldiers took turns drinking deeply, quenching their parched throats.

“General.”

Chen Heng had appeared beside him, sitting down without ceremony; his face still glowed with battle-lust, excitedly saying: “Today, I killed a lot of Tartars—I cut down at least twenty.”

As he spoke, he gestured wildly, his expression brimming with pride.

But the soldiers around Zhu Ying chuckled at his boast.

Their smiles carried gentle mockery—and quiet pride in their own deeds.

“General Chen.”

Liu Lei, chewing his bread, grinned and asked: “Do you know how many Tartars the General killed?”

He deliberately paused, eyes gleaming with mystery.

“Given the General’s strength and how he led the charge, he must have slain hundreds today.”

Chen Heng thought for a moment and replied with a smile; though he knew Zhu Ying was fierce, he could only guess the exact number.

“Heh,” Liu Lei chuckled cryptically. “I followed the General into the thick of it. Even when I fell behind, I saw enough—over a thousand Tartars died by the General’s blade, maybe more.”

Liu Lei held up one finger, his expression solemn, eyes shining with admiration.

“Wh…what?”

Chen Heng was stunned—he stared at Liu Lei as if hearing a fairy tale.

A thousand men!

Just hearing it sounded impossible.

On the battlefield, even in direct assault, anyone who killed over a hundred enemies in a day was already a legendary warrior.

Like when Zhu Ying first took the field—he alone slew over a hundred, and his feat was reported all the way to Yingtian, precisely because it was so extraordinary.

Now, Zhu Ying had shattered even that record—its significance was undeniable.

This number might sound unbelievable to others, but Chen Heng knew Liu Lei well—and knew Zhu Ying’s strength.

He knew Liu Lei wouldn’t lie, and Zhu Ying was more than capable.

“A thousand. Not a single one less.”

Xiao Han added with a smile, his tone casual, as if stating the obvious.

“The battlefield recorder’s going to be swamped today,” Xiao Han added, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“The General is truly divine in battle,” Chen Heng said, awed. Though the number sounded like myth, remembering Zhu Ying’s lone charge through the gate, he had no doubt.

His admiration for Zhu Ying deepened further.

“General Chen,” Liu Lei suddenly grinned. “Do you know how many enemies I cut down today?”

His eyes sparkled with excitement—he couldn’t wait to share his own feat.

“How many?” Zhang Wu asked, pausing his meal and turning to Liu Lei, intrigued.

“Seventy,” Liu Lei declared, voice rising with excitement, slapping his chest proudly.

“Seventy?” Zhang Wu and Chen Heng both widened their eyes in shock.

Seventy—this was no small number. To kill so many in such fierce combat proved Liu Lei’s ferocity.

“Not just me.”

Liu Lei continued, beaming. “Every one of my personal guards killed at least twenty. Xiao Han here killed over thirty.”

“We’re the General’s personal guards—we can’t shame him.”

As he spoke, Liu Lei scanned the surrounding guards, pride radiating from him.

Chen Heng and Zhang Wu exchanged complex expressions.

When they stormed the city, they had seen the guards’ ferocity firsthand.

Each guard moved like a giant, relying on brute strength and brutal swordsmanship to cut down enemies.

Every swing of their blades carried terrifying force, freezing foes in terror.

Perhaps Chen Heng had served under Zhu Ying for less time—he had once been Zhu Ying’s superior.

But Zhang Wu had followed Zhu Ying faithfully since the start.

He knew the original standards for selecting personal guards: though they were elite soldiers, none had been this ferocious before.

Even their monstrous strength had come only after becoming Zhu Ying’s guards.

“The General must have given them something—otherwise, no guard could be this formidable.”

Zhang Wu thought to himself, and a new idea formed.

But the northern campaign had just begun—he pushed the thought aside for now, listening as the others spoke.

“Enough,” Zhu Ying said sharply, his tone regaining its gravity as he watched the officers still chatting: “The city is secured—let the regular troops rest. All officers above company commander, report to the battlefield recorder to tally casualties. Also, assist logistics in treating the wounded.”

He swept his gaze over the officers, issuing an unchallengeable order.

“We obey!” the officers chorused, hurrying to finish their bread and prepare.

They knew this was no time to relax—many critical tasks still awaited them.

“Have the personal guard casualties been counted?”

Zhu Ying asked Liu Lei, his tone showing concern.

The personal guards were his closest men, who had fought beside him through life and death—he cared deeply for their safety.

Moreover,

He had invested heavily in training them.

Losing even one was a major blow.

“Report, General,” Liu Wang replied at once: “Seven hundred personal guards, seven company commanders, plus myself.”

“Total: seven hundred and eight. Not a single death. Most are wounded, but only twenty or so seriously—those injured have all been sent to the infirmary.”

Hearing this, Zhu Ying nodded and said nothing more.

His personal guards had spent over a year under his direct tutelage; each had trained in the Iron Body Art, enhanced by the Bone-Linking Powder—granting them strength beyond normal men and vastly improved physical resilience. They weren’t invulnerable, but their Iron Body reputation was well earned—pure body cultivation.

Each guard wore full armor protecting vital areas, and they fought in tight formation behind their General, who led the charge—perfect coordination ensured no one fell.

“Seven hundred personal guards—and not one died!” Zhang Wu and Chen Heng, just turning to leave, froze in shock.

They stopped dead, eyes wide, unable to believe what they’d heard.

They had charged into the city first, facing near-certain death beneath the city gate—and yet not one of the seven hundred had perished? It was astonishing.

“The General must have given them something.”

Even the dimmest mind could see that Liu Lei’s guards owed their power solely to Zhu Ying.

There was no other explanation.

They exchanged glances, a spark of understanding passing between them.

When the officers had departed, Zhu Ying leaned against a pillar, preparing to tally his kills.

Not just for attribute gains, but for chest rewards.

Since his attributes surpassed five thousand, he had undergone a transformation—slaying common soldiers now granted only one random attribute point, but lifespan gain remained unchanged: at least ten days per enemy killed, accumulating significantly.

Of course, killing officers yielded more: above company commander, he gained full attributes.

And slaying commanders above garrison commander granted treasure chests.

This time, Zhu Ying naturally targeted Mongol officers again; whenever he spotted one, he charged forward, and the number of officers killed by him was certainly no fewer than ten.

With a hint of excitement in his chest, Zhu Ying calmed himself and looked at the number of treasure chests he had.

“Seven first-tier treasure chests, some from slaying officers, others granting bonuses to all attributes and total kills.”

“Additionally, killing Mongol officers below the rank of ten-thousand-commander yielded eight regular treasure chests.”

Seeing the number of chests, Zhu Ying’s face broke into a joyful smile: “My goodness, fifteen treasure chests altogether!”

In an instant.

Zhu Ying felt as if countless treasures were about to rain down on him.

Fifteen treasure chests!

Know that the value of a single treasure chest surpasses a fortune in gold!

Across the myriad realms, countless rare treasures abound: advanced technologies far ahead of their age, cultivation arts capable of transforming one’s very essence, devastating martial techniques, elixirs that extend lifespan, divine weapons that cleave iron like mud—so long as one’s luck holds, all can be opened from treasure chests.

“If I get even slightly lucky, I’ll make a fortune.”

Zhu Ying was ecstatic: “This time, I really hit the jackpot!”

Pulling himself back from his fantasy, Zhu Ying no longer hesitated and silently murmured in his mind, summoning his attribute panel.

Before his eyes, a faintly glowing panel flickered into view.

Host: Zhu Ying

Age: 15 years

Internal Qi: 6138 points

Strength: 6235 points

Speed: 6052 points

Constitution: 6042 points

Endurance: 6023 points

Spirit: 6014 points

Lifespan: 328 years, 29562 days

Storage Space: 69 cubic units

Cultivation Art: Postnatal Mystery Art… Hardening Art

Martial Technique: Stored Power Slash [Advanced], Wild Dance Blade Art [Advanced], Mountain-Shattering Fist [Beginner], Divine Arrow Rapid Fire [Advanced], Tiger Roar Art [Beginner], Golden Bell Shield [Intermediate], Eight Extremes Fist [Intermediate], Fury [Beginner].

Skill Points: 3 [Can enhance any martial technique’s proficiency]

Zhu Ying’s gaze swept rapidly across the panel; when he saw the “Lifespan” entry, he sucked in a breath, excitedly thinking: “My goodness. After this battle, I’ve gained eighty years of lifespan!”

…

(End of Chapter)