Chapter 51: The Tartars

Countless Tartars were filled with terror.

To them,

Aha Chu was their king, their very anchor.

Now Aha Chu was dead.

Their king was dead.

This shock was immense.

And Zhu Ying’s name now pierced deep into every Tartar’s heart, filling them with dread.

“The Garrison Commander’s might is divine.”

“We swear to follow the Garrison Commander to our deaths.”

“Kill.”

After Zhu Ying slew Aha Chu, thousands of soldiers behind him roared in exhilaration.

Such a victory,

was harder than slaying a general in the midst of ten thousand troops—and Zhu Ying achieved it.

He led them into the heart of the Tartar tribe, slaughtered countless Tartars, and personally cut down their chieftain.

How could they not be exhilarated by such a victory?

“Brothers.”

“Kill!”

Zhu Ying wasted no time; he raised his blade again and charged forward with a thunderous roar.

Though the victory was secured, this place could not be lingered in.

They must withdraw swiftly.

“We swear to follow the Garrison Commander to our deaths.”

“Kill.”

The soldiers shouted in unison and continued following Zhu Ying into battle.

They cut through the Tartar tribe’s encampment; wherever they passed, it became a hell of blood.

It was not just slaughter.

Many soldiers seized torches and swiftly set fire to the Tartar tents, hurling them everywhere.

Against enemies,

one must carry cruelty to its end—destroy everything they have, for only then will they never dare invade Great Ming again.

Against enemies, only blood and cruelty will work; make them afraid, and they will cease.

To try to soften them with benevolence and morality is pure nonsense.

Try to reform a killer—see if he will be moved by your words.

In Zhu Ying’s heart, Han supremacy was absolute; those who came to kill must be killed. He understood history, knew the suffering the Han people had endured under foreign massacres.

Having come to this era, Zhu Ying was determined to change it.

After all,

in the future, when time shifted, Zhu Ying could seize immortality.

When that day truly came, with Zhu Ying’s presence, none of it would ever happen.

This was Zhu Ying’s inner confidence, born of his understanding of history.

…

Beneath the night sky, time passed quickly.

Zhu Ying’s surprise raid on the encampment was not at midnight, but just before dawn, about an hour before sunrise.

The next day!

The sun rose.

Now in early autumn, the northern frontier was already chilled by biting morning winds.

And the Tartar tribe’s encampment had changed utterly.

“Big Brother, wake up! Ah…!”

“My son!”

“Damned Ming, you deserve to die!”

“My husband…”

Throughout the encampment, cries and wails echoed everywhere.

A scene of utter horror.

Once the most prosperous tribe of Jianzhou Tartars, now it lay in ruins.

Corpses littered the ground; blood stained every surface.

Tents were trampled into ruin, corpses charred to cinders, tents reduced to ash—even after the battle had passed, flames still burned everywhere.

In this battle,

more than half the Tartar encampment was destroyed, and the Tartars suffered catastrophic losses.

Those still alive from the horse trampling would not last long.

Nor from the blades of Ming soldiers.

Their swords had never been cleaned; after such prolonged battle, every surviving Ming soldier carried many enemy lives on their blades—by modern standards, these were blades of tetanus!

Those who had been slashed but not killed outright would likely die of infection.

At this moment,

the entire Tartar encampment was busy rescuing the wounded and clearing the carnage.

As for the headless corpse of Aha Chu,

a few surviving Tartar soldiers knelt before it, weeping uncontrollably.

After a long while,

a thunder of hoofbeats rolled toward them.

Hearing the sound, many Tartars’ eyes filled with panic, fearing the Ming army had returned.

But when they saw clearly, they sighed in relief.

It was Agunu leading reinforcements back.

When he saw the state of the encampment,

Agunu froze.

So did all the Tartar officers and personal guards behind him.

The outer palisade was nearly shattered, watchtowers reduced to rubble, corpses scattered everywhere, blood smeared across the ground, fires still burning, wails and cries echoing throughout the encampment.

“How could this happen?”

“How could those damned Ming dare raid our encampment?”

“Weren’t they near the Red Banner tribe?”

Looking at the devastation, Agunu’s eyes turned blood-red with boundless rage.

He felt like a fool, manipulated by Zhu Ying without realizing it—he held the tribe’s main force, had foolishly set a trap waiting for Zhu Ying to walk into it, yet Zhu Ying had fooled him completely.

Zhu Ying had deliberately lingered near the Red Banner tribe, feigning intent to strike other tribes, to draw all attention away—while he struck Agunu’s own encampment.

“Chief.”

“The chief cannot be dead.”

Regaining his senses, Agunu’s face twisted with worry.

But the next moment,

a Tartar company commander, drenched in blood, ran out from the encampment.

“General Agunu.”

“It’s bad!”

“The chief… the chief… was beheaded by the Ming general Zhu Ying.”

The company commander wept uncontrollably, screaming.

At these words,

Agunu’s face turned ashen; he leapt from his horse, strode to the company commander, seized him, and roared: “What did you say? Say it again!”

“The chief… the chief was beheaded by Zhu Ying.”

“Our personal guard protecting the chief was nearly wiped out; fewer than five hundred survived.”

The company commander knelt on the ground, trembling with terror as he reported.

Hearing it again,

Agunu staggered backward, his face flooded with horror, despair, and grief.

“Where… where is the chief?”

Agunu asked, voice trembling.

“Inside the encampment,” the company commander replied, equally trembling.

Agunu immediately stumbled toward the encampment.

“Order the men to rescue the wounded!”

“Hurry!”

A deputy general shouted loudly.

Then.

He also sprinted toward the clan’s main courtyard, and behind him, the numerous Tartar officers dared not hesitate—they dismounted and ran after Agunu.

When they reached the spot where the main clan tent had stood.

The ground had been completely flattened; corpses lay scattered everywhere, many charred, and ash blanketed the land.

Hundreds of Tartar soldiers who had barely survived knelt before a headless corpse, wailing and weeping.

Grief enveloped the entire Jianzhou Tartar clan.

When Agunu arrived and saw the headless corpse, fear surged across his face…

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(End of Chapter)