Chapter 62: Brutal Bloodbath

After this round of grenade explosions, the Qing army lost roughly another thousand infantrymen. Blocked by the explosions, the Qing troops fell into great disorder, their previous formation long gone as they scattered.

Seeing that the Qing infantry who had charged up had lost much of their momentum, Sun Yingyuan immediately drew his sword and shouted, "Brothers, draw your blades, kill the Tartars! Kill!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

War drums thundered, banners waved, and the Yongwei Camp's musketeers slung their firearms onto their backs, drew their waist sabers, and amid earth-shaking battle cries followed the shield bearers and spearmen in the front ranks as they pressed toward the Qing army.

At this moment, apart from the artillerymen and the Eastern Palace Guard, everyone else in the Yongwei Camp charged forward, and the two armies immediately became locked together, erupting into fierce hand-to-hand combat.

This was the first time the Yongwei Camp had engaged the Qing army in large-scale melee combat on the battlefield since its founding. The Qing troops were all battle-hardened veterans, not only superbly equipped but also extremely rich in combat experience.

But the Yongwei Camp's soldiers were no slouches either—mostly elite troops from the Nine Border Garrisons, rigorously trained in military combat techniques, and with even better armor and equipment than the Qing forces.

Moreover, with the Yongwei Camp's forward units suppressing the enemy, their morale surged; now that their numbers were no fewer than the Qing army's, their courage redoubled.

Spearmen and shield bearers coordinated with each other, great blades hewing at the enemy's heads, cutting down Qing soldiers and horses alike as they continually toppled to the ground.

Military combat techniques were not simply bare-handed fighting skills—they allowed one to use everything available around oneself, including weapons, with every move and every stance carrying the devastating power to fell an enemy in a single strike.

Military combat techniques were fighting skills evolved over thousands of years of warfare, an indispensable and vital component of modern military training in later generations, far more formidable than one might imagine.

Soldiers on both sides fought with extraordinary valor, almost without any cover—spears and great blades were used solely for thrusting and slashing. Quite a few soldiers, even as they struck an enemy, found their own bodies pierced through by a nearby foe's spear.

The entire central infantry battle was exceptionally brutal. Bloody combat in the age of cold steel was a thousand times more cruel and terrifying than anything seen in films and television!

This was not a game, nor a drill where one could restart after death. Here, death and maiming were real and tangible—there was no chance to correct a mistake. To die meant it was all over!

Zhu Cilang stood on the high ground, able to see the situation on every battle line with perfect clarity, especially the fierce fighting on the central front, which he could observe most directly.

The tall and stalwart Xu Sheng very much wanted to grab his silver mace and charge into battle, but his duty was to guard the Crown Prince—he could not leave for even a moment.

Seeing the ferocious slaughter on the field, Xu Sheng's eyes turned red. He rushed to the side of a nearby drummer, seized the drum, and personally began pounding it with all his might. In a voice like a great bell, he roared, "Kill the slaves!"

Amid the stirring war drums, the Yongwei Camp's front ranks thrust their spears wildly back and forth, slashing their long blades this way and that. Nearly ten thousand troops from both sides were crammed onto this nameless little hillside, with little room to maneuver—nothing but thrust after thrust, nothing but slash after slash!

Beneath the scorching sun, a thick stench of blood spread through the air. Hot blood poured ceaselessly from the bodies of warriors on both sides, soaking the parched earth.

At the breach torn open in the Yongwei Camp's lines, large numbers of Qing heavy-armored soldiers of the Bordered White Banner poured in, faces twisted with savagery.

When the battle reached its white-hot climax, Sun Yingyuan—Assistant Regional Commander of the New Camp and drill instructor of the Yongwei Camp—hefted a heavy guandao blade and charged into a gap crowded with Qing soldiers.

Sun Yingyuan swung his guandao in wide, sweeping arcs, and wherever he passed, none could stand against him.

"Die!" Sun Yingyuan bellowed as his heavy guandao came crashing down. The weapon of a Bordered White Banner janggin before him, who had been slaughtering with gusto, was instantly knocked from his hands.

The guandao, weighing dozens of jin, cleaved downward with the momentum—blood and gore sprayed as the janggin's helmet and head were split apart in an instant.

Seeing their commander so divinely valiant, the Yongwei Camp's morale soared. They pressed forward in his wake, shouting as they killed the enemy. The musketeers, holding waist sabers, followed close behind the spearmen and shield bearers, howling wildly as they filled the gaps.

Soldiers on both sides kept falling, yet more men constantly surged forward to replace them.

This gruesome spectacle of flesh-and-blood combat made Zhu Cilang's heart tremble. Though he felt pity, he could not afford the slightest softness of heart.

This was what the battlefield demanded—when it was time to risk everything, one risked everything. Even knowing full well he was sending soldiers to their deaths, he still had to dispatch them.

It was not only the central infantry fighting with extreme ferocity—the cavalry clashes on both wings were equally brutal.

The superb horsemanship and ferocity of the Eight Banners' cavalry made things very difficult for the Yongwei Camp's riders. With roughly equal numbers, the Yongwei Camp gained not the slightest advantage.

Likewise, the Eight Banners' cavalrymen were quite shocked as well. Over the years, the only Ming cavalry they had found hard to crack were the Guan-Ning Iron Riders. They never expected that near the Ming capital there would also be a cavalry force that was tough to chew.

Huang Degong, mounted on his warhorse and wielding an iron whip, cut through the chaotic melee as if no one were there. Seeing his extraordinary valor, some Qing soldiers in the rear ranks drew their bows and loosed arrows, which rained down densely upon Huang Degong like pelting raindrops.

Huang Degong's warhorse was struck by several arrows and collapsed. He rolled on the ground in a donkey tumble, then ran to a riderless horse nearby, vaulted into the saddle, and dodged the next volley of arrows.

Among the Qing soldiers, a valiant janggin brandishing a great lance charged at Huang Degong. Hearing him coming, Huang Degong turned to face the fight, let out a thunderous shout, and spurred his horse straight at this janggin.

The janggin smiled cruelly, and with the momentum of his charging horse, thrust his great lance viciously at Huang Degong.

As the horses crossed paths, Huang Degong roared in fury, abruptly seized the lance and yanked it toward himself, dragging the janggin—man and horse together—to the ground. Then he wheeled his mount around and split the man's skull open with a single whip strike.

Huang Degong spat at the janggin, cursed him with a laughing insult as a noob, then continued slaughtering several dozen more Qing soldiers who charged at him.

Huang Degong's ferocity cowed the surrounding Qing troops. Though they had tried to surround and kill him like a great fish, his thunderous, lightning-like roars left none daring to approach.

By now, some of the Eight Banners' cavalry had already broken through the Yongwei Camp's cavalry line and burst into the camp's formation, making the situation even more dire. Seeing this, Huang Degong immediately galloped back into the Yongwei Camp's ranks to cut down these Qing cavalrymen.

The brutal battle lasted nearly an hour. Soldiers of both the Yongwei Camp and the Eight Banners army kept falling on the field. Sweat soaked their armor, and blood stained the entire earth.

Zhu Cilang and Yangguri both gritted their teeth and held on, each waiting to see who would last to the end. The later the battle went, the more it would decide the victory—if one side could no longer bear it and retreated first, they would face an even more devastating pursuit from the enemy.

At this moment, the artillery commander in the Yongwei Camp's rear reported to Zhu Cilang that all the cannons had finished cooling. But under the current circumstances, the artillery could no longer be used—the enemy was too close, and firing would hit their own men.

Zhu Cilang raised his telescope to survey the surroundings. Suddenly, he spotted Yangguri in the distance.

Yangguri's command banner was very large, fluttering in the wind on a high ground about a li away on the opposite side.

Pointing in Yangguri's direction, Zhu Cilang said, "All red barbarian cannons, adjust your range. Blast that command banner on the mountain over there to pieces! Smash them to bits!"

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Huang Degong's combat prowess was no empty boast—the History of Ming records it in truth: "Mounting his horse and raising his iron whip, arrows flew thick as rain. His horse stumbled, and he leaped onto another mount and galloped on. A bold rider brandishing a lance came straight at him. Degong gave a great shout, turned to fight, seized the lance and struck with it, crushing man and horse alike. He then killed several dozen more men, leaped into a crumbling wall, and roared like thunder, so that his pursuers dared not advance. Thus he galloped swiftly back to the main army and escaped."

It is only that here I have replaced his opponents with Qing soldiers.