Chapter 520: A Battle to Annihilate a Nation!

For three hundred years, the strongest and purest military commander of the entire Central Plains, indeed of the entire world — the Divine General crowned with the name of Military God — was now ahead, cutting off the most crucial line of communication.

The Turkic Fourth King's hands gripping the reins had already gone stiff from squeezing too hard.

"Jiang Su…"

How could Jiang Su be here?!

How could Ying Nation's strongest war-general appear here?!

Clearly, with such enormous gains behind, and with Chen Dingye certain to die, whether seizing Zhenxi Xiongcheng or executing some other stratagem, one could take a sufficient harvest at minimal cost, something to be recorded in lavish strokes in the annals of history.

Why would Jiang Su, at this moment, abandon the temptation of taking Zhenxi Xiongcheng in a single stroke, and lead Ying Nation's finest and most adept at rapid strikes — the Tiger Barbarian Heavy Cavalry — to appear here?

The Fourth King's voice was somewhat cold and hard: "Military God, have you come to block us?"

"For you to fight us here is utterly meaningless for your Ying Nation. Could it be that even the illustrious Military God Jiang Su has lost his strategic vision?"

"To fight a battle without hesitation, in the wrong place, against those who should never have been enemies."

Jiang Su had no interest in concealing anything. He raised his eyes to look at the great Turkic army ahead, lifted the Annihilation Divine Spear in his hand — this spear had ascended to the rank of a divine weapon alongside his own rise — and his gaze was calm:

"Cross this river, and die."

He had no need to answer the other's questions; he only needed to lay down his own rules.

On the battlefield, it was Military God Jiang Su who set the rules.

The Fourth King's expression was hideously ugly. That single sentence had not answered his question, nor refused his demand; the response carried a feeling that could only be called indifferent disregard, and a flame rose in his heart.

Anger — but beneath the anger, dread.

A mere eight thousand men.

How dare they? How dare they?!

He stared fixedly at that mother river of the steppe. The river flowed quietly past, and perhaps because this place was, at this moment, far too still, so many people could clearly hear the sound of the water flowing.

The Fourth King knew that the Great Khan had been pinned by that madman of Chen Nation, at the cost of flesh and blood, toward Zhenxi Xiongcheng, far from the steppe's rear. In such circumstances, Ying Nation's Military God Jiang Su had appeared here.

These two things gave him a sense of unease.

Should he retreat?

The Fourth King gripped his weapon. His warhorse, seeming to sense its rider's mood, shook its head uneasily. In such a situation, once they retreated, they did not know what might be waiting for them.

How could Military God Jiang Su let them simply retreat, fight or no fight?

The Fourth King knew this must be a moment touching upon the fate of the homeland.

Only at this moment.

He could not retreat, could not flee.

"May the Eternal Heaven protect the Great Khan, may the Eternal Heaven protect the steppe."

He tightened his grip on his weapon and, in the Turkic tongue, shouted out the order to charge. Spear after spear leveled forward, grim as a forest, while Ying Nation's Tiger Barbarian cavalry drew their weapons in turn, silent and still.

Even if he is Military God Jiang Su, with a tenfold disparity in numbers, can he truly cut down every last one of us?!

The Fourth King roared furiously: "Charge!!!!"

"Do not get bogged down!!!"

A hundred thousand troops thundered into motion. That grim, murderous sound, that defiant courage in the face of a fearsome foe, surged up to the heavens; the birds froze mid-flight; muffled thunder rolled, sweeping across the world. Heavy warhorses at such high speed crashed through the river.

The muffled thunder suddenly grew louder.

The mother river, which had been flowing quietly, suddenly surged at this moment.

Ying Nation's ambushers upstream cut open the hastily built Mohist dam. The pent-up river water, following the terrain, swept down along with sharpened great logs, broken stones, and shattered weapons, scouring everything before it.

This torrent from upstream was enough to instantly shatter the heavy cavalry's most vital momentum of charge, and the effect was just as Jiang Su had calculated — like a blade, it sliced through the battle-momentum of the Turkic army of a hundred thousand.

The fallen heavy cavalry became cords of flesh and blood to trip the horses; the troops behind were thrown into chaos or lost their speed, and the most threatening quality of the cavalry corps was thus stripped away.

The Fourth King, unwilling to accept it: "Jiang Su, how despicable you are!"

"Even if we lose, you should not humiliate us like this."

Jiang Su raised the Annihilation Divine Spear in his hand, calmly urged his horse forward. The auras of the Tiger Barbarian cavalry and the Military God merged in an instant, surging and overwhelming, like a blade, and crashed into the Turkic rear army that had lost its speed and momentum.

"'Despicable' is a word only the victor has the right to speak."

"The dead have no right to speak."

On that day, a great battle raged for several hours. Military God Jiang Su, with eight thousand Tiger Barbarian cavalry, defeated an enemy of a hundred thousand; the Turkic army collapsed and scattered. Thirty-seven men from the rank of general-commander downward, and eighty-one Captains, all died by Jiang Su's hand.

The steppe's great Dajiang was stained red with fresh blood; the river surged, its waters pounding the banks without receding.

Military God Jiang Su rode his divine steed across the steppe, drove the Annihilation Divine Spear into the ground. A tassel hung from the spear's butt; the wind passed by and tapped lightly against the Annihilation Divine Spear, producing a soft sound.

"Elder Murong."

"Do you truly believe that, when it comes to killing, you can surpass me?"

"Killing is always first on the battlefield."

The Tiger Barbarian cavalry gathered behind him, all of them utterly silent and still, like the claws and fangs of a fierce tiger, awaiting the next order from the Military God. Jiang Su's eyes were calm as he watched the flowing water.

Several days earlier —

Within Ying Nation's imperial palace, Jiang Wanxiang, at roughly the same time as Li Guanyi, received intelligence from the front. Zhenxi Xiongcheng, the greatest fortress under heaven, lay before him like a piece of rich, tempting meat.

He had only to reach out, and it seemed he could grasp this achievement in his hand.

A mediocre ruler might, at this moment, have been unable to contain his ambition, urged his troops forward, and marched off to war. But that aged sovereign, after gazing at Zhenxi Xiongcheng for a long while, could only smile helplessly:

"Chen Dingye, Chen Dingye — at such a time, you can still throw such a problem at me."

Jiang Su was standing beside Jiang Wanxiang at the time, watching the aged monarch smile helplessly. Jiang Wanxiang said: "Although we still have our previous stratagems, an opportunity like this is once in a thousand years."

"This poisonous dragon Chen Dingye has, for once, used himself as the price to prepare a feast, inviting us to attend together. This body of mine probably cannot hold out much longer, but you, my lord, must not fail to do justice to this grand banquet."

"A feast that opens once in eight hundred years — enough to leave a name in history, enough to lift the spirit, enough to be satisfying. As for the stratagems that come after, they are not so affected by it…"

Jiang Wanxiang's hair had already turned grey-white. He looked at the intelligence, unhurried: "Before my allotted span ends, to witness such a scene is worthy of our lifetime of campaigning. You may go."

"Consider it a greeting to Li Guanyi. After this, it will ultimately be our struggle against him. We are all sons of the Central Plains — fighting to the death is nothing. Have not the heroes of the Central Plains, through all these years, always been fighting to the death?"

"But if we fight to the death, drain the heroes' blood, and then, just when unification finally seems possible, the internal war we've waged leaves us so weakened that outsiders seize the chance to run wild in our Central Plains lands — that would earn us the curses of posterity."

"Jiang Su."

Jiang Su lowered his head and said: "Your Majesty."

An aged, bold and heroic smile spread across Jiang Wanxiang's face:

"Go and destroy the Turks."

The aged monarch stepped past the Grand Preceptor, his footsteps falling one by one, and said: "My life, up to this point, has been like a great play. Every play must have its end, and its final, greatest climax — but before that, there must be a warm-up prologue."

"Chen Dingye may be doomed to fall, and I too should walk into this final battle."

As the wind blew past, the grasslands swayed like surging waves.

The Great Khan of the Turks did not manage to wait for his reinforcements, and at this moment, he finally realized something in his heart — he finally understood what Chen Dingye intended to do. The white-haired Great Khan gazed ahead.

Chen Dingye, the Fei poison coursing through his body, leaned both hands on his sword and gazed from afar at the strongest Khan of the Turks in several centuries. As the wind swept past, Chen Dingye's battle robe billowed, his white hair scattered in disarray, and on closer look, his pupils carried the strange hue that came from being poisoned by the Fei—

But how could the life of the Turkish Khan alone be enough?

The dignified grace of a monarch's death — to use one's own flesh and blood as the price, to drag the Turks' greatest warriors and king here to die with him. If he could, he would have wished to do more, but alas, alas.

Faced with this situation, Chen Dingye chose to stake everything on the table. Though he had no reinforcements and never believed in any sentiment, he believed only in his opponents, believed only in his enemies.

He believed in self-interest.

He believed that even if it were Qin Wang or Jiang Wanxiang, having chosen to take Beicheng, they would not simply curl up inside it.

He had already poured out the last blood of Great Chen, dragging the Great Khan here to die with him. Given Qin Wang's bold spirit, given Jiang Wanxiang's grandeur — faced with such a situation, could there be any other choice?

With their resolve, could they possibly give up that chance?

At worst, they would simply choose to trample together Chen's final flame and the Turks' spine into dust.

"Let us end these eight hundred years of enmity once and for all."

"Since the unification of the Central Plains eight hundred years ago, there have been all manner of disputes. Let us seal these eight hundred years of enmity with Great Chen's blood, and the Turks upon the grasslands—"

"Be annihilated!"

Chen Dingye drew the sword at his waist, lowered his eyes, then thought of that resolute, solemn famous general, and the corner of his mouth curved upward. You were right, Lu Youxian.

Great Chen, ah, Great Chen.

There were the sounds of qin and flute, the teachings of Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism, Mohism — every school flourished, culture at its peak, unmatched beneath the heavens, arms so mighty that all four directions quailed, the common folk lived in peace, and even the street vendors could discourse on poetry.

Great Chen, ah — such a resplendent name, such a magnificent past.

The ending of this name.

Should not be sealed with scheming and underhanded tricks.

How could the death of Great Chen be nothing but petty squabbling?

That would be too graceless, too dull. Great Khan, let your ambition be the burial offering for Great Chen. Even if my Great Chen truly perishes as a nation, we shall drag the Turks down with us!

Chen Dingye swung the sword in his hand.

The Fire Qilin's banners, fierce as tigers, billowed across the battlefield. And after the God of War Jiang Su cut off the rear reinforcements, he did not turn toward Beicheng, but instead chose to march straight in together with the rear Ying army.

Jiang Su's spearhead, like a blade, drove straight toward the Great Khan's tent of the Turks.

In the great battle outside Beicheng, the former second God-General, the Great Khan, sensed something was wrong, and during the fighting decisively broke through and withdrew. Qin Wang's eyes lifted slightly, and he clashed and fought the Great Khan on the battlefield, but did not stake his life to hold him back.

The Great Khan took a direct hit from Li Guanyi, coughing up fresh blood.

He led his army away from this place, wheeling back. The Turkish forces here outnumbered the combined armies of Chen and the Fire Qilin several times over, but the Great Khan's heart now wavered, unsteady, and he forced a breakout. Li Guanyi drew his bow and loosed an arrow; the Great Khan turned and swatted it down.

Originally worried that Li Guanyi would lead a fierce charge and pierce through the rear, the Great Khan drove his army nearly a hundred li in one breath — but Qin Wang's forces did not pursue. This was clearly a good thing, yet an inexplicable unease stirred in the Great Khan's heart.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Just as the Great Khan wanted to wheel back toward the Golden Tent, he discovered that the rear had already been seized by the strongest God-General beneath heaven.

At the same time, from the direction of Xiyicheng, another cavalry corps sortied. Li Zhao Wen personally led a light cavalry force built around the Xuanjia Army, and while the Great Khan was helpless before and behind, drove in like a spear into another part of the grasslands.

Victory after victory. But this time, after defeating the enemy, they did not simply drive off the cattle and sheep — they began to garrison the place, to relocate and take away the Turkish people there.

This should have been utterly impossible. The races of the grasslands, like the grass upon that vast earth, were naturally tenacious and stubborn, holding to their own logic. But just as they drew blade and sword, ready to fight to the death, a familiar voice rang out.

Ashina — the Seven Kings of the grasslands.

In legend, the king who bore the blood of the Eternal Heaven, who once led the Tie Futu, took part in the war that destroyed the Tujue, and seized vast stretches of grassland and territory — a hero of the steppe.

Ashina drew a deep breath, entered these gathering places alone, and went to parley with the local chieftains. At times conflict erupted, at times the clash of blade on sword rang out, and in the end, by the laws of the grasslands, he took from those chieftains the lands and peoples they held.

Relocated into the vast, unfamiliar, sparsely populated Western Regions.

Still the Fire Qilin Army's strategy.

If they were to fight, then they would thoroughly resolve the trouble here.

Li Zhao Wen sat astride his divine steed, watching Ashina go about subduing the various tribes of the grasslands — sometimes with words, sometimes with blade and sword, and sometimes, as now, with the Seven King, now past forty, stripped to the chest, wrestling on the earth with the bravest and strongest man from the settlement across the way.

Ashina flipped his opponent and pinned him to the ground.

The man at last yielded, breathing in great gulps: "Is that Fire Qilin king a man stronger than you?"

Ashina was silent for a long while, then said: "Yes."

Li Zhao Wen's forces, starting from Xiyicheng, ceaselessly reaped the grasslands' substance — taking away population, land, and cattle and sheep, gaining supplies, while the main army slowly pressed forward.

Li Zhao Wen's two vice-generals: one was the former crown prince of the Dangxiang Kingdom, now one of the army's strategists; the other was the Turkish Seven King Ashina, whose expression was exceedingly complex. Mr. Pojun himself served as this army's military advisor.

And Li Guanyi personally led the main army, pushing forward from Beicheng. Across the grasslands, in an instant, winds rose and clouds surged, a hidden aura of killing intent stirring — yet neither side chose to rush forward with light cavalry, nor harbored the notion that killing the Great Khan in a single battle would settle everything.

What a pity, what a pity.

These monarchs of this era, placed in any other age of these three hundred years, would have had no rivals, and every likelihood of building a hegemony with a spirit that could swallow ten thousand li. But the pity of it was — they all appeared in the same era.

And for the Turks of the grasslands, it was as though they had drawn to themselves, all at once, the highest-caliber batch of hegemons and God-Generals from these three hundred years of turmoil. They all realized in an instant — this was the chance to utterly extinguish the external threat to the Central Plains.

This time, it would become a war of nations.

Either consider the big picture and hold back, or simply fight to the bitter end.

The Central Plains was about to enter its decisive battle.

The divine generals of the State of Ying, and the divine generals of the Fire Qilin Army, all realized this point, and therefore, in order to prevent themselves, or their opponents, after victory, from lacking sufficient strength to contend with the outside world and protect the Central Plains, they tacitly chose to resolve external threats before the decisive battle.

Tracing back eight hundred years, and even several thousand years, the slaughter and hatred between the Central Plains' farming, agricultural, and warring peoples, and the nomadic peoples of the grasslands who chased the water and rode across them.

Qin Wang, Li Zhaowen, the armies of Chen, the armies of Ying.

The four sides did not choose to rush in pursuit of the Great Khan, but rather, like blades one after another, carved up the entire grasslands. What Tiance Prefecture wanted was population, grain, and land; Jiang Su, without the slightest hesitation, used cold and efficient means to slay the enemy, gathered the men into the vanguard camp, drove them into battle, and replenished them as the army of the State of Ying.

The Turkic peoples of the grasslands excelled at a tactic akin to a wolf pack.

They would bite down hard on their opponent, not immediately fighting to the death, but maintaining a pace that was neither hurried nor slow, constantly applying tremendous pressure, letting the opponent, in fear and desperate flight, gradually lose stamina and have their morale collapse.

Then deliver the fatal blow.

What the Central Plains used, however, was a state akin to a encircling hunt, not chasing the opponent—because the opponent could not leave—but constantly wearing down the opponent's effective strength, stripping away the directions and space in which the opponent could shift and flee.

Since this was a war between nations, it could not possibly end quickly.

As the days passed, Master Yan Daiqing looked with a dark face at the battle reports piling up before him, the growing population, and the threats lurking beneath; only the gold and silver of the grassland nobles brought some color back to his face.

The blazing summer sunlight, beneath the baleful aura raised by blades and swords, gradually became less dazzling, and gradually less scorching; a coolness crept into the wind. The Great Khan had counterattacked countless times.

But these several forces seemed to have reached a tacit understanding.

If he attacked the allied forces of Chen and Qin, then Xiyicheng would move.

To attack Ying's War God Jiang Su...

No one would choose to bite the toughest bone.

And if he attacked the Xiyicheng army, which was mainly responsible for relocating population and seizing land, he would face the joint punitive campaign of Jiang Su and Qin Wang. The Great Khan tried several times, and each time failed.

The most basic military formation of the strategists: the Single-Line Serpent Formation.

Strike the head, and the tail responds; strike the tail, and the head responds.

Strike the middle, and both head and tail respond.

The Central Plains generals overseeing this battlefield had all already woven such simple, basic formations into their own strategies. Former enemies, at this moment, displayed a startling tacit understanding.

The Great Khan resisted again and again, waged battle after battle, only to find that his own people grew fewer and fewer, the places he could choose grew fewer and fewer, and those who could support him grew fewer and fewer as well.

Like a beast at bay.

The style of warfare the Central Plains generals were most adept at, and most upright and proper.

Attacking the grand momentum.

The essence of the Central Plains military strategists was displayed to the full in this strategic coordination—the so-called "jointly chasing the deer." The Great Khan of the mighty Turkic peoples, in this campaign, seemed to have become the "deer" being chased by the Central Plains divine generals.

Another winter came. The wind was strong, the snow fell bleakly; even Jiangnan was cloaked in a layer of cold, wintry air. The sunlight was thin. New Year was coming again. Though the fighting in the north was fierce, the people of the Central Plains and Jiangnan had no real sense of the battlefield.

Xue Changqing, who had finally gotten his wish to join the Fire Qilin Army, yawned.

He hugged his battle-halberd and thought about the recent changes.

Which was... the price of beef and mutton seemed to have dropped again, as had the price of cattle and sheep hides and furs. Beyond that, life was still the same. The people of the Central Plains and Jiangnan were still immersed in domestic trivialities, talking about things that set one's heart at ease.

But he knew that the battlefield at this moment was still grim and killing. Here in the Central Plains, the bravest of people had strangled the enemy's fangs beyond the distant border, and only thus protected the child by the roadside frowning and unwilling to attend private school, protected the bowl of duck-blood vermicelli soup that cost ten wen, protected this lazy, peaceful, and somewhat tedious daily life.

Still, he expressed dissatisfaction with the degree of tedium in his own daily life.

The young man chewed on a willow branch, brows furrowed, looking at the girl quietly writing over there. Her skin was not so fair, but her eyes were bright and sparkling, her hair simply tied up, and in her features there was a tenacity like the wind and sand of the Western Regions.

"Dammit, I'm willing to start as a rank-and-file soldier, but why—"

"Do I have to stand guard and protect a woman from the Western Regions?"

"Seems her name is... Sa Atandi?"

Xue Changqing was very displeased. As a newly promoted private in the Fire Qilin Army of the Third Heaven, the task assigned to him was to protect the youngest female Shi Guan in Jiangnan. He hugged his battle-halberd, watching the girl prop her chin on one hand, and suddenly mutter to herself: "... It's going to break out."

Huh?? A fight? Where's a fight?!

Xue Changqing, who had been practically raised by Chen Chengbi single-handedly, had his eyes light up in an instant.

"What?"

Sa Atandi glanced at this brash young man from Jiangnan. She was a stubborn sort, and always felt she didn't quite get along with this boy who, at a glance, was clearly spoiled, but she still explained:

"Look, Tiange'er's battle line is pushing forward, moving north overall."

"Ying's War God, meanwhile, has occupied the eastern part of the grasslands, heading north along the Jianghe."

Sa Atandi easily sketched out a rough draft on the falling white snow, then, based on the situation, drew out the approximate troop movements. In her younger years she had followed the Fire Qilin Army in the Western Regions, and later had learned many things.

Strange arts, astrology, divination.

This situation map was very clear and lucid.

The defiance in Xue Changqing's heart dissolved. He looked carefully, and finally saw it: as each side's position advanced, they were constantly cutting and shrinking the Great Khan's room to maneuver, until finally the grassland's overlord, that magnificent Third Divine General, like a wolf pack that was wild yet powerless, was driven into a single position.

"Xiyicheng, Tiange'er, and that Grand Preceptor of Ying."

"Are about to link up."

"To wage the final—"

"Decisive battle—against that Great Khan."

Xue Changqing's eyes went wide. Looking at that strategic map, he seemed to see, above those vast grasslands, the great armies of all sides converging, different armor, different banners surging and billowing between heaven and earth.

Spring of the eighteenth year of Tianqi. Qin Wang was twenty-two years old.

Three days had just passed since the New Year; everywhere still carried the joy of the festivities, and a lazy air mingled with the smell of fireworks. War God Jiang Su, Xiyicheng's City Lord Li Zhaowen, Qin Wang Li Guanyi, Chen Wenmian, Chen Dingye, gathered a great army of five hundred thousand, proclaimed as one million.

They jointly pursued and slew the Great Khan, the final decisive battle taking place outside the Five Great Lotus Pool Volcano.

The *History of Chen* says: "Plow the court and sweep the den."

The *History of Ying* records: "Pursued the fugitives and chased the routed; a hundred thousand corpses lay fallen."

The *Shizhuan · Benji First*: "The Emperor gained a million households of commoners, and never killed a single civilian. Ashina kowtowed and begged for mercy, cutting his palm with a dagger, tears streaming down his face, willing to lay down his life for the Emperor, willing to be buried beside the Emperor's tomb."

The eighteenth year of Tianqi, the Dragon Raises Its Head.

The three armies link up—the battle to annihilate a nation.

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