Chapter 113: Beneath the Walls of Shule (IV)

"Raise shields!" Zhang Zhao roared. Man Xiong and Dunzhu immediately hoisted the large shields they carried.

The round shield was enormous, large enough to cover two men. Once Man Xiong and Dunzhu raised it together, it shielded Zhang Zhao and Wang Tongxin behind them as well.

This was why Zhang Zhao insisted on bringing these two simpletons along. In this era, a man who could wear thirty or forty jin of heavy armor, fight on and off for hours, and still run — that was a born god of slaughter!

What the unlucky Karakhanids across from them did not know was that on Zhang Zhao's side, there were a full six men of this god-of-slaughter caliber.

Besides Dunzhu, Man Xiong, and Wang Tongxin here, Yan Jin and Ma Yaozi also counted. You could tell just from how much they ate — Man Xiong ate more in one meal than nearly twenty female classmates in Zhang Zhao's university class in his past life combined.

Thud-thud sounds came — arrows striking the great shield. Man Xiong turned his head and grinned at Zhang Zhao.

In his eyes, Young Lord Zhang Erlang was absolutely the best official under heaven. Unlike the officials of the Shouchang Army, who always despised him for eating too much and talking back.

Young Lord Zhang Erlang not only let him eat his fill, but when Man Xiong talked back, apart from getting so angry he'd charge up to fight him, Zhang Erlang never used his official rank to crush him. That was why he was willing to give his life for Young Lord Zhang Erlang!

Twenty paces!

Fifteen paces!

Ten paces!

Five paces!

"Young lord! Five paces!" Wang Tongxin had not brought his pair of bronze maces today, because the enemy archers wore almost nothing but leather armor — no need for bronze maces. Two short, sharp zhangdao sabers were enough!

"Go!" As the thudding of the final volley faded, Dunzhu and Man Xiong suddenly tilted the shield. Zhang Zhao instantly drove off his right foot and planted his left foot directly onto the shield.

The two powerful simpletons shoved the shield forward with all their strength, launching Zhang Zhao out like a spring.

As if a heavenly god had descended, Zhang Zhao in his golden armor soared into the air. Mid-flight, he raised his hengdao saber high and brought it crashing straight down into the dense formation of heavy archers.

A group of heavy archers hurriedly swapped their heavy arrows for armor-piercing arrows. Clang! Clang! A few light sounds — pain shot through Zhang Zhao's body. The armor had not been pierced, but the range was too close; the arrowheads had likely already struck the silk lining inside.

"Mother!" A heavy archer who had just hit Zhang Zhao had no time to feel excitement before Zhang Zhao descended right on top of him. He turned to flee, but Zhang Zhao's descending right foot kicked him flying.

Landing, Zhang Zhao immediately rolled to shed the force of the fall, then swung his hengdao saber in a full circle and began hacking. No hesitation, no defense — their curved blades could barely pierce armor anyway, so why the hell defend?

A spray of blood burst from the wound, accompanied by wretched screams. The Karakhanid heavy archers who had surged forward to pin Zhang Zhao down wailed in terror. The leather armor and curved blades in their hands were like paper — shredded to junk in an instant.

"Ah! Kill him!" The heavy archer squad leader's face went pale with fright. This golden-armored man wore dozens of jin of armor, yet could leap more than a man's height into the air — what kind of monster was this?

The heavy archers, who had been retreating in fear, heard their squad leader's roar and hurriedly closed in again, curved blades in hand but cowardice in their eyes.

By the most sensible tactics, they should have rushed in quickly to press Zhang Zhao tight, or simply thrown him to the ground.

But they had all been terrified by Zhang Zhao's godlike leap moments before. None of them wanted to be the first to take the golden-armored god of slaughter's blade.

This psychological wavering lasted only the briefest moment, but it brought the briefest hesitation — and in that briefest hesitation, they had already lost their best chance.

Zhang Zhao planted his horse stance and struck out fiercely with his hengdao saber. The Wuji saber art he had practiced countless times in his past life but never had the chance to use in real combat finally found its moment of unrestrained release.

Cold light flashed; blood poured onto the ground as if it cost nothing. A dozen or two heavy archers surrounded Zhang Zhao, roaring and shrieking, yet none dared step forward.

Zhang Zhao did not wade into the melee either. Whoever dared show themselves, he cut them down. Even taking a single step forward drew Zhang Zhao's merciless slash!

Two more men fell. The circle around Zhang Zhao grew wider and wider. Everyone could see Zhang Zhao's target and tactics now.

But instead of charging in together as if of one mind, leaving Zhang Zhao unsure whom to cut, they all hung back in fear, not daring to advance even a little — some even deliberately retreated a fraction.

What the hell is this? The squad leader was furious. The enemy had a hengdao saber nearly three chi long and full heavy armor, while you lot held short curved blades and wore only leather — and you're giving the enemy distance? Is this killing, or lining up to be killed?

"Close in! Close in! Dozens against one man — what are you afraid of! For the True God!"

"Who says it's dozens of you against one man?" The squad leader's roar had not even faded when a sinister voice sounded.

The squad leader turned to look, and his heart went half cold. The twenty-some heavy archers he had deployed to deal with the other three men had already been completely scattered and slaughtered.

A god of slaughter in heavy armor, built like a giant bear, wielded an enormous battle-axe. His movements were not fast, but every swing killed a man without fail — and tore the corpse to pieces besides, a sight that made one's blood run cold.

Another equally brawny man held two fine-steel short spears, stabbing and battering until the remaining heavy archers were howling like ghosts and wailing like wolves.

And the one who had asked him in that sinister tone was a short, stocky man wearing an eight-panel helmet, a scar running from the corner of his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. He was clearly no good sort.

How could he be a good sort! The other three were already this fierce — anyone who came with them was surely a killer too!

In a flash, the squad leader, his soul fleeing in terror, raised his hand to slash — strike first to gain the upper hand!

But the moment his hand moved, the cold, grim man across from him moved too!

Wang Tongxin's two zhangdao sabers flew up and down — thrust! flick! stab! slash!

The squad leader's chest turned crimson. His throat had been cut; he could not even cry out before he collapsed, his throat full of blood and bubbles.

Then Wang Tongxin slammed into the crowd surrounding Zhang Zhao!

The neat circle, where no one dared stick out even an inch, shattered instantly. Countless men screamed in terror.

They were not shouting to cut Zhang Zhao down, but remembering in fear that whoever advanced even a little would surely be killed.

The battlefield situation fell into complete chaos. Countless heavy archers wailed and fled toward the drawbridge at the moat. The scattered few who still wanted to resist were dispatched by Zhang Zhao in a few strokes. It was no different from a slaughter — everywhere, backs turned to them.

Four men against fifty. In a quarter hour, the fifty had utterly collapsed!

The wailing of the rear-rank heavy archers carried far, reaching the cavalry still gnawing at the spiked tortoise shell of the Hanshan Capital armored infantry.

They were having a rough time too. The enemy had suffered maybe five casualties at most, while they themselves had lost nearly fifty men. Most of them were just going through the motions — arrows flew like rain, but no one advanced. The soft horse-bow shots might as well not have been fired.

"Vice Minister Zhang is so fierce! How can the sons of Khotan fall behind?" A handsome Khotanese officer on a white horse shouted loudly.

Though his originally fair face was now dotted with pockmarks around the corners of his eyes, as if scorched by something, which knocked several points off his looks.

"Let these Buddha-betrayers taste the Buddha's wrath!" The handsome officer swept his hand, and the thirty-some Khotan palace guards who had long been waiting spurred their horses out together.

Men and horses alike armored, lances tucked, they charged straight at the Karakhanid light cavalry still circling the Hanshan Capital armored infantry.

On the walls of Shule, Itihad's face was as dark as water.

"Abdu! Quickly take three hundred archers and bring General Adum back! Seal the four gates — without my order, no one may request to leave the city for field battle! Send the signal to General Kumla outside the city and tell him the Khotan army is right outside the walls."

What was this Khotan infidel king thinking? How could he really have come to besiege the city?

Itihad thought to himself: if fierce men who could rout fifty with five had come, this must surely be Khotan's most elite vanguard.

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