Chapter 128: A Dark Moon, a High Wind, a Night for Killing (Three-in-One Seven-Thousand-Character Chapter, Only This One Update Today

"Send this out of the city and tell the Great Khan: Shule's walls are firm as boulders. His loyal servant Iltihad is confident he can hold until the seventh month. Let the Great Khan wait until his grain is full, his horses are fat, his troops are elite, and his weapons are sharp before he marches south again!"

After sending off the letter addressed to Satuq Bughra Khan, Iltihad smiled coldly.

This time, the Khotan Golden Kingdom's siege engines were almost all destroyed. If they try to pile up the walls with nothing but manpower—heh! The Golden Kingdom has only thirty thousand troops. They don't have that many lives to waste.

Moreover, Iltihad knew that this time, the Golden Kingdom's infidels were in serious trouble!

Because they had given up half their spring plowing. Choosing to march their army north at the very time they should have been planting spring wheat was nothing short of a gamble!

If he could pin them down beneath the walls of Shule and make them miss the autumn harvest as well, then by year's end, the Khotan Golden Kingdom would very likely suffer a massive famine.

Then, next spring, it would be his turn to march south. But that would only be harassment—the goal being to keep the Golden Kingdom's people from organizing their spring plowing.

The decisive battle would come at next year's autumn harvest, when he would again leave them no time to reap what little grain they had.

If these infidels missed two spring plantings and two autumn harvests in a row, collapse would be inevitable.

Perhaps by the third year's spring planting, their land would already be strewn with corpses from starvation. That would be the moment to conquer them.

At this thought, Iltihad rose to his feet, his whole body hot with excitement, and gazed toward the south of Shule.

There lay the ten prefectures held by the Khotan Golden Kingdom—rich oases capable of supporting seven hundred thousand people.

They were the last remnant here of the Taohuashi Tang Empire, once so mighty that even the Persian Empire had to look up to it, and they were the most vicious infidels. Conquering them would be the first step in conquering Taohuashi.

Then it would be the turn of the Gaochang Uyghur Khaganate. Iltihad turned again and looked east. Those people, kinsmen of Satuq Bughra Khan, were likewise stubborn infidels, and they too were targets that must be conquered.

At last, Iltihad felt his very soul begin to tremble.

Taohuashi!

The voice of the True Lord must be spread to all of Taohuashi!

Satuq Bughra Khan must be made Great Khan of Taohuashi!

And he himself would become the Governor of Taohuashi, appointed by the Caliph!

A blaze of golden light burst across the horizon. It was so dazzling that it turned the pitch-black early morning bright as day. Iltihad froze for a moment. What was this? What had happened?

'Boom!' Only after the white flash had passed did the stunned Iltihad finally hear an explosion like a thunderclap from heaven—louder than any sound he had ever heard.

The immense, invisible shockwave sent the papers on his desk flying wildly, and the very earth seemed to shudder.

The Governor's residence in Shule only seemed to tremble—but where Zhang Zhao was, it truly was trembling.

Amid the heaven-shaking blast, loose stones on the rocky slope west of the city clattered down in a cascade, and the once-solid western side of Shule was completely swallowed in billowing dust.

Ma Yaozi, his mouth hanging wide open, spat out a mouthful of dust, shook his head, and two wads of cloth fell out of his ears.

Beside him, the miners of the Gold-Splitting Unit were frantically helping the armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit put on two layers of heavy armor.

Behind the Mountain-Shaking Unit's armored soldiers were the five hundred palace guards led by Liu Zaisheng, every man of them also wearing two layers of heavy armor.

But when Liu Zaisheng, itching for action, tried to steal the credit of being first to charge into Shule, the shrewd Ma Yaozi stuck out his rear and shoved Liu Zaisheng straight to the back.

The first one into Shule—that had to be the young lord!

Behind the Khotan palace guards, the monk Zhitong and several hundred men of the Divine Mechanism Unit were also ready.

But they would not enter the city to fight. Instead, after the Mountain-Shaking Unit and the Khotan palace guards secured the breach, they would work with the Gold-Splitting Unit to continue tearing down the walls at the blasted gap, opening a wider passage for the follow-up forces.

The clatter of collapsing rubble continued as Cao Yanming came sprinting over from a distance.

"Young lord! It collapsed! It collapsed! Hahahaha! There's a breach at least four men wide! We really did blow Shule's wall down! The Divine Fire Thunder—it works!"

"Well done, Fourteenth Brother! Your cousin-uncle will record a first-class merit for you!"

Cao Yanming, his expression wild with excitement, spread his arms as if to come embrace Zhang Zhao in celebration, but Zhang Zhao shoved him to the ground with one push, then swept his hand in a grand gesture.

"Manxiong! Dunzhu! Get up there! Liu Zaisheng, keep a hundred men to hold the breach. The rest of you, follow me straight to the north city. I'm going to catch that bastard Iltihad!

Wu Yuan'er, Li Qilang, you know the roads. Take a hundred men from the Gold-Splitting Unit, find Fan Shun and the others, and figure out how to open the south gate and let the main army in!"

"Aye!" Manxiong was the first to answer. Hefting an enormous iron-plated shield, he charged toward the breach still swirling with dust.

Dunzhu was second in line. Only after these two monsters charged in would the rest follow.

"Quick! Quick! To the west of the city! Seal the breach! All holy warriors must go! If we can't seal the breach, we're dead!"

In the ghastly pale night, Iltihad, dressed in coarse hemp robes and clutching a Persian scimitar, ran wildly, shouting as he went.

Iltihad Nasr, who moments ago had dreamed of becoming Governor of Taohuashi, had completely panicked. His ability to hold Shule depended entirely on the city's strong walls. If the walls had been blasted open, they were finished!

In open battle, he could not even defeat that ferocious several-hundred-man Golden Kingdom army—how the hell was he supposed to beat tens of thousands of Golden Kingdom troops?

Hearing the Governor's shouts, the holy warriors and soldiers not on wall duty, startled awake by the tremendous noise, hurriedly threw on their armor, grabbed their weapons, and streamed with the crowd toward the west of the city.

From far away, Zhang Zhao saw the long dragon of torches coming from the north city. No Karakhanid soldiers had appeared at the breach. Zhang Zhao reckoned the several hundred defenders on the west wall had either been shaken to death or stunned senseless. So as long as they defeated this force coming from the north city, Shule would be theirs.

"All Divine Arm crossbowmen! Archers switch to foot lances! Triple-armored men to the front! Officers at the very front! Three volleys at the enemy, then charge in and cut the bastards down!"

At Zhang Zhao's roar, the archers who had been holding bows all picked up foot lances, while large numbers of Divine Arm crossbowmen surged to the very front.

This was a narrow street, lined on both sides with low earthen houses. The residents had long since fled without a trace. But behind them, the Khotan palace guards, under Liu Zaisheng's command, searched for hidden survivors in groups of ten, clearing out any hidden dangers nearby.

"First volley!" In the darkness, with no way to use signal flags, they could only rely on shouting. As the enemy drew closer, the first row of Divine Arm crossbowmen rose and shouted.

'Buzz!' Driven by the Divine Arm crossbow's terrifying two-dan-one-dou draw force, the bolts shot out like a swarm of locusts.

That single volley was thirty bolts. Three or four of the oncoming torches toppled at once, and even more of the holy warriors fell.

Muffled groans rose one after another. On this narrow street, even if you had ten thousand men, only a few dozen could stand at the front.

"Buzz!" Another volley of bolts flew out, and the screams grew louder still!

General Abdu had personally rushed to the front this time. This was a direct order from the Governor himself.

He knew his vanguard must have suffered terribly, because those running at the front were surely the unarmored ones. Armored men could never run that fast. As for his armored soldiers, they were still behind, frantically putting on their iron armor!

Three successive volleys of arrows cut down a great number of men. The unarmored holy warriors lay strewn across the ground. They were even weaker than Zhang Zhao had imagined—they lacked the courage to simply charge straight through the crossbow fire.

A babble of voices rose. The holy warriors, jammed together, frantically tore door panels and other furniture from the houses on both sides to hold in front of themselves. Then, carrying these heavy objects, they advanced slowly and cautiously.

Seeing this, Zhang Zhao decisively hurled the torch in his hand at the slowly advancing holy warriors, then took the long-tipped bow from his back. This was a signal—throwing a torch meant to switch to heavy arrows in an arcing volley from stiff bows.

Clatter! The men of the Mountain-Shaking Unit, long since in perfect sync with Zhang Zhao, put away their Divine Arm crossbows, took up their long-tipped bows from the other side, and drew heavy arrows from their quivers.

The arrowhead of this kind of arrow was an iron lump with a sharpened edge — perhaps it would be more accurate to call it an iron block. It did not shoot far, but if one struck you, it was quite lethal.

Unlike the Divine Arm crossbow, which required a wheel to draw, the bows could simply be fired in massed volleys.

Over a hundred heavy arrows fell like an iron rain from the sky, mercilessly arcing toward the holy warriors opposite. The door panels they had set up in front of them instantly lost their usefulness.

One holy warrior had just lost his left ear. Before he could even scream, a blow struck him directly on the head. The rapidly falling heavy arrow smashed his head into a bloody mess. He swayed twice, then toppled straight to the ground.

Heavy arrows fired at such close range — never mind men without armor, even armored men could not withstand them.

Their force was greater than being struck by a goose-egg-sized stone thrown from the seventh or eighth floor of a building. As long as one hit, the least you would get was a concussion. If it pierced the chest or abdomen, it could split the belly open.

After two volleys had been loosed, the armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit, under Zhang Zhao's loud command, began to slowly withdraw.

This was the mark of the elite of the elite. An army of this era retreating in the dark — ha! By the time you regrouped, half your men would probably have run off. But the Mountain-Shaking Unit would not.

Two more volleys were loosed. After four volleys of heavy arrows, the holy warriors' momentum had been almost completely suppressed.

If one counted those killed by the three earlier volleys from the Divine Arm crossbows, they had lost at least over a hundred men.

The thick stench of blood and shrill screams rose one after another, and the enemy had not even seen their opponents yet. Most crucial of all was the great battle a dozen or so days ago, which had truly beaten them badly enough.

Over three thousand holy warriors had charged against a hundred-odd armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit and had failed to break through. After those fellows returned to the city, in order to cover up their own incompetence, they had all, without prior agreement, embellished and exaggerated the tale of the armored troops they had encountered.

Wuwu! It was not that our army did not try — it was that the enemy had Gundams!

These holy warriors, who had come from the Black Banner Great Eaters and even the Fatimid dynasty, were already somewhat mystical-minded. With all this wild talk spreading, every holy warrior's heart had become dazed and uneasy. Quite a few of them thought they were fighting the legendary devils.

So in fact, when they had just been shot at by the Divine Arm crossbows, many of them had already been stretched to the breaking point psychologically, because they recognized those short arrows as the distinctive arrows of that army from that day.

In their hesitation, two more volleys of heavy arrows were loosed.

Now that six volleys of heavy arrows had been fired, the terror-stricken holy warriors did not dare advance for the moment, and Zhang Zhao flexibly adjusted his battle strategy.

He let the armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit rest briefly as well. The archers needed to recover their strength, and the bowstrings very likely needed replacing too.

More importantly, drawing a bow was far more exhausting than hacking at men. They were few in number now, so it was better to rely on their three layers of armor and charge in to hack, rather than shoot from a distance.

Ma Yaozi shook out his arms, which were beginning to go sore, and tossed his bow and quiver onto the roadside.

He took a water flask from his waist and drank a mouthful, then pulled a honey-glazed rice ball from a cloth bag and swallowed it in one gulp to restore his strength. After that, he took his throwing weapons — a palm-sized bronze hammer, iron throwing axes, and the like — into his hands.

Most of the Mountain-Shaking Unit's armored soldiers made much the same choice as Ma Yaozi. Hand-to-hand combat was imminent, and carrying bows and arrows would only be a burden. Only a small number of sharpshooters still kept their bows.

"Wedge formation! Break them in one surge! All officers to the front!"

Taking advantage of this rare minute-long lull, Zhang Zhao shouted out. The officers to his left and right came to his side with perfect understanding.

It was the same old fighting arrangement: Manxiong, holding his great axe, stood on Zhang Zhao's left; Dunzhu, with his two fine-steel short spears, stood on Zhang Zhao's right; Zhang Zhao himself, gripping his tool-steel hengdao saber, stood in the middle.

Behind the three of them stood Yan Jin, Bai Congxin, Qiongre Duojin, Wang Tongxin, Fan Quan, and Ma Yaozi, shoulder to shoulder. Yin Yaozi, whose skill was slightly inferior, brought up the rear to steady the formation.

This could be said to be Zhang Zhao's most lavish configuration. Experts in three layers of heavy armor were at the front, responsible for breaking through the enemy formation; the armored soldiers behind were responsible for slaughtering the enemy troops thrown into disarray.

"Allah! Anhuba!"

"Kill all the kafirs!"

"Kashgar belongs to the True Lord! The Land of Taohuashi shall also belong to the True Lord!"

"Bughra Khan shall become the Great Khan of all the Land of Taohuashi!"

Fanatical shouts came from the holy warriors' camp. Large numbers of askar armored soldiers wearing Persian-style mail and Persian four-panel helmets came forward to replace the unarmored holy warriors.

They clustered around a man likewise clad in golden armor, cheering fanatically. The morale that had just plunged to rock bottom recovered in the fervent atmosphere.

Zhang Zhao took a small sip of water, then looked back at the armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit behind him.

"My sons! Do you hear that? A down-and-out wretch like Satuq dares to dream of becoming our Great Khan!

His ancestor Pang Tegin was a rat who fled with his tail between his legs, a coward who did not know whether to live or die. What kind of swine or dog is this Satuq, to dare such shameless boasting!"

"Ptui!" Yan Jin spat fiercely toward the shouting holy warriors opposite.

"Brothers! Sworn kin! Let us follow the young lord and smash them in one surge! To hell with them — what swine or dog thinks he can be our Great Khan?

The Xiongnu's Modu Chanyu could not do it!

The Turk's Jieli Khagan could not do it either!

Can this dog-fucked swine of a Satuq do it?"

"Right! Smash them! Fuck their mothers! If we don't slaughter them all, and word reaches the elders of the Central Plains, they'll think we men of Hexi have no balls!"

Even Fan Quan, usually so steady, roared out curses. The Ithihad on the other side had roused the morale of the holy warriors and askars, but they had also thoroughly enraged the Mountain-Shaking Unit's armored soldiers on Zhang Zhao's side!

Damn it all! The Great Tang was gone. The Uyghurs flaunted their achievements and strutted about. The Tibetans were too powerful to resist. That was already infuriating enough.

And now the descendants of that down-and-out Pang Tegin — the Karluks, who had once served as dogs for the Great Tang — actually wanted to climb onto their heads too. Who could endure that?

"Smash them! Smash them!" The group roared, cursing loudly with that extremely crude yet catchy phrase they had learned from Zhang Zhao.

"Good! Everyone follow me. Charge where I charge. At fifteen paces, throw a wave of bronze hammers and iron axes first. Ignore the flanks. Follow me with your heads down. Charge together to the man in golden armor and kill him outright.

Once he is dead, the enemy will surely collapse! If we win this battle, foreign dancing girls, gold, silver, silks and satins — however much you want, I will give you however much!"

Seeing that morale was at its peak, Zhang Zhao began loudly assigning tasks!

"Aye!" Several hundred men — even the Khotan palace guards behind Zhang Zhao — roared in unison.

"I hear Satuq's queen is a famous Persian beauty. This time, let us capture an unopened one for the Great Son of Heaven!"

As Zhang Zhao spoke, he burst out laughing again, and even winked mischievously.

Last time, Sanpoba's queen had been given by him to Yan Jin. The Great Son of Heaven had not gotten his share. Word was that his visits to the Samora Temple had become much more frequent than before. Mm — those who know, know!

"Hahahaha!" Hearty laughter rang out, instantly diluting the tense atmosphere of the impending bloody slaughter!

"Put out the torches! Move!"

At that moment, Zhang Zhao swept his hand down. The Khotan palace guards behind were still carrying torches and moving slowly, while the armored soldiers of the Mountain-Shaking Unit all extinguished their torches.

Relying on the dim moonlight, the hundred-odd men began creeping directly toward the Karakhanid army opposite, which was still cheering and praying fervently.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Over a hundred men, even trying to keep their footsteps low, still made no small amount of noise.

The Karakhanid troops in the middle were still chanting prayers in unison, but the armored soldiers on guard at the front noticed something slightly amiss.

A junior officer's expression was grave, but when he looked up, the distant torches were still moving slowly. Could it be that the sound was carrying over from far away?

Suddenly, a sliver of moonlight slipped through a gap in the shrouding clouds, and the young officer abruptly realized that just a dozen or so paces ahead of him, a force in black iron armor had already crept up.

Zhang Zhao flung off the black cloak covering him and drew a fist-sized bronze hammer from his waist.

"Throw!" he roared, then sprinted forward two steps and hurled the bronze hammer.

The moment Zhang Zhao moved, the armored soldiers of Hanshan Du all flung their throwing weapons. Dunzhu especially — within a few breaths he had hurled four javelins!

The young officer had just opened his mouth to shout, but before the sound could come out, Zhang Zhao's bronze hammer smashed into his mouth. It was a solid bronze-copper alloy hammer weighing over three jin, with a spiked point and a long handle suited for throwing.

Empowered by Zhang Zhao's immense strength, the bronze hammer unleashed terrifying destructive force. It smashed through the young officer's nose bridge, then his mouth, and finally sent every one of his rotten teeth, along with his open-mouthed motion, crashing deep into his throat.

Thud! An Askar armored soldier raised his shield to defend, but Dunzhu's fine-steel javelin pierced straight through his rawhide shield and pinned the chainmail-clad soldier to the ground.

Hundreds of throwing weapons landed at once, and the Askar soldiers at the very front suffered devastating casualties.

Immediately after, the monstrous trio of Zhang Zhao, Man Xiong, and Dunzhu slammed into them.

With one massive collision from Dunzhu, two Askar soldiers went flying. His fine-steel short lance whirled chaotically, stabbing the other three Askar soldiers until they screamed in agony.

"Kill you! Kill you!" Man Xiong chose not to ram but to hack with his giant axe, like playing whack-a-mole. One by one, the Askar soldiers holding shields were chopped into bloody, mangled pulp.

Zhang Zhao was far more agile. Those two had smashed through the edges, where there was room to dodge the thrusting spears, but Zhang Zhao had no such luxury.

Facing him, four spears jutted out from the gaps between four shields. If he charged straight in, even the future-era steel armor on his body probably couldn't withstand it.

With that thought, Zhang Zhao suddenly hurled the hengdao saber in his hand as a throwing weapon too.

Behind the shields, a standing Askar let out a scream — miraculously struck in the shoulder by Zhang Zhao's blade. He staggered and swayed through the ranks, the long hengdao saber still stuck in him, shrieking in pain.

At the same moment he threw the hengdao saber, Zhang Zhao drew the zhangdao from his waist. Before the enemy spears could thrust, he rolled under the shields.

The Askars across from him never imagined Zhang Zhao, wearing dozens of jin of armor, could still pull off a combat roll. Caught completely off guard, they truly let him roll right in.

Once inside, Zhang Zhao's first move was not to kill, but to scramble to his feet. This was a boar's rush charge — if he didn't get up fast, he'd likely be trampled to death by his own men charging from behind.

Squelch! Squelch! Zhang Zhao got up, gripping two zhangdao in reverse hold. He had just stabbed dead an Askar who was holding a spear and had no time to switch to a close-combat weapon, when the armored soldiers of Hanshan Du arrived behind him.

Countless men surged together in frenzied howls, the crushing momentum shoving Zhang Zhao relentlessly forward.

His two legs felt as if they no longer belonged to him. The sprinting legs and the ceaselessly stabbing hands seemed never to have belonged to the same person — hands and feet each doing their own thing — and Zhang Zhao plunged straight into the vast sea of enemies.

After stabbing down another man, Zhang Zhao suddenly spotted a figure trying to flee appearing before his eyes.

What luck! Wasn't this the poor bastard he'd hit with his hengdao saber? The wretch hadn't even had time to pull the saber out of his shoulder.

Even better! Zhang Zhao kicked the man down with one foot, then smoothly pulled out his hengdao saber. The poor bastard tried to get up, only to be trampled by countless iron-studded rawhide boots. After a few steps, he went still.

Itihad stared at Zhang Zhao in terror. This golden-armored man was the one who had defeated him time and again beneath the walls of Shule.

And now it was them again — somehow, out of nowhere, they had shattered the hundred-plus armored soldiers he had carefully selected and placed at the front.

"Warriors of the True God! The moment of battle has come!" Itihad roared, and with a sweep of his gem-studded scimitar, the holy warriors whose morale had just been roused surged toward Zhang Zhao like a tide.

Though almost all of them had only leather armor and some tattered chainmail, they still howled and charged at Zhang Zhao and his men.

"Courting death!" Zhang Zhao bellowed. His left foot lunged forward, and the hengdao saber slashed down diagonally like lightning.

A mist of blood shot skyward as the dark head of the fastest-charging holy warrior flew into the air.

His right foot stepped forward, his body half-turned, and an even faster blade struck. The edge sliced down along the opposing holy warrior's spear.

With a strange tearing sound, the hengdao saber scraped along the holy warrior's spear shaft, and in an instant four fingers dropped to the ground. Zhang Zhao followed through with a body slam, sending the screaming holy warrior flying, only to be trampled by countless feet.

The pale moon that had been visible moments before hid itself back in the dark clouds, frightened by the bloody slaughter. The armored soldiers of Hanshan Du pressed tightly around Zhang Zhao, charging toward the golden-armored Itihad.

South of Shule, a massive explosion jolted all the surrounding residents awake. But instead of going to see what had happened in the west of the city, they all, as if by prior agreement, ran toward one place.

Li Qilang's food stall.

Outside the food stall, a large crowd had already gathered. A gaunt man, like an ascetic, stood on a stone bench outside the stall.

He was one of the Twelve Apostles of Manichaeism, one of the twelve highest clergy of the Manichaean faith.

"Solely honored in the Three Realms, the compassionate father and mother of all beings, the great guiding teacher of the Three Realms, the great healing lord of all living spirits, the heaven above encompassing all things, the earth below bearing true fruit, the giver of eternal life amid death, the luminous nature within all beings, the bright gate of liberation from all the prisons of the Three Realms.

O Merciful Father, Great Mingzun! He has sent down his light! He will grant gnosis to all! He has dispatched the luminous one Yeshu to deliver us from this sea of suffering!

Pure believers! Arhuan! Moxi Xide! Take up your weapons — today is the day we embrace the light once more!"

Frenzied shouts shook the heavens. The Manichaean base was made up of Uyghurs and Karluks, and the rise of Saktu had dealt them a heavy blow.

But Manichaeism's century-deep roots in Shule were not so easily uprooted. Here, Manichaeans were the majority.

"Go take your revenge! Go root out the apostates! This is the right your Lord has granted you!"

The Manichaean apostle was inciting the faithful, and the Nestorian bishop was no exception — though they were more direct, immediately launching into a blood feud.

"Namo Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva! Even the Buddha has wrath! First take men to open the south gate and let the great army into the city, then... an eye for an eye!"

That Master Rozi, whom Fan Shun had always thought of as a smiling, benevolent eminent monk, now wore an expression of utter ruthlessness.

Beside him, Huitong had long since drawn his two monk's blades, and the scars on his great shaven head looked especially terrifying.

"Good! This humble monk has long wanted to avenge the hundreds of brothers of our Great Cloud Temple!"

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