Chapter 130: One Man Holds the Pass

Itihad was fleeing for his life. With a sharp clang, he finally tore the eight-lobed helmet from his head just as he was about to run himself breathless.

This fine steel helmet, which Itihad normally treasured, was tossed away like a gob of spit.

Clatter! His skirt armor, arm guards, and the rest were flung to the ground one after another — though Itihad did not strip them off himself; his personal guards helped him shed them.

Once the armor was off, Itihad finally looked far less conspicuous, and his whole body felt much lighter, so his mind grew a little sharper too.

He knew he was in serious trouble this time. The fall of Shule was already a foregone conclusion, yet it was not as though he had no chance at all.

Half-squinting, Itihad ran madly along, supported by his personal guards, and began scheming in his head. Fires had just broken out in the east and north of the city; the infidels in the west of the city must have been stirred up by someone.

They had also opened the east gate by the moat. Fortunately, they could only open the east gate, and the passage there was narrow. The Khotan army was due north, so for the moment not that many men could get in.

So Itihad still had a chance. As long as he could run back to the governor's mansion, he could get from the secret passage behind it to the edge of the royal city. The royal city of Shule was originally the residence of the Shule Garrison Commander of the Taohuashi people.

Though it was called a residence, it was in fact a fortified city within a city. After Satuq Bughra Khan made Shule his de facto capital, he had reinforced it further, and enough grain was stored inside. Perhaps they could hold out.

Screams rang out without cease. The crowd behind him seethed like boiling water. Itihad saw countless Askars and holy warriors, stripped down to nothing but their underclothes, fleeing madly, far faster than he, the governor, could run.

Suddenly a tremendous force struck him. Itihad, panting as he ran, was shoved into a street corner by a burly holy warrior — it turned out the man thought he was too slow and was blocking the middle of the road.

On an ordinary day, if anyone dared offend him, the Governor of Shule and Great Ilig, like this, Itihad would not have minded letting him rot slowly in prison.

But at this moment he wisely made no extra move, not even a rebuke. He simply scrambled up and hurried on.

Still, he could not understand. The gold-armored man opposite had clearly brought only a few dozen men, while his own side had over a thousand. How had a thousand men scattered in a single rush by a few dozen?

Clip-clop! The crisp sound of hoofbeats came. Who would dare ride a horse while fleeing? Could it be that some brave man had a sudden change of heart and come to draw fire and cover for his governor?

But the moment he looked up, Itihad knew he had been flattering himself. On horseback was a Khotan army officer wearing a phoenix-wing helmet — the very gold-armored man Itihad could not forget.

The gold-armored man galloped past them, then dismounted directly at the end of the street. He carried no weapon in his hands, yet merely standing there he exuded such authority that the hundred or more routed fugitives in the lane all hesitated and dared not pass.

"Where is Itihad? I want only his life. Tell me which one is Itihad, and the rest of you may go!"

As Zhang Zhao spoke, he took from the horse's back a finely crafted eight-lobed helmet and a piece of skirt armor, then hurled them to the ground with a boom.

"I am the Fengtian Commandery Duke of the Jin Kingdom. The wall west of the city is the one I toppled. I keep my word. Of everyone here, I will kill only Itihad. The rest may live — but do not think you can deceive me!"

Zhang Zhao was covered in blood, even his face. Just now he had used only a few dozen men to shatter the holy warriors' last shred of morale, but Itihad had vanished in that moment. Fortunately, he had followed the trail of Itihad's gold armor on the ground all the way here.

But the people here had almost all stripped off their armor, every man left in a few thin garments, so he truly could not tell which one was Itihad.

"It seems none of you are willing to speak. I quite admire your spirit of sacrifice — willing to throw away your own lives for a so-called noble who usually lords it over you and orders you about!

Come on, then. Whether you live will depend on whether you have the skill to escape from under my sword!"

Zhang Zhao slowly drew the hengdao saber from the horse's back, and also put his vajra face mask back on. Though there were over a hundred people opposite him, Zhang Zhao felt not the slightest fear. They would not dare come at him!

The crowd seemed to have been struck by a body-freezing spell. Sure enough, not one person dared step forward.

A joke! Never mind that their courage was already shattered and all they wanted was to flee — even on an ordinary day, the gold-armored man opposite was not someone they dared provoke.

In the silent standoff, the distant shouts of battle drew nearer and nearer. It seemed part of the Khotan army had also charged in through the west gate.

At last, the routed men who dared not attack Zhang Zhao gradually gathered together. They were not about to resist; instead, they left Itihad and his three guards standing exposed.

"Kill him!" Itihad roared. Even if the people around him did not betray him, he could not afford to wait any longer.

Because the Khotan army was almost upon them. He had to hurry back to the governor's mansion, or he would never get into the royal city, and without getting into the royal city, there would be no way to organize a defense.

As he roared, Itihad hastily snatched up a broken blade someone had dropped, and the three guards also drew the short knives at their waists. The four of them howled and charged at Zhang Zhao.

Zhang Zhao drew a long breath. Though he had been fighting in the melee for more than two hours, he felt not the slightest fatigue. The only thing he wanted was to hack the Itihad before him into mincemeat!

His first blade struck out at a guard holding a short-handled axe. The blood-soaked hengdao saber, carrying a dark-red gleam, slashed down from above.

The axe-wielding guard let out a shriek. A huge gash ran from his right shoulder down to his chest and belly, and a length of greenish intestines slid out at once.

The second blade was a straight thrust. Zhang Zhao did not pause for an instant, his speed pushed to the limit. Squelch! The guard with the short knife was run clean through.

Zhang Zhao unhurriedly withdrew the hengdao saber, because the third guard had not dared come forward at all. He stood holding a short knife in his thin underclothes, shivering in the cold wind.

Around Zhang Zhao, over a hundred people scrambled past him on hands and feet, fleeing in panic. Yet even with so many passing by Zhang Zhao, not one dared strike at him. No one even came near him. Everyone was running for their lives.

"Scram!"

Zhang Zhao tilted his head. The third guard felt as if he had been granted a great pardon. With a clatter he dropped his short knife and fled like the wind, without so much as a glance at Itihad.

Itihad gasped for breath. He wanted to say a few tough words, to die like a man of stature, but it was as though something had been stuffed into his mouth. He opened his mouth twice, yet no sound came out.

"Put the blade down. You cannot beat me. Put it down, and I will not kill you!"

Zhang Zhao's voice carried a trace of laziness, as if he were standing in a warm, tranquil afternoon sunlight, holding a bag of bread and coaxing two runaways home.

Itihad's breathing grew louder. Despair showed in his pale-green eyes, because he saw not a shred of mercy in Zhang Zhao — only mockery, just as he himself had once dealt with other infidels who refused to convert.

"Death to you, kafir!" At last, the Great Ilig of the Karakhanid Khanate and Governor of Shule summoned the courage to act in a manner befitting his station.

Zhang Zhao grinned. He thrust the hengdao saber into the earth, picked up the short-handled hammer from the ground, and then kicked Itihad flat onto his back.

Then he grabbed the thigh of this governor who wanted to die with such stubborn dignity, and smashed his knee to pieces with one blow of the hammer.

"You want to be a hero? It's not that easy!" Zhang Zhao said, watching Itihad roll on the ground, screaming.

"I imagine the believers in Shule whom you persecuted would be very glad to see a governor who is still alive!"

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