Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty: Wind

Chop! Stab! Hack! Lift!

Zhang Zhao slammed into the crowd and began a frenzied slaughter. A group of Uyghurs surrounded him, blades and spears striking out together, but apart from a few blows that stung him badly, they barely did him any real harm.

The harm they took from Zhang Zhao, however, was enormous! Every swing of the tool-steel hengdao saber carved away a great swath of flesh and blood. The blood quickly soaked the sandy ground by the river, and the screams carried far through the quiet night.

Several Uyghur archers hurried over from the distance.

'Thunk! Thunk!' A few arrows flew in at once!

A pity for them — these archers were using short-eared quick-shooting bows. They had speed to spare, but neither penetration nor accuracy, and they could do little damage to Zhang Zhao in his full heavy armor. Even his face was covered by a vajra mask; he was utterly without weakness!

Once he was certain the enemy arrows posed no threat, Zhang Chao grinned, and without hesitation charged straight in like a boar, crashing into the midst of the Uyghur archers.

The hengdao saber in his hand sliced through with the force of his charge, and their ragged leather robes split open like paper shells. Gaily colored, blood-smeared things gushed out through the gashes in their dark-yellow bellies.

He turned and thrust again, the keen blade-tip stabbing into the belly of one who had rushed over in haste. Instantly it was like bursting a balloon full of water — the belly rapidly collapsed in on itself.

The rank, stinking blood sprayed all over Zhang Zhao's chest and face, but it only made him look all the more terrifying. He let out a long howl, his whole body as if filled with inexhaustible strength.

Though he killed one after another, Zhang Zhao felt no discomfort. On the contrary, he felt as though all restraints had been cast off.

Before his transmigration, he had practiced full-armor combat, but full-armor combat was after all only a competition, not a true contest of life and death. Blades could only be slightly edged, and there were strict rules on the sharpness of the points and even the weight of blunt weapons like iron hammers.

This was exactly why so many who practiced full-armor combat always felt something was missing. Wearing armor of the highest defensive power produced by the industrial technology of a later age, then fighting with hands practically bound, they enjoyed an intensity that was like scratching an itch through a boot.

But now it was different! Zhang Chao finally had the chance to wear his precious armor and fight without limits.

The killing desire he had accumulated for so long was unleashed to the fullest. No more rules to bind a man, no more restrictions on what he could or couldn't use, and no need to consider the consequences!

Moreover, having only just transmigrated, Zhang Chao's heart had not yet developed the vigilance of one who might lose his life at any moment.

After all, in the Republic of later ages, the probability of being stabbed to death with a cold weapon was still very, very small. He didn't even treat this as a slightly dangerous full-armor bout; he felt as though he were playing For Honor or Ghost of Tsushima.

If one converted full-armor competitions and training matches with other team members into combat experience in the age of cold weapons, Zhang Chao was already a veteran of the battlefield who had killed over a hundred men.

This headlong ferocity, born of not realizing his life was in danger, combined with Zhang Chao's own rich experience, appeared to others as the fearless valor of one whose skill emboldens him!

Parry! Block! Hack! Chop! Zhang Chao fought alone against a dozen or more Uyghurs, and the more he fought, the better he felt. He even let out a great shout with every swing of his blade!

Blade-light flashed, his spirit swallowing the four directions — like Li Siye shattering both horse and rider, or like Wang Yanzhang striking down thirty-six Tang generals in succession.

"Trip him! Trip him!" Of the thirty-odd Uyghurs guarding the entrance, seven or eight went down in an instant, and the rest were stricken with fear.

But they were, after all, veteran horse-bandits under Geduo. Though they faced such a formidable opponent, they did not scatter in a panic. Instead, they thought of a perfect way to deal with a heavily armored warrior — trip him!

This was also the best choice in every dynasty for dealing with local heavy-armored troops. It worked whether the enemy was heavy cavalry or heavy infantry.

Because ordinary heavy-armored soldiers wore two or three layers of armor, or iron armor like Zhang Zhao's, which basically weighed over forty jin. Wearing a full suit of heavy armor and falling over, it was hard enough to get up without interference, let alone with someone interfering.

Amid the shouting, several Uyghurs took ropes from a distant tent and began tying knots. They wanted to lasso Zhang Zhao the way one ropes a horse.

But just then — crack! — a crimson banner standing in the Uyghurs' tent toppled over. It was Geduo's great banner.

"Kill the barbarians!" Yin Yaozi came running from the distance carrying a podao. It was he who had just chopped down the flagpole.

"Kill the barbarians!" Old Zhang Zhong, most worried of all about Zhang Zhao, came running over with a limp.

In the distance, Qi Xiahu stood on high ground, a torch in his hand, waving it furiously, his mouth also shouting "Kill the barbarians!"

Farther still, scattered points of torchlight surged out from the Han people's huts across the creek. Cries of "Kill the barbarians! Kill the barbarians!" resounded along both banks of the stream.

The able-bodied men under Qi Xiahu had finally been roused. The reason they could come so quickly was that today, to celebrate Geduo the Dagan taking Zhang Zhao's place as the bridegroom, the bandits of any standing under him had all been invited to the central tent to eat meat and drink wine.

And what sort of men were those who, under such circumstances, still could not enter the central tent? That was perfectly clear!

Those guarding outside were almost all peripheral members, men Geduo merely counted as filler.

After their leader Sazi was slain by Qi Xiahu and his two companions, the outer Uyghurs put up barely any resistance before scattering in all directions.

One Uyghur who had finished tying a rope knot came blundering over. Zhang Zhao hooked up a short spear with his toe and hurled it.

Good luck! The short spear struck the Uyghur squarely. The Uyghur stared at the spear shaft in his chest, staggered twice, then toppled straight to the ground.

"Whoever dares come again — this man is your fate!" Zhang Zhao roared.

Yin Yaozi, podao in hand, came to Zhang Zhao's left. Zhang Zhong, holding a short spear in each hand, stood at Zhang Zhao's right. The ground was covered in blood and severed limbs, accompanied by wave after wave of agonized groans, while in the distance the cries of "Kill the barbarians!" grew louder and louder.

The Uyghurs at the tent entrance lost their nerve. Though their numbers kept growing, even their glances toward Zhang Zhao were furtive and evasive. These fellows clustered together, neither scattering nor daring to attack.

"Tang bandit! You've got some nerve! The Dagan will surely flay you and tear out your sinews!"

Just as the two sides stood at an impasse, the door curtain of Geduo's great tent was lifted aside. Four Uyghur warriors in Tibetan lamellar armor, weapons in hand, appeared before everyone's eyes. So these fellows had gone back to put on armor.

Qiongre Duojin slowly raised the long spear in his hand. As Geduo's personal guard, Qiongre Duojin held high status among Geduo's bandits, so his appearance at once steadied the Uyghur warriors who were on the verge of collapse, and one after another they raised their blades toward Zhang Zhao and his companions again.

"Ignore the others — just kill that gold-armored Tang man!" Qiongre Duojin's words were not meant for the Uyghur warriors whom Zhang Zhao had terrified, but for the three armored warriors before him. As long as Zhang Zhao was killed, this battle would hold no more suspense.

"Stay where you are! Watch me slay these four wild dogs!" Zhang Zhao stopped Yin Yaozi, who wanted to step forward, because Yin Yaozi wore no armor — going up would be throwing his life away! It might even provoke the Uyghurs into a mass attack.

"I've come for Geduo! He wants to steal my woman, so he must answer to the blade in my hand! Geduo! If you've got the guts, come out and face me one on one!"

Zhang Zhao roared, reframing this surprise attack on the Uyghurs as a personal grudge between him and Geduo. The Uyghurs, who had been somewhat eager to act, hesitated again upon hearing Zhang Zhao's words.

"What a bold dog! Get past me first!" Qiongre Duojin took a deep breath, not caring whether the other Uyghurs would join in. In any case, it was now four armored men against one armored man on the other side.

The advantage is mine!

'Whoosh! Whoosh!' Zhang Chao habitually twirled his spear and also drew a sharp breath. His lower abdomen visibly tightened and drew inward, his whole body like a balloon straining to contract, and then he suddenly let out a wild shout — his tongue burst like spring thunder, and his spear shot forth like a dragon!

Time itself seemed to slow for a second. The pale-yellow spear shaft seemed to come alive, vibrating violently, the spearhead flickering like a coiled silver dragon.

Zhang Chao's target was the Uyghur who also held a long spear, because he stood at the very front of the four Uyghurs and was the only one without a helmet or neck guard.

The long-spear Uyghur's pupils abruptly contracted. Unless one stood in his place, it was hard to understand his terror.

That utterly ordinary-looking spearhead locked onto him like a venomous snake. Whether to press down and parry, or trade blow for blow — he had not even decided, his hand had only just begun to rise, when Zhang Chao's cavalry lance arrived.

"Gurgle!" The Uyghur spearman let out an extremely muffled sound. His whole body tensed, then both hands flew to his throat. A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips, and he dropped straight to his knees.

That thrust of the spear shaft had, with uncanny precision, struck him right in the Adam's apple, crushing his windpipe outright.

An armored warrior felled in a single exchange — had he not been on a battlefield, old Zhang Zhong could not have stopped himself from cheering. It truly was the Grand Guardian manifesting his divine power; otherwise how could the young lord possess such valor now?

But the next second, he was somewhat dumbfounded!

For after landing the blow, Zhang Zhao drew back his spear, whirled around, and looked for all the world as if he were about to flee!

Uh, what's this? You think you can outrun anyone in heavy armor?

While everyone else was still staring in shock, the swordsman beside Qiongre Duojin, who had been somewhat frightened a moment ago, suddenly found his courage. Gripping his sword with both hands, he hurried after Zhang Zhao.

"Parting Horse Spear!" Zhang Chao shouted again. In mid-flight he suddenly dropped his body a good twenty centimeters lower, then bent backward at incredible speed. The cavalry lance in his hands, held in a most peculiar posture, thrust back over his head toward his pursuer.

In the art of the spear, Wang Yanzhang flourished in the Later Liang, and Yang Miaozhen and her husband perfected it at the end of the Southern Song!

The Yang family pear-blossom spear is the spear style most practiced by later generations of martial arts enthusiasts. Once you strip away the flashy performance flourishes and qi-circulation routines, this spear style is vicious and ruthless — and this Parting Horse Spear move especially so, almost impossible to defend against.

"Thunk!" The cavalry lance slammed into the Uyghur swordsman's chest. No one had imagined Zhang Chao could thrust backward from such a strange posture, and this Uyghur swordsman certainly hadn't either. The spearhead drove straight into the spot over his heart.

Zhang Chao's full-force thrust combined with the Uyghur swordsman's all-out charging momentum produced so much kinetic energy that even Zhang Chao's own hands were scraped raw. The damage to the Uyghur swordsman can be imagined — he didn't even get out a scream before collapsing.

So-called Tibetan lamellar armor is nothing more than cold-forged iron plates strung together with rawhide. Though sturdier than the silk-and-cord lacing used in the Central Plains, it still couldn't stop the sharp tool-steel spearhead in Zhang Zhao's hands.

"Fine thrust! Excellent spear work!"

Yin Yaozi and Zhang Zhong, who had just run up behind Zhang Chao, were both stunned. Yin Yaozi's eyes especially shone, admiration practically bursting out of him.

"Wind!"

"Great Wind!"

In their boundless admiration, Zhang Zhong and Yin Yaozi beat their chests and roared. This scene appeared in Old Mou's film Hero — except the old Qin men didn't shout it that way. The ones who roared "Wind! Great Wind!" on the battlefield were the Tang soldiers of Guanzhong and the Hexi Corridor!

"Wind! Wind! Great Wind!" It wasn't only Zhang Zhong and Yin Yaozi shouting. The group of Uyghurs facing off against them also straightened up and bellowed at the top of their lungs.

Back when the Great Tang flourished, the Uyghurs were practically the Great Tang's biggest admirers, and many Uyghur armies borrowed this tradition!

What did the minority peoples of the northwest admire most in this era? Warriors, of course! Whether Tibetans, Tangut, the various Uyghur groups, or the people of Khotan — what they admired most was a warrior.

Because only a warrior could lead a tribe to survive in such a harsh environment. Tonight Zhang Zhao had fought a hundred men alone, and just so far he had killed at least a dozen, including two armored soldiers each slain with a single blow. If that wasn't a warrior, then no one was a warrior!

Qiongre Duojin drew a deep breath. He knew they were in serious trouble now — this golden-armored man had successfully awakened awe in his own men.

If their group had been a single tribe, it might have been manageable, but they were a bandit gang. A tribe still acknowledged elders and clan heads; a bandit gang acknowledged nothing but martial prowess.

So until these trusted men of Geduo defeated Zhang Zhao — or at least proved they could defeat him — there was no counting on these awe-struck underlings.

With that thought, Qiongre Duojin leveled his spear and slowly advanced toward Zhang Zhao, while a warrior beside him, sword and shield in hand, moved to protect him.

This warrior was a kinsman of Geduo and one of the more formidable fighters in the bandit gang. Although Zhang Zhao had displayed terrifying prowess, the two of them had still keenly spotted one of Zhang Zhao's weaknesses.

This golden-armored man was actually skilled with the sword but clumsy with the lance — because just now he had been using the lance as if it were a long spear.

A lance has a long blade and a flexible shaft, suited for striking, tapping, and side blows, generally powered from the waist. Whatever the case, one would certainly not thrust lightly with it. Yet almost every move Zhang Zhao had just made was a spear-style thrust.

Well, of course! Lance techniques had been lost long ago in later ages. However much Zhang Zhao loved cold weapons, what he had learned was spear work based mainly on the Yang family spear — which was also why this self-made lance of his was only a bit over six chi long.

The two Uyghur warriors exchanged a quick glance and instantly settled on their battle plan. Since the golden-armored man was weak with the lance, they would first keep their distance and fight him from range.

Qiongre Duojin, spear in hand, would harass and screen — he looked like the main attacker, but the real offense would come from the sword-and-shield man in front.

Once he locked Zhang Zhao down, the sword-and-shield man would dart in and hack at Zhang Zhao's legs. Armor in this era generally protected only down to the knees; very few suits came with leg guards.

As the three men slowly paced and probed, the air grew tense. Zhang Zhao could feel it too — these two were not easy opponents. The onlookers held their breath, nerves stretched taut, not daring to make a sound.

Zhang Zhao slowly regulated his breathing. He hadn't guessed that the sword-and-shield man opposite was the real attacker, but he had realized that no matter how he struck, the sword-and-shield man would certainly absorb the first attack for the spearman.

Both sides wielded long weapons over six chi in length. One missed strike and you yourself were in danger. Although his mingguang armor was tough enough, a hit to the neck or face would still be quite dangerous.

Thirty seconds!

Forty seconds!

One minute!

The three still had not moved, but the tension only mounted. Then suddenly, just as Qiongre Duojin's hand was beginning to tire, Zhang Zhao moved.

A chill ran down Qiongre Duojin's spine. This golden-armored man had an incredible sense of timing! He had merely blinked because his eyes were stinging, causing his footwork with the sword-and-shield man to fall out of sync and the gap between them to widen slightly — and the opponent had seized on it instantly.

No great shout, no thunderous battle cry. Silently, the lance in Zhang Zhao's hands shot toward Qiongre Duojin with terrifying speed, like a venomous snake locking onto its prey.

Qiongre Duojin had no other choice. The attack came too fast, leaving him no chance to parry. He could only thrust back at the oncoming spearhead, pinning his greatest hope on the sword-and-shield man.

"Ding!" Qiongre Duojin's spearhead struck Zhang Zhao square in the chest. Zhang Zhao swayed, a sharp pain surging through his chest. Penetration was impossible, but the pain was unavoidable.

"Sss!" Zhang Zhao's spearhead struck Qiongre Duojin as well. But Qiongre Duojin was very lucky — the sword-and-shield man desperately knocked Zhang Zhao's lance aside for him, and the thrust meant for his waist instead grazed past Qiongre Duojin's left ribs.

Qiongre Duojin let out a scream! The lance grazing his left ribs tore through his lamellar armor, and the spearhead slid in through the gap in the broken plates. A warm sensation instantly flooded his left side — blood was gushing out. His life was spared, but injury was just as unavoidable.

This was exactly the opening he had been waiting for. The sword-and-shield man paid no attention to Qiongre Duojin's scream. With a roll, he closed to within half a meter of Zhang Zhao in an instant. Before Zhang Zhao could withdraw his lance, the sword-and-shield man's Tibetan sword was already swinging.

I'm going to hack your leg off!

The sword-and-shield man grinned with savage excitement!

"Clang!" In the ringing impact, the sword-and-shield man's right hand went numb. Then he saw, on Zhang Zhao's feet, a pair of fine-steel leg guards gleaming with a dark golden light.

What the hell! The sword-and-shield man was stunned for a full second. Where had this golden-armored man come from? Even his leg guards were forged from hundred-refined steel — not even the Tsampo was this extravagant!

At that moment, Zhang Zhao lashed out with a flying kick, slamming hard into the sword-and-shield man's shield and driving him back several steps.

At the same time, he used the momentum to whip his lance back, lashing it across Qiongre Duojin's wounded waist. In the agony, Qiongre Duojin could no longer hold his spear. He scrambled backward several steps, dodging Zhang Zhao's next thrust.

But Zhang Zhao had no time for him now. The sword-and-shield man, kicked back several steps, was charging in again.

This time he had switched to a black iron hammer. Don't underestimate this kind of hammer — small head, short handle — its swing speed was very fast. If it landed a few blows at close quarters, even with iron armor protecting you, the pain alone could sap your fighting strength.

This was hard-won experience Zhang Zhao had gained personally at the 2019 Milan full-armor combat tournament, when a Dane had knocked him down.

"Hiyah!" The hengdao saber slashed forward!

"Thud!" The sword-and-shield man tilted his shield to a sixty-degree angle, flattening it as much as possible to keep it from failing under Zhang Zhao's ferocious slash. Even as he blocked, his right hand swung the black iron hammer in a swift arc.

Zhang Zhao sucked in his stomach, and the hammer swept through empty air. He immediately changed his own move, reversing the hengdao saber and stabbing downward with force!

The sword-and-shield man, about to follow with a second hammer swing, feared being impaled and had to retreat a step. The two sides opened the distance slightly.

The situation had shifted again. Now Zhang Zhao was doing everything to keep the other man from closing in. The hengdao saber was long, the black iron hammer short — distance favored Zhang Zhao.

So Zhang Zhao, with his rich combat experience, could not afford to pause even though he was still catching his breath. He could not let the sword-and-shield man close in.

He immediately switched to a two-handed grip, feet planted together, right knee slightly bent, drawing power from his waist as he suddenly slashed out.

This blow left him completely open, with no defense at all. The sword-and-shield man opposite badly wanted to rush in and hammer Zhang Zhao's abdomen — but if he dared, the most likely outcome was being cut down by that very slash.

So the sword-and-shield man could only choose to step back and avoid Zhang Zhao's edge for the moment!

But this was exactly what had fallen into Zhang Zhao's trap.

The sword-and-shield man wanted to wait for the gap after Zhang Zhao's slash to crash in, but Zhang Zhao's blade, though it looked fierce and forceful, had strength held in reserve — he had not put full power into the chop at all.

Halfway through the flash of the blade, Zhang Zhao twisted at the waist, stepped out with his left foot, pivoted on his right, spun his body around at speed, and then, uncannily, advanced another full stride forward!

With this move, he borrowed the momentum of the full spin.

An extra-long wind-up.

The hengdao saber slashed down again like lightning.

A sudden downpour of cold light!

Faintly carrying the sound of wind and thunder!

The sword-and-shield man had only just stepped back once; he had never imagined Zhang Zhao would come at him this fast!

There was no dodging it now. With a wretched howl, he braced the haft of his black iron hammer across the grip of his shield, hoping to withstand Zhang Zhao's full-force blow!

"Boom!" A tremendous cracking sound rang out. The onlookers opened their eyes wide and saw that Zhang Zhao's blade had cut straight through the sword-and-shield man's shield and hammer haft together — and what flew high into the air was the sword-and-shield man's dark, grimy head.

Zhang Zhao sheathed his saber and stood still. The sword-and-shield man's headless corpse swayed a few times, then crashed to the ground.

This saber technique was the Wuji saber method the Twenty-Ninth Army had used against the Japanese back then, created by the famous martial artist Elder Li Yaocheng — blow after blow, unbroken and relentless, fast and vicious!

This Uyghur sword-and-shield man had never seen it before, and Zhang Zhao had never expected him to survive the second stroke.

"Wind!"

"Great Wind!"

This time the roar was remarkably uniform, because Qi Xiahu and the able-bodied men behind him had arrived too — sons of Tang and sons of the Hu alike roared together, filled with reverence.

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