Chapter 178: Siege Battle

At noon on the second day, Jiang Mingyu led his army to the outskirts of the state capital, gazing from afar as the towering city walls cast long shadows under the setting sun.

This familiar homeland now seemed utterly alien. Jiang Mingyu clenched his fist, his eyes glinting with resolute sorrow.

At that moment, a rapid clatter of hooves rang out—Tuxeslu galloped up and reported to Jiang Mingyu: "My lord, the scouts have returned."

Jiang Mingyu asked urgently: "What is the situation inside the city?"

The scout bowed and replied: "Your Majesty, the city gates are tightly shut; troops on the walls stand ready in formation—they clearly anticipated our arrival."

Tuxeslu frowned: "How could they know in advance? We cut all ties between Dingtao and the state capital. Could there be a traitor?" He scanned his surroundings with suspicion.

Jiang Mingyu smiled faintly: "Don't overthink it. Ruan Chen was defeated over five days ago, and we've marched two more days—enemy intelligence is natural. Rather than suspecting, prepare for battle."

Tuxeslu nodded, still uneasy: "Big brother, the state capital is a formidable stronghold. How do we proceed?"

At the city's edge, mountains stood like screens, their peaks towering; as far as the eye could see, brown rocks and lush forests dominated the landscape. Compared to surrounding county towns, the state capital was vastly larger. Its surrounding walls rose high, built of solid brick and stone, like a slumbering stone lion brimming with violent power.

Li Goudan and Wu Xiao had spent three days and nights without rest, reinforcing the walls before Ruan Chen's army arrived. They used massive stones and firm lime to construct an impregnable defense—as if every effort had been made for this very moment. Yet they never foresaw that their labor would be tested upon themselves.

Jiang Mingyu said nothing; his deep eyes gleamed with sharp intensity, his gaze piercing like a sword straight at Zhuge Yu. His expression brimmed with expectation—waiting for Zhuge Yu's strategy.

Zhuge Yu smiled slightly, his eyes shining like brilliant stars illuminating the night. He spoke calmly: "For now, we advance to the city gates and see if we can open them using Ruan Chen's name." His tone radiated confidence—as if all outcomes lay within his control.

"If it works, all is well. If not, I have other plans." He then unraveled his strategy thread by thread, explaining it to those present.

Jiang Mingyu fell into deep thought. His gaze sharpened, as if cutting through all fog. After a moment, he slapped his thigh and shouted: "Good. Settle it. March on the state capital!"

As his words fell, the entire army surged forward like a great dragon. The earth trembled beneath their feet; half an hour later, they stood before the state capital's walls.

On the southern gate tower, a man in the attire of a deputy general appeared. He looked over forty, his face dark, his beard thick, his triangular eyes sending a chill. He frowned, staring at the banners below, then roared: "Who is Jiang Mingyu? Come out! You damned rebels—how are you still alive?"

"Where is my commander? Where are the eighty thousand troops he led?" His voice shook the heavens, thick with fury and confusion.

Jiang Mingyu stood below the walls, imposing and majestic. He knew Ruan Chen's eighty thousand troops would never return. Their disappearance filled the deputy with dread and disbelief—he could not fathom how fewer than forty thousand rebels had crushed Ruan Chen's army.

Beneath the walls, Jiang Mingyu's steed neighed, crushing autumn leaves. His figure, bathed in sunlight, radiated martial grandeur. His eyes, like a hawk's, locked onto the deputy on the wall—unshaken, unmoved, as if a mountain were collapsing before him.

He raised his hand—and instantly, ten thousand horses cried out in unison, all silence falling. He replied calmly: "I am Jiang Mingyu. Your commander, Ruan Chen, has been defeated—and now lies in my hands. You may surrender, or resist. The outcome remains the same: your annihilation."

On the tower, Deputy Pang Sihai sneered and laughed loudly: "You rebels dare mock our commander's capture? You must've used some devilish trick to deceive him! He'll return with troops soon—and then you'll be reduced to ashes!"

Jiang Mingyu replied coolly: "Don't boast yet. I'll show you your commander's 'heroic form.' Bring Ruan Chen forward!"

Two soldiers dragged forward Ruan Chen, bound tightly, a blade at his throat. Seeing this, Pang Sihai's face turned ashen.

Jiang Mingyu spoke sternly: "Open the gates and surrender, or your commander's head rolls down this wall. Opening the gates now is your only wise choice."

Pang Sihai shouted desperately to Ruan Chen: "Commander, how were you captured? Order them to open the gates and let us in!"

Ruan Chen, kneeling on the ground, turned and roared: "Pang Sihai, do not open the gates! My capture was an accident! Send word to the court for reinforcements—mobilize more troops to crush Jiang Mingyu! I swear to defend this city to the death—hold your ground! Do you understand?"

Jiang Mingyu's eyes flashed with cold light. He growled: "You wretched old fool, still stirring chaos? Execute him!"

A dull thud echoed—Ruan Chen's head fell to the ground, blood splattering everywhere. Pang Sihai's eyes turned bloodshot; he bellowed: "Jiang Mingyu, I swear to kill you or die trying!"

Jiang Mingyu sneered and ordered: "Begin the assault!"

Tuxeslu, sword in hand, led two thousand soldiers with scaling ladders straight toward the walls. They charged fiercely, raising ladders against the ramparts. Warriors scrambled upward, locked in brutal combat with defenders on the walls—shoving, stabbing, fighting with every ounce of strength.

The defenders fought back desperately. Arrows rained down in dense volleys. Though many attackers fell, the assault troops pressed forward without fear.

Tuxeslu's men reached the walls and engaged in mortal combat. The clash of blades echoed across the ramparts; spurts of blood and flesh chilled the air. Both sides displayed fierce resolve, slashing and killing without mercy.

On the tower, Pang Sihai's eyes were knives, fixed on the tide of rebels surging below. Rage and hatred burned in him—he could not forget that day when he watched his beloved commander Ruan Chen beheaded by Jiang Mingyu, nor the moment he nearly died by Jiang's blade himself. Had he not feigned death to escape, he too would have become a rebel trophy.

He swore vengeance for his commander—he would make Jiang Mingyu and his rebels pay in blood. He knew his garrison numbered only two thousand, while the rebels below exceeded four thousand. Yet he feared nothing. He trusted his solid walls and ample arrows to repel the assault. He believed the court would send reinforcements—if he could just hold out long enough, the city would be saved.

"Come on then—watch me avenge my commander!" Pang Sihai snarled. "Fire!"

At his command, a dense rain of arrows erupted from the tower. Feathers sliced through the air in arcs, then slammed into the rebels below. Screams rose in waves—over a dozen rebels collapsed into pools of blood. Some still breathed, writhing and moaning on the ground.

Pang Sihai watched, elated. He laughed heartily: "Keep firing! Kill these rebels! More arrows!"

The Dafeng soldiers on the tower joined in, roaring in unison. Each man had been personally selected and trained by Ruan Chen. After his death, they swore vengeance. They nocked arrows, aimed at the rebels below, and fired without mercy.

The rebels had not expected so many archers on the tower. They assumed reaching the walls meant easy gate breach. Now they saw it was a fatal mistake—they could not withstand the arrow storm, becoming nothing but living targets.

Tuxeslu, sword in hand, clad in iron armor, led his elite troops at the forefront.

He had seen too much death to fear arrows. One swing of his blade sent flying shafts flying. He barked: "Raise shields! Keep advancing!"

Soldiers behind him raised their shields and charged forward. Their shields, made of thick wood and oxhide, blocked most arrows. Yet many still fell—arrows pierced vital spots mid-charge. Some never raised their shields, pierced like porcupines.

The archers on the tower intensified their fire, drawing bows to full tension, loosing denser volleys. Rebel casualties surged. Soon, the ground beneath the walls was piled with corpses bristling with arrows.

Tuxeslu saw the carnage, his fury burning. He knew he could not continue like this—or his entire force would perish. He needed to breach the walls to survive. He snatched a fallen shield, blocking several incoming arrows, then led his men in a desperate charge toward the gate.

The gate was the most heavily defended point. Pang Sihai had stationed dozens of elite archers there. Any rebel nearing the gate was instantly killed. As Tuxeslu's men approached, they fired without hesitation.

"Fire!" Pang Sihai ordered. Another dense volley of arrows streaked toward Tuxeslu and his men.

Tuxeslu saw no escape—he charged forward. His shield blocked most arrows, but several pierced through, embedding in his shoulder and chest. Blood seeped from the wounds, staining his armor.

Tuxeslu gritted his teeth, enduring the agony. He knew he could not fall—his comrades would be lost with him.