Chapter 305: One City Shattered, One Dream Reduced to Dust

But if he didn't fulfill the boast he'd made, death was certain either way—Zhu Shaoyu's eyes turned bloodshot, teeth gritted as he lunged at TukeSulu. His great blade slashed through the air with a flash of cold light, aimed straight at TukeSulu's abdomen, as if seeking to split him in two.

The force behind that strike froze the air around it. Zhu Shaoyu cared only for loyalty to his lord—even if today's tide had turned, as long as he killed this arrogant enemy commander, he could die with satisfaction.

Yet at that critical moment, TukeSulu's longsword suddenly flashed into a streak of white light, piercing Zhu Shaoyu's throat with blinding speed. The thrust was swift, brutal, and precise—Zhu Shaoyu had no time to react. He felt his body grow light as blood gushed from his neck.

"No… impossible!" His face twisted in disbelief. He struggled to clamp his hands over the wound, but his limbs refused to obey. Hot blood surged out uncontrollably, quickly staining his entire chest crimson.

"This… this is your strength…?" Zhu Shaoyu gasped, his voice reduced to a whisper. His eyes widened in terror as he tried to raise his blade once more against TukeSulu—then stumbled, his head rolling free from his body.

The instant his body hit the ground, his final thought froze on the city wall: Li Haoyang's despairing figure. Your Majesty, Zhu Shaoyu has served you faithfully! The thought burst forth with his blood—and in an instant, his life ended.

"Who else?" TukeSulu flicked his sword, sending Zhu Shaoyu's blood splattering across his face—making him look even more monstrous. Two hundred thousand troops instantly retreated without a fight, paralyzed by terror at TukeSulu's murderous glare.

Li Haoyang pounded his chest and cried out, collapsing to the ground in utter despair. He never imagined TukeSulu was this formidable—just one strike, and Zhu Shaoyu was dead.

Jiang Mingyu drew his royal sword, its blade gleaming with solemn authority under the sun. His sharp gaze fixed on the two hundred thousand elite Liao troops before him—these were the iron-blooded army Li Haoyang had personally trained. Clad in heavy armor, wielding long halberds, carrying bows on their backs, they had once been the most elite and formidable force in the Liao Kingdom. They had once ruled the land, won every battle, driven countless enemies into flight. They had once been utterly loyal to Li Haoyang, willing to face fire and water for him without hesitation.

But now, before Jiang Mingyu, they could only bow their heads in defeat. Fear and despair filled their eyes. They knew they had no retreat. They knew they had no hope. They knew they had no future.

His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, his presence as inviolable as the Son of Heaven's. His voice thundered, cold and merciless as a blade.

"Considering you were all conscripted against your will, I, as a benevolent sovereign, grant you one last chance: lay down your weapons, and all shall be spared. You have three breaths to decide. If you still refuse, then only your miserable fate is to blame."

No sooner had he spoken than he slowly raised his right hand, extending one finger, and intoned: "One!"

That single word struck like a sledgehammer to the hearts of over a hundred thousand Liao soldiers. Many felt ice crawl up their spines, sweat beading on their palms. These three breaths felt like years. No one dared move, fearing a single glance from Jiang Mingyu would cost them their lives.

Seeing no movement, Jiang Mingyu slowly raised his middle finger: "Two!"

"Prepare!" Behind TukeSulu, one hundred fifty thousand troops instantly drew blades, nocked arrows, ready to charge. On the other side, four hundred fifty thousand imperial guards thundered war drums, radiating murderous intent.

When Jiang Mingyu extended his first finger, the two hundred thousand Liao troops fell utterly silent, holding their breath, terrified that the slightest misstep would mean death. These three breaths felt longer than a century. The cold wind howled, banners snapped violently, and the chill seeping through their armor made their teeth chatter.

At this brink of life and death, many Liao soldiers' morale cracked. They had been conscripted from refugees, their will to fight already weak. Watching Jiang Mingyu's calm demeanor, a mere boy who had shaken their commander's resolve, the Liao troops whispered among themselves: Could this Chu sovereign truly be as powerful as legend claimed?

As their faces grew grim, Jiang Mingyu slowly raised his middle finger: "Two!" In an instant, six hundred thousand Chu troops unleashed a torrent of murderous energy—the crisp sound of blades unsheathing, the whistle of arrows loosed, the thunderous war drums—shattering the minds of the Liao soldiers. Many could no longer stand, their legs trembling.

Finally, a cowardly Liao soldier could bear it no longer—he dropped to his knees and screamed: "I surrender! Surrender!" His voice pierced the deathly silence. Soon, dozens more followed, shouting "Surrender!" The chain reaction spread rapidly—two hundred thousand troops began dropping their weapons one after another, raising their hands in surrender…

Seeing the two hundred thousand Liao troops disarmed, Jiang Mingyu nodded in satisfaction and ordered TukeSulu: "Good. Secure them first. We'll decide their fate after we take the city." TukeSulu immediately waved his hand—tens of thousands of imperial guards surged forward like a storm, surrounding the Liao troops and guarding them tightly.

Seeing this, the defenders on the city wall turned deathly pale, their legs buckling under them. They knew the battle was lost—resistance would only bring more slaughter. Jiang Mingyu raised his eyes to the wall and spoke calmly: "And you? What will you do?"

Before he finished speaking, the defenders reflexively dropped their weapons, raising their hands high above their heads in submission, faces filled with despair and regret. This sight strengthened Jiang Mingyu's conviction—he smiled inwardly. These defenders couldn't even protect their own lord; to think they could hold the city of Jizhou was pure folly.

"Open the gates! Immediately disarm and strip these defenders!" TukeSulu roared. The city gates creaked open, and countless Chu troops poured in like a flood into this fallen city. Imperial guards bound the defenders with ropes, stripping them of all weapons and armor.

At that moment, Jiang Mingyu, royal sword in hand, spurred his horse toward the inner city. His eyes burned red, his long hair whipping in the wind as he snarled: "Hurry! Capture Li Haoyang alive! I will tear him apart by five horses to atone to the world!" No sooner had he spoken than a wave of murderous intent surged through the Chu army—troops split into squads, scouring every corner for Li Haoyang's whereabouts.

The iron hooves of cavalry trampled every street and alley of Jizhou. Civilians scattered in panic. Wealthy merchants clad in gold and silver fled like rats; peddlers shoved their carts through the crowds. Everywhere, screams of pleading and cries of horses filled the air.

Soldiers moved in pairs, their swords glinting in the sunlight. They stormed in groups, kicking open doors of homes and dragging residents into the streets. Women and children wailed and begged on their knees—but the soldiers showed no mercy, beating them with fists and kicks, growing ever more brutal.

"You bastard, get up!" A burly soldier kicked an elderly man lying on the ground. The old man cried out in agony, his organs seeming to shift. Others trembled in terror, fearing the same fate.

Jiang Mingyu arrived before the palace gates, waved his hand, and dozens of imperial guards rushed forward, smashing open the doors. They quickly found Li Haoyang, bound him tightly, and dragged him out. Li Haoyang's expression was hollow—Jizhou's fall had been destined.

Jiang Mingyu gazed calmly at Li Haoyang: "This is your end. I assume you expected it?"

Li Haoyang collapsed to his knees, utterly broken by Jiang Mingyu's presence. He gasped for breath, trembling all over—now he looked ancient, stripped of all former dignity.

Those once-hawklike eyes were now bloodshot, the shadow of death looming over him like a tangible presence. He struggled to lift his head, glaring at Jiang Mingyu with hatred and despair.

His body shook uncontrollably, tears spilling helplessly from his eyes. Memories of his former grand ambitions and dreams flashed through his mind like a spinning lantern—then shattered into fragments.

"Ha… ha ha…" He let out a series of chilling laughs, his vocal cords worn thin, producing unnatural tones. His eyes burned red, the scythe of death hanging above his head—he laughed hysterically, as if trying to vent every ounce of his lifelong resentment and regret.

"Jiang Mingyu!" He suddenly roared, voice hoarse and shrill. His mouth twisted into a grotesque sneer, almost mocking. With a sudden motion, he drew his waist sword—the blade glinted with a deathly white light.

"I curse you—" Before the final syllable left his lips, the blade slashed violently across his own throat. Blood gushed forth as he let out a piercing scream, thrashed once, then collapsed into a pool of his own blood.