Chapter 386

Time passed quickly; in the blink of an eye, one day was gone. The first ray of morning sunlight entered Yan Hao’s tent; he opened his eyes, rose refreshed, and went to eat.

As Yan Hao sat at the table eating, footsteps sounded outside the tent, and a soldier hurried in.

“Commander, the men watching Jiang Mingyu’s camp have returned and are waiting outside.”

Yan Hao didn’t look up; he merely murmured, “Let them in.”

Immediately, two thin, rat-like men entered the tent one after another and stood before Yan Hao. The leader bowed his fists and spoke humbly:

“Report, Commander: we surveilled Jiang Mingyu’s camp for a full day and night and found no irregularities. Jiang Mingyu’s men appear busy preparing tonight’s banquet—it should already be underway.”

Yan Hao lifted his head, asking cautiously: “You didn’t reveal yourselves, did you?” His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes betraying faint concern.

The rat-like man immediately waved his hands in protest, his tone firm, almost slapping his chest in assurance: “Commander, rest assured—I was extremely careful. Jiang Mingyu noticed nothing. One of our men is still watching inside; he’ll rush back the moment anything changes.”

Hearing this, Yan Hao finally relaxed. He snorted, nodded in satisfaction, and tapped the table to signal them to leave.

After the two exited, Yan Hao set down his chopsticks, slammed the table with a loud “thud.” His eyes gleamed with excitement as he rose, rubbing his hands and muttering to himself: “Good, good—everything is under control! Tonight… is the boy’s last night…”

The moon grew thick; the second watch arrived. Yan Hao gripped his spear, leapt onto his warhorse, and looked down at his elite troops, fully armed and brimming with murderous intent.

“Brothers, Jiang Mingyu has fallen for the trap! He’s gathered in his camp drinking—this is the rarest opportunity!” Yan Hao sneered, his eyes flashing cruel intent.

“Tonight, you will be heroes of the Southern Frontier! Kill Jiang Mingyu’s soldiers, and boundless wealth and glory await you!”

Yan Hao reined his horse high and roared, his voice thundering across the land: “This battle permits only advance—no retreat! Life or death is fate! Tonight, you cut down Jiang Mingyu!”

Seventy thousand soldiers raised their spears and greatswords in unison, shouting “Victory!” The entire camp surged with Rexue , the air thick with killing intent.

Yan Hao gazed approvingly at the ferocious iron tide before him, glanced at the moon sinking westward, then swung his arm sharply and roared: “Advance!”

Seventy thousand troops surged forward like a tidal wave, racing toward Jiang Mingyu’s camp. They were ravenous, as if gold and jewels were already falling from the sky. Behind them lay only slaughter and blood…

Outside the city, all was quiet. Yet less than ten li away, atop a hill, lay Jiang Mingyu’s camp.

After silently marching for half an hour, a swift horse suddenly rode up to Yan Hao’s army. The rider was Yan Hao’s vanguard scout, his face tense, whispering: “Commander, Jiang Mingyu’s camp is normal—the banquet has been going since the first watch; by the third watch, it will surely end.”

Yan Hao’s eyes flashed coldly. He nodded slightly, a chilling smile curling his lips—colder than the night wind: “Good. You’ve done well. Order: head straight for Jiang Mingyu’s camp. Strike while they’re drunk. Kill Jiang Mingyu. Serve His Majesty.”

The scout turned and galloped off. Yan Hao strode toward the hill. Above, dark clouds loomed, wind howled, and fine raindrops slapped their faces. Yan Hao felt nothing. His eyes burned with hatred and killing intent; his aura radiated chilling, sinister malice.

After another quarter-hour, he gazed far ahead and clearly saw the lights of Jiang Mingyu’s camp. Beneath the distant flames, drunken figures staggered about, occasional loud snores echoing—clearly, they’d drunk their fill.

Seeing this, Yan Hao quickened his pace. His cold smile deepened; his killing intent intensified. The soldiers behind him gripped their weapons tightly, tensing for the slaughter.

When he finally reached the edge of Jiang Mingyu’s camp, the lights had dimmed, the snores overwhelming. Yan Hao drew his slender sword from its azure scabbard; its blade gleamed coldly under the moon. He darted forward, appearing at the front of the formation, expressionless as he stared at the sleeping camp—his killing intent exploding!

“Charge the hill—kill!” Yan Hao growled. He slashed his sword through the air, carving a sharp arc. Instantly, a wall of killing intent surged as his black-armored hundred-man unit stormed the camp like ghosts entering an empty land.

Before his words faded, a booming voice rang out from the opposite slope.

“Yan Hao, you’re not going anywhere.”

The voice, like thunder in clear skies, froze Yan Hao and his eighty thousand Southern Frontier soldiers pale, rooted to the spot.

As the words ended, countless torches ignited along the slope, their orange-red glow instantly illuminating the dark hill. The sudden light and voice struck like lightning—Yan Hao and his eighty thousand men stood stunned.

Yan Hao’s face turned deathly pale, eyes wide. Before he could comprehend, the firelight revealed the stern face of E Bu atop a horse. E Bu raised his broadsword and bellowed:

“Iron Cavalry—kill!”

E Bu roared. From the slope, rows of gilded heavy armor surged down like a tidal wave. Hooves thundered, killing intent pierced the sky—their momentum felt like a storm about to break, suffocating.

Yan Hao staggered, his mind racing. He suddenly understood: from the moment he accepted the surrender, Jiang Mingyu had seen through his scheme entirely.

“Tricked!” The realization struck like thunder. A chill crawled up his spine; fear and despair churned in his chest. But it was too late—the mountain had collapsed; escape was gone.

Yan Hao clenched his sword with all his strength, his face ashen. He had no choice but to die with his eighty thousand soldiers.

From their high ground, E Bu’s Iron Cavalry charged like a flood of beasts, descending with terrifying speed and force. Hooves pounded like thunder, dust rose, the assault felt like a sea crashing against a cliff—suffocating.

Yan Hao’s face turned paper-white, eyes bulging, lips trembling. His hands shook as he gripped his sword, yet he felt no grip. He couldn’t believe it. His disciplined Southern Frontier army shattered instantly, dissolving into chaos. “Impossible… this can’t be!” he screamed, tears streaming uncontrollably.

Wherever the Iron Cavalry passed, screams and despair erupted. Yan Hao watched his own soldiers fall one by one, blood spraying, staining the yellow earth. Their eyes filled with terror, despair, and fury—yet they couldn’t fight back. “All of you—retreat!” he roared, face twisted, mouth spasming, “Run, damn it!” The Southern Frontier troops turned and fled, stumbling, dropping weapons, begging only to live. They fell, scrambled up, wounded men moaned, corpses drenched in blood littered the ground.

“You won’t escape…” E Bu sneered, slipping through the chaos like a phantom. The massacre continued; the Reaper’s scythe showed no mercy. Yan Hao’s peripheral vision caught Li Goudan and Che Gang leading troops into the fray—three-sided assault. His heart turned to ash. “All lost… where is my dynasty?!” He screamed in madness, laughing hysterically, insane.

“Damn it! I’ll live!” Yan Hao cursed, slashing the reins of a nearby soldier’s horse, seizing it, and galloping toward Lingtaicheng. Wind howled past his ears; he clamped his legs hard, desperate to escape. Behind him, his eighty thousand soldiers vanished—he no longer cared for these discarded pawns.

At this moment, only one thought burned in his mind: survive! At any cost! Yan Hao gritted his teeth, heart pounding like thunder, veins bulging on his forehead. As he fled, he kept glancing back, terrified of pursuit. His bloodshot eyes radiated deep fear and despair.

“Lingtaicheng!” He reached the gates, tears of relief streaming. He leapt off his horse, nearly collapsing to his knees. Joy and terror swirled in his chest. He gasped for breath, laughing hysterically. Behind him, slaughter still raged—but he had survived! He had escaped!

Arriving at Lingtaicheng, Yan Hao froze in horror—the city walls were pitch black, not a single lantern lit.

He wiped cold sweat, shouting: “Open the gate! Open it now!”

Suddenly, torches flared on the walls. Yan Hao’s blood ran cold—he saw Tu Kexiluo’s face illuminated in the firelight. His tongue trembled; sweat drenched his back.

“H-how… how is it you?!”

Tu Kexiluo chuckled, voice laced with mockery: “Surprised, Yan Hao? Let me tell you the truth—Lingtaicheng is mine. Your end has come.”

As he spoke, the banner of the Great Jiang rose on the walls, snapping in the wind. Yan Hao felt the world spin, his mind blank. He rubbed his eyes desperately—but it was real.

“No… impossible! There were twenty thousand troops stationed here—how could it fall so fast?!”

Yan Hao screamed, voice raw. He scanned the ground—no signs of battle. In less than an hour, how had Tu Kexiluo accomplished this?

Seeing Yan Hao’s shock and confusion, Tu Kexiluo sneered: “If you want to know, I’ll explain.” His tone was unnervingly gentle, as if speaking to a dying man.

Yan Hao staggered to the base of the wall, looked up at his enemy. Though he knew all was lost, he still asked: “Tell me! What happened? Where are my twenty thousand soldiers?”

Tu Kexiluo paced calmly along the wall, patiently recounting the entire scheme. He had long bribed Yan Hao’s trusted officers, planted spies within the city. As soon as Yan Hao left, Tu Kexiluo silently attacked. The traitors opened the gates; the city fell easily. The twenty thousand defenders had already defected—now all served the Great Jiang.

Hearing the truth, Yan Hao felt struck by five thunderbolts. He collapsed to the ground, lips pale, eyes vacant, as if plunged into an ice tomb. After a long silence, he whispered: “I brought this on myself… I deserve it…”

Facing fate’s mockery, he had no strength left for rage or grief. In that moment, Yan Hao felt all hope extinguished—his final thread of faith in this cruel world snapped.

Yan Hao’s face turned deathly white. His eyes widened, lips trembling. At last, he understood: his empire, built on violence and terror, had crumbled.

He had once been arrogant, ruling a golden palace, commanding tens of thousands. Yet while he stood high, blind and disdainful, dark tides had already surged. Tu Kexiluo watched silently, patiently weaving his trap, waiting.

Now, Tu Kexiluo gripped his sword, eyes sharp as lightning, advancing slowly. Behind him poured the Great Jiang soldiers, their hatred burning as if they would devour him alive.

Worse still—even his own elite guard, whom he had trained, who had always obeyed without question, now discarded their armor and joined the mob against him.

“You… you betrayed me!” Yan Hao rasped.

The guards remained expressionless. One young officer smirked coldly: “Commander Yan, my father was whipped to death by you. My mother died under your torture. I’ve hated you for years. Today, I avenge them—I wish to carve out your heart myself!”

One by one, other officers spoke, unleashing years of pent-up hatred. Yan Hao’s face turned ashen, his body limp—he collapsed to the ground. For the first time, he truly understood: “The tree wishes for stillness, but the wind will not cease.”

As the guards betrayed him, Great Jiang troops flooded into the city, seizing its defenses. Civilians opened their doors, poured into the streets, hurling stones and rotting flesh at Yan Hao’s mansion.

“Give me back my son!”

“Monster! You’ve held my daughter captive all this time!”

“You killed my wife!”

Screams and wails rose in waves. Yan Hao looked up—and trembled. The people he had trampled as dust now seemed transformed into demons, ready to flay him alive.

Yan Hao bit his molars, forcing back his trembling. Facing his near-collapse, Tu Kexiluo sneered: “Commander Yan, did you ever imagine this day?”

Yan Hao’s throat bobbed. His mind was blank. Then the guards rushed forward, seized his arms, and dragged him to Tu Kexiluo’s feet.

Tu Kexiluo held his long sword, its blade gleaming in the sun. He stepped forward, towering over Yan Hao: “I’ll ask once more—will you kneel and submit, or shall I do it myself?”

Yan Hao’s face twisted with despair. He shook his head, whispering: “Impossible… impossible… my elite guard… my people…” His eyes locked on Tu Kexiluo—as if his entire world had shattered.

In that moment, Yan Hao finally understood: when he trampled common folk, treating them as grass, those seemingly powerless blades of grass would one day rise as a tidal wave—and drown him.

Yan Hao’s eyes now blazed with unprecedented ferocity and resolve—like a dying beast, more dangerous than ever. He drew his saber from his waist; its blade gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

“You want my death to boost your prestige? Jiang Mingyu—you’ll never get it!”

Yan Hao roared, his blade flashing like lightning—aimed straight at his own throat!

All present turned pale. Jiang Mingyu and Tu Kexiluo exchanged glances—their earlier arrogance vanished. They knew Yan Hao too well: he’d rather die with honor than be butchered like an animal.

“Watch out!”

Jiang Mingyu shouted. Tu Kexiluo reacted instantly, slashing his sword—swift as lightning—to deflect Yan Hao’s blade. The two weapons clashed, sparks flying.

Yan Hao froze, too stunned to react—when a powerful force hurled him to the ground. Tu Kexiluo pounced like a starving tiger, planting his foot squarely on Yan Hao’s chest—the body’s vital point.

“Yan Hao, you think it ends this easily?” Tu Kexiluo hissed. “I told you—you’ll die a miserable death!”

Before his words ended, dozens of soldiers poured from the gate. They swiftly pinned Yan Hao’s limbs, restraining him. He screamed curses, howled like a dying bull—but couldn’t break free.

The last soldier pulled out a filthy sock and jammed it into Yan Hao’s mouth. Now he could only grunt “Mmmph!” his eyes bloodshot, glaring furiously at Jiang Mingyu and the others.

“Take him to the dungeon. I want to watch him slowly torn apart,” Jiang Mingyu commanded, eyes blazing.

Thus, Yan Hao was dragged away, humiliated. Jiang Mingyu and the others exhaled deeply—they had captured this old, cunning, battle-hardened mad bull at great cost.

After another half-hour, Jiang Mingyu arrived at the city wall. Tu Kexiluo stood ready, awaiting the army’s entry.

Hearing the full account of the battle with Yan Hao, Jiang Mingyu praised: “Tu Kexiluo, your strategy is brilliant, your martial skill unmatched—you’ve earned great merit!” The other generals nodded in agreement.

In this battle, Yan Hao’s seventy thousand troops were annihilated; Jiang Mingyu’s side suffered over twenty thousand casualties. Yet amid the joy of capturing Lingtaicheng and seizing Yan Hao, these losses were negligible.

Even more encouraging: the original twenty thousand defenders had all defected—this was a godsend. Jiang Mingyu rejoiced inwardly. Recovering Lingtaicheng had been a stunning, resounding victory.