Chapter 99: Blood Battle at Black Wind Ridge

Under the shaded pavilion, Zhuge Yu rested his hand on a wooden pillar, gazing toward the shanzhai.

His brows furrowed slightly, as if pondering something. After a moment, he turned to Jiang Mingyu, his expression grave: “Master, look.”

Jiang Mingyu regarded Zhuge Yu and nodded slightly, urging him to continue.

Zhuge Yu fixed his gaze on the shanzhai, pointing at its defenses with a finger, his tone firm: “The shanzhai bristles with blades and spears—its defenses are tight. Yang Dazhuang has clearly prepared to fight to the death.”

“This way, not only do you achieve your troop-training goal, but you also deliver another blow to the scorpions of Xie Wang Gou.”

His analysis was deep and precise, as if he had already pierced Yang Dazhuang’s intentions and plans.

Jiang Mingyu’s brows knitted slightly, his eyes glinting with thought.

After a moment of silence, he made his decision: “Then there’s no need to hesitate—charge straight ahead and crush him outright.”

Tukesiluo, who had been waiting impatiently, his eyes alight with excitement and resolve, blurted out: “Master Zhuge is right—that’s exactly how it should be done, my lord, give the order!”

Jiang Mingyu smiled faintly, his smile firm and decisive: “Very well. Issue the order—advance. It’s time for the soldiers to fight with real blades and spears.”

His words carried an unshakable will, as if he had long since decided.

He knew this battle was not merely training—it was a test, to see if they could face greater challenges.

Tukesiluo’s heart surged at Jiang Mingyu’s command.

Without hesitation, he raised his arm, his voice echoing through the valley: “By the lord’s order—charge Black Wind Ridge! Kill!”

The words rang like a war drum, igniting the fighting spirit in every soldier.

The troops immediately clenched their fists, eyes blazing with battle-lust, ready to plunge into this decisive clash.

At Tukesiluo’s command, Jiang Mingyu’s army stood ready—cavalry formed ranks, infantry lined up, the air thick with tension and fervor.

Under Jiang Mingyu’s leadership, they advanced toward the shanzhai, unwavering, charging straight for victory.

About a quarter-hour later, the atmosphere before the shanzhai grew tense. Yang Dazhuang sat astride his horse, staring at Jiang Mingyu and his two thousand men, a cold sneer curling his lips.

His single eye glared like a beast’s: “You must be the imperial envoy, Lord Jiang. I am Yang Dazhuang.”

“Though we’ve taken to the hills, we’ve never harmed the common folk. Why, then, has your army come bearing down on us?”

Jiang Mingyu’s smile was colder than the winter wind. He pointed his whip at the shanzhai: “Yang Dazhuang, listen well, officer.”

His gaze sharpened like a blade, piercing straight into Yang Dazhuang’s soul.

“You bandits have murdered, plundered, and defied all law—sparking outrage among the people. Today, I lead my troops to uproot you entirely and restore peace to Shangmu.”

“Surrender now, dismount, and submit—or my army will leave not a blade of grass standing.”

Jiang Mingyu’s voice rang clear and resolute, his words a declaration of his mission.

Yang Dazhuang’s eyes darkened further, his expression turning fiercer. He refused to yield, a sneer twisting his lips: “So, Lord Jiang, you’re determined to kill us all, then.”

His voice brimmed with provocation and fury—he showed no fear.

“Then I, Yang Dazhuang, would very much like to see just how formidable your men truly are.”

His gaze was cruel and mocking, openly challenging Jiang Mingyu’s reputation.

Without another word, he raised his long blade and shouted: “Brothers—kill!”

At Yang Dazhuang’s command, his bandits, already primed, surged forward like tigers unleashed, howling toward Jiang Mingyu’s troops.

Jiang Mingyu’s eyes flickered with a cold smile—he had waited for this moment.

“Foolish,” he muttered dismissively, then turned to Tukesiluo: “Tukesiluo—advance!”

Tukesiluo’s face glowed with excitement and battle-lust. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward; the soldiers followed.

The thunder of footsteps, the roar of war drums—the battlefield erupted into chaos and fury.

Clashing weapons, crashing bodies—the air reeked of blood and death.

Yang Dazhuang’s lips twitched. He stared at Tukesiluo in shock, a new, unprecedented tension rising in him. He never imagined that this man, darting through the fray, was so ferocious.

In mere heartbeats, over a dozen fearless bandits fell beneath his blade, lifeless corpses.

Li Goudan also fought well, swinging his heavy cleaver with brutal force, hacking down bandits before him.

Though his technique looked clumsy, it bore traces of Tukesiluo’s sword style—he had clearly learned well.

As for Jiang Mingyu’s two thousand men, leveraging their numerical advantage, they surged forward in waves, breaking the bandits’ crumbling line.

Jiang Mingyu, watching from afar, nodded slightly: “Tukesiluo is truly a gifted troop trainer.”

“In just a few days, the soldiers have grown this fierce—if given time, how could the Xixia not fall?”

Zhuge Yu smiled in agreement: “Master is right. This battle will likely end soon.”

He stroked the small mustache on his lip, calm and composed.

On the other side, Yang Dazhuang was stunned. Only now did he realize his men were nothing but a rabble.

Against unarmed villagers, they had seemed mighty—but against Jiang Mingyu’s troops, they collapsed instantly.

He slashed wildly, shouting instinctively: “Old Li! Damn it, what are you waiting for? Move!”

Old Li, hidden behind the shanzhai gate, watched as Yang Dazhuang teetered on the brink of defeat—his heart tightened with dread.

His eyes locked onto Jiang Mingyu, who stood confidently directing the battle. His fear slowly hardened into malice.

If Jiang Mingyu lived, he would not survive. The thought struck him—he gripped his longbow, fingers trembling. He drew a deep breath, steadied himself, and refocused his gaze on Jiang Mingyu’s back.

Meanwhile, Old Yu had crouched beside the gate for a long time, waiting for Old Li’s shot. When it came, he would leap like an arrow, aiming straight for Jiang Mingyu’s neck. His palm sweated on his blade; he controlled his breath like a tiger coiled to strike.

Once Jiang Mingyu was struck, Old Yu—the self-proclaimed top fighter of Black Wind Ridge—would surge forth, seize him while all were distracted.

Capture the leader to capture the bandits—that was Yang Dazhuang’s plan from last night.

Once Jiang Mingyu was in his hands, wouldn’t everything else be his to command?

Yang Dazhuang’s roar and the twang of Old Li’s bowstring jolted Tukesiluo mid-battle.

His eyes snapped wide, pupils contracting sharply with alarm.

Tukesiluo whirled around—just as an arrow, like a venomous snake released from a bow, streaked toward Jiang Mingyu’s back. He raised his hand to intercept, but three burly bandits pinned him from both sides, immobilizing him.

Watching the fatal arrow hurtle toward its target, Tukesiluo roared upward: “My lord—watch your back!”

Tukesiluo’s cry exploded in Jiang Mingyu’s ears like thunder, snapping him from his commanding trance.

“What?!”

Jiang Mingyu’s pupils dilated in shock. He spun instinctively—his shout so loud it startled his steed, which reared violently, its powerful hind legs slamming into the ground. Jiang Mingyu, unprepared, tumbled off the saddle.

As Jiang Mingyu crashed to the earth, clutching his aching skull, Old Li’s arrow grazed the top of his head, whistling past above him.

Inside the shanzhai, Old Yu saw the arrow fly true—his heart leapt with triumph. He clenched his fists and shouted: “Hit! Old Li! My turn!” He sprang lightly off the ground, two steps forward, leaping high as Tukesiluo had done, lunging straight for the fallen Jiang Mingyu.

A cruel, chilling smile curled Old Yu’s lips.

He roared: “Jiang Mingyu—accept your fate!”

Tukesiluo turned—saw Old Yu’s shadow flash past. His eyes widened slightly, then he grinned: “So there’s a hidden expert here? Fine—I’ll test you!”

He slashed down the bandit before him, leapt three feet into the air, and landed squarely in Old Yu’s path.

Knowing Jiang Mingyu was unharmed, he cut down the bandit before him, leapt three feet high, and blocked Old Yu’s advance.

Old Yu’s target was Jiang Mingyu—he dared not pause, aiming to slip past Tukesiluo.

Tukesiluo’s white cloak billowed in the wind. He planted his foot and shot forward like a streak of silver lightning—faster than the eye could follow.

Old Yu felt a killing aura surge behind him—sudden terror seized him. He whirled around in panic.

In that instant, Tukesiluo was already behind him. His slender longblade hummed through the air, glinting with icy light.

Before Old Yu could draw his waist knife, Tukesiluo’s blade pierced his back like a released arrow, bursting through his chest.

Blood gushed forth. Old Yu’s eyes bulged, his face frozen in terror and disbelief.

Tukesiluo yanked his blade sharply—its edge sliced horizontally through Old Yu’s torso, cleaving him cleanly in two.

The two severed halves crashed to the ground, spraying a rain of blood.

The shanzhai’s top fighter was dead.

The watching bandits turned pale—every man lost his will to fight. “We’re done—Old Yu’s dead!”

“Our numbers are falling—what’s the point? Run!”

“Boss, we’re done! Let’s flee!” The bandits chattered, all ready to bolt.

Yang Dazhuang, now surrounded by Jiang Mingyu’s troops, fought desperately. Seeing this, he bellowed: “Stop! Black Wind Ridge is surrounded—you can’t escape! Fight to the death!”

Before he finished speaking, Tukesiluo appeared before him, a faint sneer on his face, his longblade still dripping Old Yu’s blood.

Yang Dazhuang’s eyes widened in terror, fixed on Tukesiluo’s face. His mouth opened—but no sound came out.

His legs buckled. He collapsed to his knees, fingers stiff, his weapon slipping from his grasp and clattering heavily to the ground.

He whispered: “It’s over...”