Chapter 852: Kill the Enemy

Pan Yun first saw the thick, mist-like blood-demon qi ahead, then the battlefield below.

Jing Yuan and his thousand men were surrounded on a low hill, with Tatar cavalry on all sides, utterly unable to break out.

Pan Yun and her companions did not know Jing Yuan, but recognized the Great Ming uniforms; she glanced at Seeing Miao Zhen and the other three, then said firmly, "Start here—get them out."

The four agreed.

The Meteorite Cold Sword appeared in Pan Yun's hand; the other four gripped their own weapons.

Xue Shao had already scanned quickly and pointed northeast: "That's where the line is weakest—lure them out from there."

The five glanced and agreed.

The Three Treasures Cauldron shot out from the heavy dark clouds, closing in on the hill; the five leapt down, the cauldron shrinking midair and hanging at Pan Yun's waist, she gripped the cat in one hand and the sword in the other, descending.

Since they were breaking out northeast, they charged straight at the northern barbarians in that direction.

One sweep of her sword felled a rider on horseback; Pan Yun did not land, instead pressing her body against the horse's flank, kicking off to fly forward, slicing off the enemy's raised saber arm with a second strike, then a third—his head fell…

In a single breath, she cut down two men.

Jing Yuan caught sight of it, astonished.

Where did these people come from? How did they suddenly appear on the battlefield?

The night was dark; he did not see the five descending from the sky. Some soldiers did, and thought they were exhausted, hallucinating—now seeing them fight with such divine prowess, their hearts shook, and they cried out: "It's immortals! Immortals have come to save us!"

Jing Yuan found it absurd, but did not stop them; now, believing in immortals was better than not believing.

Seeing Miao Zhen and the other three held firm against the dozen Tatar cavalry charging from the northeast; Pan Yun alone tore open a gap—wherever she passed, men fell, horses galloped off wildly; Pan Yun turned and shouted: "Hurry, go!"

Jing Yuan snapped back to himself and roared: "Go!"

Soldiers with horses charged out; those without seized empty enemy mounts and sprinted after them; Jing Yuan and his two deputies held the rear.

One deputy shoved Jing Yuan, urging him to flee!

Jing Yuan blocked the descending blade with his saber, about to speak—when the enemy cried out and tumbled from his horse; Pan Yun's cold gaze swept over them and ordered: "All of you go—I'll hold the rear!"

Jing Yuan heard this and without hesitation, fled with his two deputies.

Pan Yun gave Xue Shao and the others a glance; they said nothing, seized empty horses, and raced after Jing Yuan.

Pan Yun stood alone behind, waiting until they had put distance between them; her sword flew into the air, instantly splitting into ten thousand blades, their tips aimed at the thousands of Tatar troops surging from three sides—the warhorses neighed in terror, refusing to advance.

The Tatar soldiers, witnessing this marvel, froze in shock.

Pan Yun's gaze was icy as she turned her hand—the blade-light shot forth, screams erupted, a thousand men tumbled from the hill.

By the time the rear Tatar troops reached the hilltop, Pan Yun had already seized a horse and ridden far through the gap.

"What was that? What was that flash of light just now?"

They dismounted, grabbed a fallen soldier, and demanded answers—only to find no arrow wound, yet a gaping hole in his chest, spurting blood with a spurt-spurt sound.

Pan Xiaohei crouched on Pan Yun's shoulder facing the hill, his body bobbing with the horse's gallop; after watching awhile, he turned back and shouted into her ear: "No pursuers!"

Pan Yun: 【You know I can hear you in my mind—why do you insist on yelling in my ear?】

Pan Xiaohei grunted but said nothing; he hadn't even complained yet—because of her plan, their merit points were now dripping away like a tiny stream, ding-dong-ding.

If not for their high base, they'd have been stripped bare by now—the heavenly thunder should've already struck their skulls.

Pan Yun quickly caught up with them.

Jing Yuan's group was exhausted; over half had no horses, and had run the whole way on foot; by the time Pan Yun caught up, the road was littered with soldiers who had collapsed from fatigue.

Seeing Miao Zhen and the others did not sprint ahead; they slowed down to pick up stragglers.

Those who collapsed were carried aside and given sugar water; the wounded were bandaged and medicated.

Jing Yuan up ahead also slowed, confirmed the Tatars were not pursuing, then sent out scouts to reconnoiter; he began gathering the remnants.

Until deep night, under dense clouds and sudden cold, he recovered every last straggler.

Xue Shao found a sheltered spot, suitable for camp.

The group turned there to settle; only then did Jing Yuan turn to Pan Yun and the other five: "Who are you?"

Pan Yun: "Daoist Priests passing through."

Jing Yuan frowned: "Daoist Priests?"

The five—except Xue Shao in Confucian robes—all wore Daoist robes, indeed dressed as Daoist Priests, yet all were far too young.

Pan Yun ignored Jing Yuan's confusion and looked up at the sky.

Tonight, not a single star shone; heavy black clouds pressed the heavens, wind rising—she knew, this was the young Emperor's last chance.

If she took this step, the young Emperor's fate would change forever; but she had no certainty—Great Ming's future would change too;

If she did not take this step, the young Emperor's fate would drift ever closer to another timeline—then she would give him another ending, and Great Ming's future would change from that moment.

What she wanted—was change!

Pan Yun stood firmly rooted, watching distant skies crackle with lightning and thunder.

Jing Yuan felt a strong unease rise; he followed Pan Yun's gaze and saw it pointed northeast—he exhaled slightly in relief.

He had been sent to block the pursuing Aral Zhiyuan's army, engaging them here at Ya'er Ridge in a game of chase and harassment—he pursued, I fled; he halted, I harassed—while the Emperor fled south.

He had been out three days; his original thirty-thousand-strong army now numbered only a thousand—others either dead or missing.

Three days—surely enough for the Emperor to cross the Inner Great Wall?

The battlefield shifted constantly, directions uncertain, movements unpredictable—so communication was cut; Jing Yuan did not know that after his beloved Emperor hastily retreated south, he had been blocked from behind by Bayan Temür.

The Emperor's forces halted, forced to send troops to fight Bayan Temür.

The Emperor commanded personally; the Ming army's fortunes instantly reversed—under the young Emperor's leadership, they fought fiercely, engaged four times, and won all four.

The Duke of Ying sensed something wrong; he rode onto the battlefield himself, saw Bayan Temür's forces retreating swiftly—their army seemed chaotic, yet not a single weapon was abandoned; only a few helmets and armor pieces were left along the retreat path. His face darkened, warning the Emperor: "Yixian is luring us deeper, Your Majesty—halt pursuit immediately and retreat south!"

The army had already veered far north from its original route, losing track of Xuanfu's actual situation—advancing north now was still far too dangerous.

The Emperor said: "I ordered Yang Hong to send reinforcements; Yang Hong has already dispatched his son Yang Jun to the north of Huailai. These Tatars are now retreating toward Huailai—this is the perfect moment for a pincer attack, a complete encirclement—how can we retreat?" (End of Chapter)