Chapter 1141: Someone Is Missing

1141. Chapter 1141: Someone Is Missing

The hunting bows on the stockade wall were already prepared, and the hunters' trap bows were set as well, just waiting for the enemy to come closer before firing. Down below, someone in the armored ranks gave an order, and the spear-wielding troops at the front parted to either side, opening a path. Several men jogged forward, each carrying what looked like a fire lance. Strangely, their other hands held wooden forks.

A little closer, just a little closer. Your firearms can't hurt anyone from far away, but once you're near, I'll pick you off with my bow. For some reason, the moment they saw the enemy carrying firearms, the people inside the stockade felt considerably more at ease.

But at about seventy-some paces away, those stout fellows with fire lances all halted and began making preparations there. The mountain path near the stockade gate wasn't wide; counting the open space beside it, only six men could stand abreast. They watched as the men formed up six to a row, then aimed at the stockade wall.

What the hell can they hit from this far? On the stockade wall, a bold bandit stood up from behind cover, actually pulled down his pants, and stood there hooting and cursing in provocation, drawing a roar of raucous laughter from the wall. Two others who loved a spectacle stood up as well to join him. From below came muffled bangs: pop, pop, pop.

"Hit your grandpa..."

The taunting words stopped abruptly. The man who had pulled down his pants looked as if a great hammer had struck his chest; his upper body snapped backward violently, and he tumbled straight off the stockade wall. Everyone turned to look. He lay crumpled below the wall, his chest caved in, already completely soaked in fresh blood. Of the other two, one was likewise shot down and lay dead silent the moment he hit the ground. The other had also fallen, clutching his stomach, screaming and rolling in agony, blood ceaselessly seeping through his fingers. Everyone knew he wouldn't survive. Dying on the spot would have been better.

After that volley, someone on the stockade wall raised his head to look and saw another enemy row stepping up to fire. He ducked down in a panic. The fire lance bullets struck the stone slabs of the stockade wall, sending stone chips flying. Those nearby were hit in the face and head, blood streaming down, the pain so unbearable they couldn't help but cry out, yet no one dared lift their head.

The fire lances crackled and popped for a while, and no one on the stockade dared raise their head anymore. By this time, Sky-Flipping Tiger's face was ashen as death, yet he stood below, brandishing his blade and shouting incessantly: "We can only fight to the death! Trading one life breaks even, taking an extra one is pure profit! Every one of us here has blood on his hands—none of us can run!"

Having said this, Sky-Flipping Tiger took his blade and stabbed to death the bandit who was screaming on the brink of death. Then he strode over to the stockade gate and roared: "Move the stones to block the gate, now! Anyone slacking off, I'll chop him down myself..."

Just at that moment, a thunderous boom sounded from outside, like a muffled thunderclap. Many inside the stockade instinctively looked up at the sky—how could there be thunder on a clear day? In that instant, the stockade's modest wooden gate exploded. The two thick wooden door panels, plundered from a wealthy household at the foot of the mountain, had a huge hole blasted through them. A bandit who was just setting down a stone had his entire upper body vanish. Behind him, in the same line of fire, stood Sky-Flipping Tiger. His reaction was not slow; he instinctively swung his blade to block.

The three-pounder cannon's solid shot, carrying immense momentum, snapped the broadsword clean in two, then tore Sky-Flipping Tiger's upper body apart. The mangled Sky-Flipping Tiger collapsed to the ground, blood gushing wildly from half a body. At this, who would dare block the gate? The few men carrying stones let out heart-rending shrieks, dropped the stones, and fled backward. In the direction the breach faced, everyone scattered and ran. Another roar—the door panel was punched through with another hole, and a cannonball came howling inside!

The bandits inside the stockade had completely misjudged the cannon's range. Three more men were punched straight through by cannon fire. The cannonball bounced after hitting the ground, and several others, too slow to react, had their lower bodies torn apart by it. In that moment, a brief silence fell over the stockade. But the silence did not last long. The already nearly shattered stockade gate was shoved open, and armored stout fellows charged in, shouting battle cries.

They were actually wearing iron armor and iron helmets, and in their hands were short spears and broadswords. From the sound of their shouts, you could tell they were well-fed and bursting with strength. In Ox Head Stockade, no more than a dozen men could match that. How could they fight these enemies? Yet the enemy was charging in to kill—they had to resist. But how could they hold? The men who entered didn't rush to slaughter. In squads of five, in teams of ten, they advanced in coordinated mutual support, cutting down all before them.

The man charging at the very front was especially fierce. He was wrapped head to toe in iron armor, only his two eyes exposed, wielding a two-handed long blade. Beside him were several iron-armored guards carrying axe-spears. He strode forward without a care, unstoppable. Anyone blocking his path was met with a direct thrust of his blade; the men in the stockade couldn't even put up a defense in time. Those few trusted confidants of Sky-Flipping Tiger, who claimed to possess martial skills, were no match for this armored long-blade warrior either, not lasting a single exchange. Twenty-some paces into the charge, over a dozen men already lay dead at his side.

By this stage of the fight, the men in the stockade were utterly terror-stricken. Some threw down their weapons and knelt to beg for mercy. Even as a man knelt, his weapon already cast aside, that long blade still slashed down without the slightest mercy. Such ruthless brutality forced the bandits who had already knelt in surrender to snatch up their weapons and fight again. But they simply could not win. Strictly speaking, this squad led by the armored warrior wielding the long blade swept through Ox Head Stockade with irresistible force; they simply could not be fought.

Fortunately, after advancing another twenty paces and killing, this man stopped. He merely waved his hand for those behind him to charge past. From then on, the bandits of Ox Head Stockade lost every shred of will to fight. They would rather kneel and be killed than resist or flee—dying in terror like that was probably even harder to endure. About half of them tried to escape down the back mountain path, but the men blocking that side held firm, refusing to yield an inch. There was simply no way through.

Some of the bandits in the stockade did manage to flee. A few bold ones grabbed two quilts, wrapped themselves up, and rolled down the steepest, most treacherous part of the stockade wall. Though it was a sheer slope impossible to climb up or down, if one's luck held and they hugged the slope as they rolled, they might just escape with their lives. Others fell straight to their deaths. Still others smashed into rocks and trees on the slope—equally a dead end.

After everyone in Ox Head Stockade had surrendered, the armored men who had charged up did not cease their actions. Aside from those guarding the prisoners, the rest began thoroughly searching the stockade. Wounded bandits who couldn't move, bandits hiding in dark corners trying to escape—their fate was all the same: a single blade to settle accounts. The grain and gold and silver in the mountain stronghold were bundled up and made the prisoners carry them down the mountain. The heads of all the bandits were chopped off and taken down the mountain together.

When they left, Ox Head Stockade was set ablaze. Everything burned to ash.

After descending the mountain, the men who had attacked the stockade mounted their horses one after another and continued onward, herding the prisoners along. Once they rounded the low hill ahead, the bandit prisoners all stared wide-eyed. At a spot just half an hour's travel from their stockade, there was actually a temporary encampment. Dozens of large carts were drawn into a circle, guarded by men dressed identically to the armored soldiers who had attacked the stockade.

Upon returning here, some men drove the large carts over. The carts were loaded with lime, medicinal materials, and the like, and they began simply treating the severed heads directly. Others brought several people over—there were even wounded men on stretchers—to identify the heads and the prisoners one by one.

"Daxiang, didn't get to fight to your heart's content?" Zhao Jin asked with a smile.

Ji Xiang stood motionless nearby. Two household troops were helping wipe the bloodstains from his armor. His long blade had already been taken aside for others to maintain and repair. Hearing the question, Ji Xiang, who had already removed his helmet, shook his head and said, "They were just a rabble of pigs, dogs, chickens, and curs. Big Brother bringing the household troops here was really too much honor for them. If the local militia had been fully equipped, they would have swept through them just the same."

Zhao Jin nodded, then said with a smile, "The militia is still best used for garrison and farming. Battles like this, though effortless, still wear a man down if we have to march and fight them one after another. Besides, these newly formed regiments and battalions have seen little real combat. Coming here for some training is good too."

Just then, a piercing, wretched scream came from where the prisoners were being identified. Zhao Jin and Ji Xiang looked over in that direction. A household trooper was also running toward them from there. Before long, the trooper arrived before them and, slightly out of breath, reported: "Yao Qi from Jia'er Village in Qingzhou Prefecture has identified the man. The stockade chief, Sky-Flipping Tiger, was the ringleader who led the raid on the farmstead."

No one showed surprise. This process was merely confirmation. Ji Xiang spoke up: "What about those Liaodong civilian collaborators acting as inside agents? Are they among them?"

The household trooper shook his head. At that moment, another household trooper came over, saluted, and said: "Several of the bandit ringleaders have confessed, saying that two months ago, someone came looking for them. After that person left, this Sky-Flipping Tiger said he would lead everyone to earn merit and seek amnesty, claiming that upon returning to the government army, he'd at least be a Battalion Commander, a real-power post with actual troops under his command. So his motivation was very high. That person wore a conical hat and face-covering cloth; his face couldn't be seen. All they knew was that he was brought there by someone sent by Steward Shu."

Zhao Jin and Ji Xiang exchanged a glance. The household trooper continued: "Gold and silver of excellent purity were found both in the stockade and on Sky-Flipping Tiger's person. Such high-quality goods are very rare in these parts. The total amount was roughly five hundred taels of silver."

"If you were the chief of this mountain stronghold, and someone told you to make a move against Xuzhou, offering only this much silver, would you do it?" Zhao Jin turned and asked Ji Xiang.

Ji Xiang shook his head and said with a laugh, "Only if he'd lost his mind. That five hundred taels of silver was meant to be paid for with their lives. He must have heard of our Zhao Character Camp's reputation."

"And yet they still made their move, and even had Liaodong civilian inside agents—Liaodong civilians who had suffered hardship here in Shandong, and they still joined in. They were only given this much silver, and there wasn't even any official certificate of appointment or seal as proof, yet these people still believed it. What made them believe? What made them stake their lives? Either this person could intimidate them into submission, or his position was so high that they had no choice but to believe." Zhao Jin analyzed simply. These words made Ji Xiang furrow his brow.

Zhao Jin, however, was very relaxed. He continued with a smile, "I really would like to know exactly who is pulling the strings behind this. The imperial court certainly wouldn't sit idly by regarding us—that I know. I just didn't expect them to act in this way."

"When we catch him, he must be cut to pieces," Ji Xiang said through gritted teeth, not treating the matter as lightly as Zhao Jin did.

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