Chapter 413: Testing the Blade

413. Chapter 413: Testing the Blade

The opposite side was just as rowdy, everyone shouting at the top of their lungs, which actually let Zhao Jin's side hear them clearly — but after that it was nothing but noise. Once that last man finished speaking, the others all started cursing and yelling, a chaotic mess, and nothing more could be made out.

After they'd been shouting abuse for a while, someone let out a yell and spurred his horse forward. That sudden charge set the whole mounted troop in motion. For a moment, men shouted and horses screamed. The road directly ahead was jam-packed, so some riders circled around over the withered grass, trying to charge in from other directions.

"They really are local bandits…" Zhao Jin muttered.

Hoofbeats rumbled, shouts and curses rang out. All Zhao Jin could make out clearly was Dong Bingfeng on the cart, yelling: "Watch me rise up, watch me rise up!"

He was shouting himself hoarse, or no one else would have heard him clearly.

In the blink of an eye, the vanguard of the mounted troop had charged to within about thirty paces. Zhao Jin could clearly see them shoving and brawling with each other — some had even drawn weapons and were hacking at one another.

Dong Bingfeng rose up from behind cover. Once standing straight, he drew his bow to seven-tenths full and loosed an arrow. The man at the very front took the arrow and toppled straight off his horse. Dong Bingfeng moved swiftly — he drew another arrow, drew the bow, and loosed a second shot. Another man fell!

"Shoot! Shoot!" Dong Bingfeng bellowed. The archers all rose up and loosed their arrows.

Sharpshooters like Zhuang Liu could get off three or four arrows before the enemy closed in; most of the other archers managed about two.

The charging mounted troop had never imagined the other side would be lying in ambush with bows. As far as they were concerned, this strange merchant caravan that had entered the grasslands in the dead of winter would only think of fleeing if they noticed something wrong — what could seventy-odd men possibly do?

It was precisely this carelessness that made them charge forward without the slightest caution. When the arrows came howling at them, they were effectively driving their horses headlong into the volley.

In an instant, screams erupted. The arrows might not have had great power on their own, but the arrow speed combined with the charging speed of the mounted troop meant nearly every shot punched clean through. Some men were thrown straight from their horses and trampled into bloody pulp by the surging ranks behind them.

"Ambush!"

"They're tough!"

Shouts and cries of alarm rang out at once. Many men instinctively reined in and turned their horses, making the chaos even worse — but the mounted troop was already charging at full speed. No matter how they turned, the main body kept pressing forward.

At about ten paces' distance, the archers could have loosed one more arrow, but none of them tried to overreach. They hurriedly jumped down from the carts behind the barricade.

It was a good thing they jumped down. At such close range, the charging riders hurled their weapons without a second thought — sabers and axes flew wildly, enough to injure even if they only struck with a blunt blow. Two archers were too slow and got hit by thrown steel blades. Luckily, they were struck by the hilts. One staggered and sprawled to the ground; the other had his leather coat slashed open, but neither man was wounded.

"Brothers, elders, we're this close — we have to charge in! Kill those arrow-shooting bastards and avenge our brothers!" someone in the crowd shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Charge through! Once we're in close, those cowardly archers are useless! If we retreat now, everything's been for nothing!" Shouts rose one after another. These several hundred mounted bandits had been a disorderly mess from the start, but there were still some clear-headed men among them.

A few more screams rang out, and then a rough, booming voice roared: "Where's the guts you had when it was time to split the loot?! Charge in, damn you!"

Peering through the gaps between the carts, one could see the chaotic mass of mounted bandits finally halting their horses, dismounting, and rushing toward the carts on foot at a quick step.

Those who had charged head-on had been battered senseless by the arrows meeting them, but the ones who'd been shoved off the road and circled around through the withered grass and snow on both flanks had already dismounted and were clambering onto the carts. They could see that the frontal assault had taken a beating, but they figured they could climb over, fight their way in, and snatch an easy advantage.

Zhao Jin, his companions, and the other household guards were all standing well back from the carts. They were arrayed in formation at the very center of the circle formed by the wagons, waiting quietly for the enemy. Only the archers, now back in the ranks, were still shooting outward — arrows arced over the carts, and from time to time screams rang out.

"Kneel and you'll be spared!" a furious shout rang out. A big man had climbed onto one of the carts on the right flank, holding a long-hafted podao. He cut a truly imposing figure.

As far as he was concerned, this strange merchant caravan's only defense was the cover of these carts, and maybe a dozen or so bows. Once you charged inside, the bows would be useless, and they'd be nothing but fat sheep waiting for the slaughter.

But the moment this "first to ascend" big man stood atop the cart, he froze. He saw several dozen men inside, drawn up in tight, orderly ranks, their various weapons uniform and gleaming. Even more terrifying, every man was clad in iron from head to toe. Damn it all — even government troops didn't dress like this.

Should he jump in or jump back out? But the big man only stood there gaping for a brief moment. Before he could make up his mind, an arrow struck him square in the chest. A sheepskin coat was no defense against a close-range power shot. He toppled straight off the cart and hit the ground face-first…

One man fell, but a dozen more scrambled up. Behind them, their comrades jostled and fought to be first, terrified that if they were too slow someone else would beat them to it. They didn't bother to look carefully — they just climbed onto the carts and vaulted straight over, thinking only of slaughter and plunder.

The first ones over were all sturdy, able-bodied men, wearing sheepskin or wolfskin coats and carrying proper weapons like podao and short axes. Their movements were agile and sharp — but the moment they landed, they were dumbstruck.

"Don't break formation! Watch each other's backs and kill the enemy!" Zhao Jin shouted, and charged forward with his long spear leveled.

The enemy directly in front of him had just landed and was stunned by the sight before him, unable to react in time. He raised his podao to parry, but too late — Zhao Jin's long spear pierced straight through his chest.

The enemy was in disarray, but Zhao Jin was fully prepared. He drove the spear through one man, swung both arms, and the withdrawing spear shaft swept sideways, slamming hard into the neck of an enemy beside him. In that moment, the spear blade became a chopping sword — it cleaved straight in, and blood sprayed all over the men nearby.

Who could have imagined this "strange merchant caravan" could fight like this? These weren't pigs and sheep — they were tigers and wolves!

But now that things had reached this point, with the dozen-odd carts enclosing a confined space already packed with several dozen men, there was no room to maneuver. Trying to turn and flee meant the carts would block the way, and the men behind would surely catch up. There was only one path left — fight to the death!

The dismounted riders made their decision in an instant. Roaring, covered in blood, they charged. Whether they lived or died depended entirely on whether they could fight their way out!

Ordinary men — even imperial troops — would have gone weak in the knees at the sight of these blood-soaked desperadoes. Even with the advantage, they'd have been cut down. But Zhao Jin had been through far too much. What were mountains of corpses and seas of blood to him?

The enemy roared, but his movements remained utterly steady. His long spear flickered like a serpent's tongue — every thrust and withdrawal drew blood, and men crumpled before him. In the blink of an eye, six had fallen. No one could get within eight feet of him.

This man's too strong — go around him, break out somewhere else! No one wanted a head-on fight. Even the men coming in from behind knew to follow the main group. But the flanks were no way out either. Heavy footfalls rang out — dong, dong, dong — as a huge, fat man moved to meet them. Clad in heavy armor, wielding a blade in both hands, he looked as if he were blotting out the entire path ahead.

No way around — they'd have to fight. One man swung an axe. Even if you're wearing iron armor, an axe can smash it open. And this man was fat and huge, a big target — he couldn't possibly be that fast.

They were wrong. Before the axe could land, the fat giant had already twisted his body, put his strength into it, and swung his blade. The long saber came howling down.

No one imagined it could be this fast. There wasn't even time to raise the axe to block. The rider directly in front of the fat giant had nearly half his body cleaved away. A torrent of hot blood sprayed over his comrades beside him — and those comrades, forgetting even the enemy before them, stood frozen, utterly stunned by the bloodbath.

The two sides were already locked in close combat, blade against blade, fighting to the death. There was no room for such hesitation. The fat giant flipped his blade edge, swept both arms sideways, and another head tumbled to the ground.

Where had such men come from? The spearman from before was a match for a hundred — and now this blade-wielder was just as terrifyingly strong?

In just a few short moments, nearly ten had been killed. Whatever thoughts of courage, ferocity, or desperate struggle they'd had were gone. Some threw down their weapons and dropped straight to their knees. Some turned and fled. Others, howling wordlessly, kept charging forward.

The one who knelt hadn't even gotten the words of surrender out before a long spear pierced his throat. The one who turned to flee had only run two steps when a sturdy man wielding a podao caught up and stabbed him through the back. The one who'd gone mad with frenzy had his head lopped off by Chen Sheng with a single stroke.

By now, the archers had all taken up blades and spears. Only Dong Bingfeng and Zhuang Liu still held their bows — they alone had the skill to shoot accurately in such a confined space without hitting their own men.

At this range, they didn't even need a full draw; six-tenths was enough to kill. The riders kept vaulting in, but they couldn't get close, because a full ten long spears guarded those two men. With only sabers and axes in hand, the attackers had no way to press forward.

The fiercest fighting was on Liu Yong's side. The men from the jianghu had all clustered around him. The Zhao Camp's standard weapons were the long spear and the goose-quill saber, but on this expedition, the men recruited into the Inner Guard had all brought their own favored weapons — mostly sabers and axes, much like the mounted pursuers. The two sides were locked in a tangled melee.

Liu Yong had long since switched to a podao. Beside him was a dark, wiry man who still moved with a slight limp. In his left hand he held a goose-quill saber, and his parrying motions were clumsy and unpracticed. The other men were positioned around Liu Yong and this dark, wiry man.

By all logic, that dark, wiry man should have been a liability to the squad, but anyone who circled around hoping to pick off easy prey met a bad end. His arm kept rising and flicking, and with every motion, someone screamed and fell. Looking at the fallen men, one saw throwing darts embedded in their eye sockets and throats.

The few who did manage to charge in found themselves facing six or seven weapons at once — and every one of those weapons was in skilled hands. Before they could even react, they were cut down.

In no time, a dozen corpses lay sprawled on the ground. No one dared come any closer.

The dark, wiry man throwing the darts was none other than Nie Hei. The skilled men recruited into the Inner Guard usually had to keep their identities hidden, but this venture into the grasslands required experienced jianghu men. Although Nie Hei came from the Smelling Incense Sect, he could now be trusted, and had been transferred up for this operation.

Once he was part of the mission, his identity naturally couldn't be kept secret. But this time, ensuring total success was paramount — the exposure of a few men's identities was a price that had to be paid.