Chapter 127: A Battle (Part V)

The two cavalry formations collided with a thunderous crash.

At the moment of impact, everything in the world seemed to freeze. In Xu Le’s eyes, the long lance reaching toward him appeared motionless as well. He could see every detail of the general wielding that lance: the long face, the narrow eyes, and the short beard as stiff as steel needles. The man leaned forward, thrusting the lance with all his might, hoping to use the momentum of his mount to pierce Xu Le and knock him from his saddle.

Xu Le let out a sudden, thunderous roar!

Since emerging from the mist, Xu Le had been as silent and cold as ice. Yet, deep within him, a torrent of hot blood churned and raged. He felt that only by tearing a hole through this sky could he vent the fury burning in his heart.

His grandfather had already surrendered; he had retreated to this small village, living out his days as a withered old man. Even on his deathbed, he had refused to reveal who had killed Xu Le’s father. Why, then, would the heavens not let him be?

Before this, Xu Le had been a spirited youth, merely wanting to prove his worth and make a name for himself in this era. He held no deep-seated hatred for anyone; a clash could be settled with a laugh. That time in the clouds, breaking through the thousand-man camp, had felt like nothing more than an exciting adventure for a fledgling warrior.

But now, Xu Le only wanted to drag out every hidden mastermind—those who had caused his grandfather’s death, those who had killed his father. If this corrupt power was the very fabric of the age itself, then Xu Le would not hesitate to tear the age down with it.

Xu Le did not extend his own lance. Just as the enemy’s weapon was about to strike, he gave a casual flick, deflecting the tip. With a downward press of his hand, he seized the shaft. Only then did Xu Le strike, his lance darting out like lightning while his left hand pulled back, pinning the enemy general, Shi Chaozhi, in place.

Shi Chaozhi instinctively tried to twist his wrist to reclaim his weapon, but the delay was fatal. Xu Le’s lance pierced his armor and plunged straight into his abdomen.

On horseback, Xu Le was like a dragon returning to the sea—unstoppable. He would eventually meet foes worthy of him, but not here beneath the mountain, and certainly not in the form of Shi Chaozhi, a mere household general under Wang Rengong.

Shi Chaozhi felt a chill in his gut, and his strength began to drain rapidly from that cold void. For a moment, he was dazed, unable to comprehend what had happened. How could he, leading a superior force against a group of village commoners, suddenly find himself unable to lift his arms, wanting only to collapse limply from his horse? Was the furious, god-like figure before him truly alive? Was he, Shi Chaozhi, nothing more than a speck of dust beneath the feet of this wrathful titan?

Xu Le exerted force through both hands, pressing down with his legs, and his steed, Swallowing Dragon, neighed long and loud, its powerful back bracing its master’s strike. With both lances in hand, Xu Le hoisted Shi Chaozhi from his mount, flung him through the air, and sent him plummeting down. Xu Le then surged past the riderless horse, like the sharpest of spears pointed at the heart of the enemy formation.

As Shi Chaozhi fell, drifting into unconsciousness, he saw the old man strapped to the back of the armored warrior. The old man’s hair was like snow, pressed tightly against the soldier, utterly still.

In that final moment, realization dawned on Shi Chaozhi. That old man was the legendary Xu Gan of the Black Armor, and the warrior he had faced was the young Master Le. He had been tossed into the sky by Master Le, and he was dying.

A rain of blood fell from his wound as Shi Chaozhi, commander of the Mayi Yingyang Prefecture’s elite cavalry, hit the dust. A moment later, he was trampled into the earth by a thousand hooves.

The dense formation of Xu family villagers followed close behind Xu Le, crashing into the enemy line. After Xu Le had flung Shi Chaozhi aside, the two forces finally locked in direct combat. The Mayi cavalry had expected an easy fight—they had the numbers, the equipment, and the tactical advantage to surround their foes. How could they lose?

But as the collision occurred, Shi Chaozhi had already been sent flying. Before they could even process the shock, the villagers slammed into them. The Mayi cavalry realized too late that this dense formation was immovable.

Straight blades flashed like a forest. Every Mayi rider felt as if he were facing four or five blades at once. The moment they parried one, three or four more were already aimed at them. Even if they managed to unhorse one opponent, they would be struck down by the others and trampled into the mud.

In standard warfare, even if one’s horsemanship was inferior, there was room to maneuver. But facing the wall-like formation of the village cavalry, there was no space to dodge, no room to display skill. Surrounded by cold steel, how could they fight?

The roars of men and the neighing of horses erupted, drowning out the thunder of hooves. Where the village cavalry struck, the Mayi line suddenly crumbled; the front rank was swept away. The villagers surged forward, trampling over the corpses, faces filled with disbelief—they could not believe they had broken the enemy line so easily, nor that they were still alive.

Every villager had followed Xu Le with a death-defying resolve, expecting this dense formation to be a suicide mission. They never imagined they would crush the first rank so cleanly.

Han Yue struck down his opponent and pointed to Xu Le’s charging figure, roaring like thunder: "Follow Master Le! Kill your way through!"

The villagers kicked their horses’ flanks, raising their blood-stained blades, following the black-armored silhouette of Xu Le and the deceased Old Master Xu Gan on his back, driving deep into the layers of the Mayi cavalry. This time, they subconsciously tightened their formation, becoming a true wall, charging with even greater determination.

This time, they believed they could win.

Someone let out a war cry, and then dozens of villagers joined in: "Kill!"

Xu Le continued to lead the charge, his twin lances flashing, sending the Mayi cavalry tumbling. Behind him echoed the sounds of violent collisions, blades biting into flesh, the dying screams of men and horses, and the sound of hooves trampling through blood and bone.

This was the cavalry art his grandfather had taught him the night before—the tactics of the peerless Murong Ke and Murong Chui, the heavy cavalry charges that had once allowed the Murong Xianbei to dominate the Central Plains. A dense formation, advancing like a wall, relying on sheer will and attrition until the enemy collapsed.

This was the tactic that would be chosen by the new citizen-cavalry of later ages, after the rise of Napoleon and the decline of aristocratic horsemen—the wall-style cavalry charge.