Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Master Is Truly the Master

After dawn broke, Zhao Hengyi and his three attendants, escorted by Captain Zhang Can of the personal guard, went straight into the Armory of Yonggu City.

The chief of the Armory was a trusted confidant of Marshal Zhang Chaoyang. Before Zhao Hengyi and his party arrived, he had already received Zhang’s orders to fully cooperate with Zhao Hengyi and to rush the production of devices designed to counter cavalry.

Such swift and decisive action changed Zhao Hengyi’s impression of the Marshal who commanded Yonggu City. Previously, he had thought that the border forces were in such disarray that the marshal must be hopelessly inept. But now, he realized that at the very least, this marshal trusted Song Ying’an implicitly.

Given the urgency of the situation, Zhao Hengyi wasted no time. He requisitioned as many craftsmen as possible and took over as many forges as he could, commencing the production of caltrops.

These deadly devices—three sharp iron spikes joined at the base—were not complicated to make, nor did they require high-quality iron. The craftsmen and forges in the Armory were more than adequate for the task.

However, manufacturing barbed wire required higher furnace temperatures and modifications to the existing smithing forges. Zhao Hengyi, accompanied by Zhang Daniu, spent an entire day adapting half of the allotted forges before they could successfully produce barbed wire.

After a day of hard work, Zhao Hengyi sat down to his meal, holding a large coarse porcelain bowl, while listening to Wang Erhu quietly report the information he had gathered.

Wang Erhu was a natural scout—quick-witted and utterly fearless. With just a bit of training, he had already shown value far beyond his years. On the journey to Yonggu City, he had mingled daily with the guards, memorizing all the rules of the military before even arriving. Once in the Armory, he thrived, ferreting out all sorts of odd and curious news.

“Sir, after Chen Yongzhong brought disaster to the Xuan Battalion, he holed up in Yonggu City and hasn't come out since. The old soldiers say he’s probably planning to run!”

The news was so outrageous that Zhao Hengyi actually paused mid-bite, stunned.

The barbarians were at the gates, and as the commander of the Xuan Battalion, Chen Yongzhong had suffered heavy losses. Instead of trying to make amends or redeem himself in battle, he’d abandoned his post, cowering in the city—and now seemed set on desertion. How had such a man survived this long?

To Zhao Hengyi, even if discipline in the border army was lax, it couldn't possibly be this lax! If the officers behaved so, what hope was there for the rank and file?

As Wang Erhu continued, Zhao Hengyi’s heart sank lower and lower. The state of Great Yan was rotten to the core—not just the court, but even the army tasked with defending the realm. That such a corrupt nation could still stand in the face of barbarian invasion was nothing short of a marvel.

“How are things now in the Xuan Battalion?” Zhao Hengyi no longer harbored any hopes for the fighting strength of the border troops in Yonggu City. His thoughts had already turned toward how he might escape with his elder brother, Song Ying’an.

“The Xuan Battalion is in a dire state. They say casualties are nearly thirty percent. Morale is low, and everyone wants to withdraw into the city to recuperate. Only Lord Song’s return to camp today kept them barely in line,” Wang Erhu replied, his face clouded with worry. Casting a cautious glance around, he leaned in to whisper, “Sir, when are we making our move?”

Zhao Hengyi was momentarily speechless.

Damn, this fellow really was a talent! Barely a day in camp and already thinking about escape—was it a sign of cleverness on Wang’s part, or just evidence of the border army’s hopelessness?

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Zhao Hengyi snapped, his expression darkening.

“My apologies. I shouldn’t be so cowardly as to shame you, sir.”

“Wrong again! It doesn’t matter when we run—what matters is that we take Lord Song with us.”

Wang Erhu’s eyes lit up with admiration. No wonder the master was who he was—the difference in their thinking was like night and day!

Though Zhao Hengyi was always prepared to run at a moment’s notice, he never slacked in his work on the anti-cavalry devices. In Yonggu City, there were no secrets; in a single day, Wang Erhu had gathered enough information for Zhao Hengyi to form a preliminary understanding of the border army’s true state.

Chen Yongzhong could abandon his men after ruining the Xuan Battalion and hide in the city, even prepare to flee, but Song Ying’an could not. If Song Ying’an deserted, he’d be executed as an example, and not even his powerful father, the Marquis Weiwu, could save him.

With a clearer picture of the situation in Yonggu City, Zhao Hengyi realized that the world was not merely about blood and warfare, but about the ways of men. Chen Yongzhong’s desertion was overlooked because of relationships; if Song Ying’an tried it, it would be a calamity.

Where, in heaven’s name, could one find justice in this?

Moreover, knowing his brother, Zhao Hengyi was certain Song Ying’an would never abandon the Xuan Battalion to escape with him. If they were to leave Yonggu City together, it would only be when all hope was lost, perhaps not until after the city itself had fallen.

But when that time came, would he really be able to escape the barbarians’ cavalry with Song Ying’an in tow?

Outside Yonggu City, in the Xuan Battalion's encampment, Song Ying’an sat in full armor beneath the main tent, his face icy cold.

“As for Deputy Commander Chen, I neither care nor can do anything. What I want is accountability. After Chen Yongzhong retreated into the city, why did none of you restrain your men?”

Inside the tent, the officers were struck dumb with fear, none daring to make excuses.

“All of you were promoted by me, Song Ying’an. When I left Yonggu City, I entrusted the Xuan Battalion to you. Now tell me—where is my Xuan Battalion?”

Song Ying’an’s sudden outburst was like a lion’s roar—one Zhao Hengyi had never before witnessed from the Baron of Dangyang.

The officers, cowed by Song Ying’an’s fury, knelt on one knee in silence.

When their superior had left the camp, he’d warned them all. Chen Yongzhong was only here for credit and accolades—he would not stay long in this dangerous place. When the fields ripened and the barbarians threatened the border, their own commander would return. This was no secret to the officers or to the common soldiers.

He had warned them not to slacken in their drills or let Chen Yongzhong’s bad example corrupt the battalion. He had not, however, warned them that the barbarians might invade ahead of time, or that Chen Yongzhong would lead them straight into disaster.

“Each of you will record thirty strokes of the military rod. After the battle, report to the officer of justice for your punishment.”

Song Ying’an raised his hand high, then let it fall lightly—a gesture that nonetheless inspired gratitude among the officers. Such was the authority he had built over the years. Had Chen Yongzhong tried this, it would have caused a mutiny.

Watching his subordinates depart, their spirits somewhat restored, Song Ying’an let out a long sigh. How should this battle be fought from here on?