Chapter Thirty-One: Desperate Battle, Glorious Victory

Amidst the thunderous pounding of hooves, the barbarian cavalry surged past the midpoint of the valley, unleashing a hail of arrows that poured forth like locusts in flight. The first wave of arrows was specially crafted; each shaft bore distinctive hollows, causing them to emit a haunting, wailing sound as they fell, chilling the soul.

"Raise shields!"

The shield bearers stationed directly ahead lifted their shields at an angle above their heads, bracing for the incoming barrage. Barbarian arrows rained down relentlessly, some slipping through gaps to strike soldiers, who fell with cries of anguish. Yet, most remained unharmed.

"Lower shields!"

As the first wave of arrows subsided, archers concealed beside the shield bearers rose to return fire. At that very moment, before the barbarian cavalry could unleash a second volley, they had already charged into a field riddled with horse traps.

The foremost riders toppled in unison—a row struck down. The snap of broken legs, the shrieks of horses, and the terrified cries of cavalrymen thrown forward by sheer momentum resounded throughout the valley.

The cavalry behind, recognizing something was amiss, could do nothing; their mounts, already in full charge, could not halt in time. Though they desperately tugged at the reins, they were powerless to prevent their steeds from plunging into the pit-laden ground.

For a time, chaos reigned before the defensive line—men and horses tumbled, tangled together. This distance was ideal for the archers of the Black Battalion to strike; arrows fell like rain, turning the barbarians’ own deadly tactic upon them with grim vengeance.

Amidst the battle, Zhao Hengyi sat atop a fine steed brought by his guards, his gaze cold as he surveyed the unfolding carnage. Seeing more than half the barbarian cavalry felled by the horse traps, he exhaled deeply—victory was secured.

After three volleys, the archers swiftly withdrew, replaced by a modest number of spearmen who filled the gaps they left. Those barbarians lucky enough to survive the traps fell next upon a field strewn with iron caltrops; another half succumbed. Of those who managed to reach the defensive line, scarcely one in ten remained.

By now, the cavalry had lost all momentum; their long knives proved useless against Zhao Hengyi’s well-prepared defenses.

The spearmen charged forth, howling, two or three at a time besetting each rider, skewering them mercilessly with their spears before any resistance could be mounted.

The cavalrymen thrown from their wounded horses fared even worse. Hurled suddenly from their mounts, dazed and wounded, some were crushed beneath the writhing beasts. Their cries of pain echoed through the valley, painting a scene of utter misery.

Witnessing this, Zhao Hengyi ordered the drums sounded for a charge. The ordinary soldiers, huddled behind the line, roared as they rushed out, their long knives flashing gold in the sunset’s glow.

In this battle, the Black Battalion slew six hundred seventy-three barbarian cavalry, captured two hundred eighteen, with only a mere hundred or so fleeing in panic.

"Fight to the death! Fight to the death!"

Their triumphant shouts rang out, shaking the very clouds above, which seemed to thin and shatter beneath the weight of their might.

As the sun sank behind the western hills, the battle report was delivered to Zhao Hengyi’s tent.

The Black Battalion suffered minimal losses—only twenty-three wounded in the first arrow volley, none killed; compared to past campaigns, it was a resounding victory for the frontier troops.

After this battle, every member of the Black Battalion was utterly convinced by Zhao Hengyi’s leadership.

Since the traps and caltrops targeted horses, only twenty or thirty mounts were captured intact. Zhao Hengyi ordered these sent back to Yonggu City with the wounded; the Black Battalion had no cavalry, and the horses would be wasted if left.

Riding a horse and fighting from horseback were two entirely different skills. The State of Great Yan had long lost its own breeding grounds; acquiring quality warhorses was nearly impossible. Thus, aside from scouts, only Commander Zhang Chaoyang’s main force—the Martial Might Battalion—maintained a cavalry unit of three hundred.

As for the horses with broken legs, Zhao Hengyi ordered them all slaughtered for meat, filling the camp with the aroma of stewing flesh.

The camp was alive with laughter and joy; for the first time, soldiers of Great Yan had so easily triumphed over barbarian cavalry, emerging not only alive with their comrades, but also with hearty meat to eat. What happiness could surpass this?

Yet Zhao Hengyi, the actual master of the Black Battalion, hid in his tent, retching uncontrollably.

In the era of cold steel, the battlefield meant facing death and gore at close quarters—severed limbs, spilled viscera—all laid bare in the most brutal, raw fashion. For Zhao Hengyi, who had only ever killed three bandits, the sheer violence and bloodshed were overwhelming.

But Zhao Hengyi possessed an extraordinary will and control over himself, ensuring he did not disgrace himself while commanding the battle.

Outside the tent, Wang Dahu, bearing a single arm, stood guard with a crossbow at his waist and a long knife in hand, keeping others at bay.

Inside, Wang Erhu gently patted his master’s back.

This youth, whom Zhao Hengyi privately called a born killer, admired his master not for bravery, but for composure. The boy prided himself on his own courage; when confronting bandits, he had personally taken lives, and watched his brother cut a throat with mere curiosity at the blood that sprayed forth.

Yet today, when the thunder of hooves filled the valley and the barbarian cavalry charged in, he had nearly turned to flee in terror.

His timid master, however, sat calmly atop his horse, commanding the battle. Though Zhao Hengyi’s hands trembled secretly, he still issued clear orders.

Perhaps this was the "true courage" his brother often spoke of.

"Master, Commander Zhang has sent someone."

Wang Dahu’s voice came from outside.

"Please, let them in," Zhao Hengyi replied, now restored to a calm, unfathomable demeanor.

Veteran Zhang Chaoyang sent his deputy; the Black Battalion’s victory was unprecedented even among the frontier troops, far exceeding Yonggu City’s expectations.

The deputy brought ample supplies; though he said nothing directly, his intent for the Black Battalion to hold their position was unmistakable.

Zhao Hengyi was neither surprised nor dissatisfied, but methodically stated his needs.

"General, the Black Battalion requires more archers. I hope the Commander can allocate as much of the logistics camp as possible for my use. Finally, I ask for the full cooperation of the engineering corps."