Chapter 129: The Battle (7)

The Mayi garrison command controls five major battalions, and the three battalions of Trans-Cavalry have always prided themselves on being the elite of the Mayi Eagle-Flying Garrison, holding their heads high with arrogance.

Since Wang Rengong took charge of Mayi Commandery and poured his efforts into expanding the Eagle-Flying Garrison, he had packed the Trans-Cavalry battalions with the fiercest young bravos and the most powerful warriors in the ranks. He appointed his own household retainers and personal officers to command them, ensuring the absolute loyalty of the Mayi Trans-Cavalry to his cause.

With such personnel and the best possible supplies and equipment, the Mayi Trans-Cavalry grew insufferably haughty. Aside from the Heng'an Eagle-Flying Garrison within the same commandery, which gave them some pause, they looked down upon every other military force in the world. They believed that as elite border riders, once they marched south in force, they would sweep aside any opponent and assist Wang Rengong in achieving a legendary hegemony.

Last year, during the bloody campaign involving the joint forces of Hedong, Yanmen, and Mayi against the Turks, they had witnessed the combat prowess of the Heng'an Eagle-Flying Garrison—a unit that subsisted on thin rations and utilized mismatched gear. That experience had instilled a measure of caution in the Mayi Trans-Cavalry. Although the two sides remained in a standoff, they dared not easily provoke a conflict, waiting only for Wang Rengong to finalize his plans.

Yet, compared to the battered Yanmen troops and the Hedong forces under the Duke of Tang, the Mayi Trans-Cavalry still considered themselves superior. They felt that once Wang Rengong led them south, the people of the Central Plains would finally learn what true border cavalry looked like.

However, this pride—the vanity that had fueled their arrogance—was utterly shattered at the foot of Tingbing Mountain.

A group of villagers and farmhands, whom they had driven onto the mountain, had formed a dense phalanx and charged straight at them with reckless abandon. The far more imposing cavalry formation of the Mayi Trans-Cavalry was pierced through in a single stroke.

The Mayi Trans-Cavalry units that attempted to flank them from the sides found themselves unable to join the fray; instead, by converging toward the center, they only added to the chaos.

By the time Xu Le unhorsed Shi Chaozhi and led the villagers through the encirclement to turn back, the Mayi Trans-Cavalry had devolved into a tangled, chaotic mess. Cries of men and the neighing of horses filled the air; dismounted soldiers wailed as they struggled on the ground, warhorses slipped on blood and gore, and riderless mounts with trailing reins galloped wildly, further deepening the uncontrollable disorder.

Everyone was bewildered: How had they been defeated so quickly?

They had not underestimated the enemy. Their formation was intact, their rhythm sound, and even without officers, they had maintained some semblance of order. How, then, had they collapsed in a single moment?

When Xu Le turned back, his gaze from behind his iron mask fixed upon them like an angry guardian deity, and that spear—dripping with blood and viscera—slowly leveled toward them again, every single one of the Mayi Trans-Cavalry lost the will to fight.

If the dense cavalry formation of the Xu Household villagers was something they could not comprehend, the martial prowess of the black-armored Xu Le was something everyone understood all too well.

Their commander, Shi Chaozhi—a man of courage and audacity even among the Mayi ranks—had been unhorsed in a single exchange.

It was a genuine, brutal unhorsing; countless riders had seen the spray of blood erupt from Shi Chaozhi’s body.

Xu Le acted as the spearhead, meeting no equal before him. As he moved, his two spears danced, and countless Mayi riders were skewered and knocked from their saddles, as he carved a path through the enemy lines for his men.

As Xu Le turned back again, staring at them from behind that terrifying black armor, the Mayi Trans-Cavalry felt the primal fear of a weak creature encountering its natural predator.

The corpse of the old man strapped to Xu Le’s back only deepened their terror.

On the border, blood vengeance is paramount. To fight to the death while carrying the corpse of a loved one is a vow of no return. How had they managed to provoke such a vengeful spirit?

As the Xu Household villagers moved forward in a wall-like formation once more, the remaining Mayi Trans-Cavalry, amid heart-wrenching screams, suffered a total collapse.

They cast aside their weapons, stripped off their armor, and abandoned every heavy burden. With only one man and one horse each, they fled blindly, burying their heads and spurring their mounts. Some riders, in their panic, collided with one another, tumbling from their horses only to scramble up and limp away on foot, desperate to escape with their lives.

Meanwhile, Xu Le’s spear remained leveled. Ignoring whether the villagers behind him could keep up, he spurred his mount, Tunlong, to its maximum speed, as if he intended to hunt down the Mayi Trans-Cavalry until the very ends of the earth.

Tunlong flashed across the battlefield like lightning. A few fallen riders raised their hands—whether to resist or beg for mercy, it was unclear—but Xu Le gave them no chance to speak. His spear struck like a dragon, each thrust piercing chest or abdomen, the momentum lifting the victims from the ground before he tossed them aside and sought his next target.

In an instant, as Tunlong circled the field, seven or eight more riders who had failed to escape were slaughtered by Xu Le amidst the screams.

When Xu Le finally raised his head, there was no one left standing on the blood-soaked field.

Yet, Xu Le was not finished. Finding the direction in which the fastest riders had fled, he prepared to kick his horse’s flanks and give chase again.

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the side and pressed heavily onto his shoulder: "Master Le, you have killed enough!"

Xu Le turned, his bloodshot eyes staring fiercely from behind the iron mask at the man, his spear rising to strike.

The man did not dodge, facing Xu Le with a face full of earnestness.

It was Han Yue.

The large man was covered in bloodstains, several wounds on his body still oozing fresh red. His face was drenched in sweat, yet he looked at Xu Le with the utmost sincerity.

"Ah Le, the Old Master would not want this. You have killed enough. Stop now..."

Dozens of villagers had halted their horses a dozen paces away, their chests heaving, watching Xu Le in silence.

Han Xiaoliu was among them. Miraculously, the boy was unhurt. Looking left and right with a pale face, he suddenly retched, wiping snot and tears from his face, his voice still tinged with the fragility of youth and a hint of a sob.

"Master Le, you have killed enough. Let us bury the Old Master..."

Xu Le loosened his grip in a daze. The long, blood-stained spear fell heavily to the ground, splashing up bits of bloody mud.

Xu Le reached up and removed his iron mask. Behind it was the same handsome, resolute face, but something had changed in his brow—the innocence that had once lingered there had vanished completely after this battle.

Black heavy armor, covered in blood and gore. Behind that dark armor was a boy so handsome he seemed untouched by the world. The contrast was extreme.

Everything his eyes met was the color of blood: the corpses of the Mayi Trans-Cavalry scattered everywhere, the thick, suffocating stench of slaughter.

Behind him, his grandfather’s body was already growing cold.

In this moment, Xu Le truly felt it: his grandfather was dead.

He would never come back.

In this world, he would have to face everything alone.

On horseback, Xu Le’s black-armored form swayed, and he collapsed backward.

Han Yue hurriedly reached out to catch him, shouting in alarm: "Master Le!"

Dozens of villagers also rushed to surround him on their horses: "Master Le!"

After this battle, the young Xu Le had truly become the backbone of the survivors of the Xu Household. He was the anchor for these dozens of men—men whom Xu Gan had spent great effort to train, and who, having been tempered by the bloody crucible of war, had begun to bare their fangs like wolves and tigers.