The son of Wang Jian, Wang Ben, led fifty thousand men of the left army to capture Yewang, cutting off the connection between the Han State and the Wei State.
Another famous general, Yang Duanhe, led forty thousand men of the right army, taking more than ten cities in succession while his spearhead pointed straight at the former site of Changping.
Countless battle reports flew toward the Han capital of Xinzheng from all directions like snowflakes.
"Report! Shangdang has fallen! The garrison commander died in battle!"
"Report! Yewang has fallen! Our army of thirty thousand soldiers has been completely annihilated!"
"Report! The Qin general Yang Duanhe has already reached the gates of Changping! Our army fled at the mere sight of them!"
The spearhead of the Qin Army was like red-hot iron, fiercely branding the already decayed territory of the Han State and leaving behind patch after patch of charred marks.
In a mere ten days.
The entire territory of the Han State was ablaze with the fires of war, and the greater part of its land had fallen into the hands of the enemy.
The three converging routes of the Qin Army had faintly formed a massive encirclement, tightly trapping the lonely capital of Xinzheng right in the center.
The Han State was on the verge of destruction.
Xinzheng, the royal palace.
Above the grand hall, there was a dead silence.
The King of Han slumped over his royal throne, his face, bloated from wine and women, now as pale as paper.
At his feet, over a dozen bamboo slips filled with records of defeat were scattered about.
"Report--"
Another blood-soaked messenger scrambled and crawled inside, his voice carrying a sob.
"Great King! The Qin Army... the Qin left-route army has already crossed the Yellow River, and they are