Concentrate Strength, Attack the Weak Point Again

The war chariot's roar pressed down on the earth, like a red-hot iron plate slowly rolling over mud. Chen Wuya stood atop the dirt slope, the armor-piercing awl still in his right hand. The drum frame was planted crookedly beside his feet, a crack splitting its wooden frame as though some heavy object had smashed into it.

He did not move, merely stared at the giant beast's right wheel axle.

Oil still seeped from the crack, thick and black, trickling down the metal seams and dripping into the dried-up ditch with soft pats. With every rotation, the axle shuddered with sluggish resistance, as if something inside were breaking apart bit by bit.

Bai Zhi appeared at the foot of the slope, followed by six battered soldiers. Some leaned on their blades; some had strips of cloth wrapped around their shoulders. Their steps were unsteady, yet every one of them raised their heads to look at the armor-piercing awl on the high slope.

Chen Wuya raised his hand and lightly tapped the awl's tip against the edge of the drum frame.

"Ding—"

A clear ring pierced through the crackling fire and the ragged breaths of the soldiers in the distance.

Everyone stopped, their gazes converging on him.

"Listen up." His voice was not loud, but it drove into the chaotic air like a nail. "The breaching team advances. One man, one hammer. Strike, then withdraw. Target—the main crack in the right wheel axle."

No one spoke. Only several pairs of eyes flicked from one another.

A man with a face blackened by soot raised his iron hammer. A sentence rumbled from his throat. "Boss, what if we can't break it open?"

"Then the next man keeps striking." Chen Wuya fixed his eyes on him. "Until it can't move anymore."

The man