Arriving at the Battlefield, the Decisive Battle is Imminent

Morning light pierced the mountain ridge. Wind whipped sand against the armor, raising a fine, rustling clatter. Chen Wuya rode onward as the earth beneath him gradually hardened from loose soil. The entrance to Three Peaks Valley lay right ahead.

He raised a hand, palm down. The entire army halted.

Behind him, the thirty men of the Vanguard-Breaking Battalion stood arrayed like a wall. The archers lay concealed beyond the sand dunes, and the three-tiered defenses of the Staggered Formation had quietly taken shape amid the blowing sand. Warhorses whinnied low, soldiers held their breath, and every eye fixed on the narrow valley hemmed in by high ground ahead.

The foreign army had long since formed up. Black banners hung high, blades and spears stood thick as a forest, and iron armor gleamed with a cold sheen beneath the rising sun. They held the heights and looked down upon them, their presence crushing.

"Hold steady," Chen Wuya said quietly. His voice was not loud, yet it carried down the lines.

A recruit's fingers trembled faintly, the knuckles gripping his spear turning white. Hearing those words, he drew a deep breath and planted the butt of his spear another half inch into the ground, steadying himself.

The wind grew fiercer, making the battle banners crack and snap. The foreign army's central ranks suddenly parted, and a lone rider galloped out.

The man wore heavy armor and carried a wolf-headed war spear across his shoulder. His horse's hooves struck the ground like muffled thunder. He rode three circles between the two armies, then abruptly reined in and turned. Pointing his spear straight at the allied army's formation, he roared in crisp, standard Central Plains speech, "You rabble dare call yourselves an army? Chen Wuya is nothing but a castoff from an academy,