Chapter 38

A Purple Gold Mace as thick as a duck egg came crashing down without ceremony, smashing the Qing soldier's head to pulp and continuing all the way to his navel. His heavy armor and helmet had been utterly useless. The next instant, Bai Lang swept the mace in his right hand sideways. Several Qing soldiers who had charged up onto the wall behind the first were struck in the chest and folded in half, their arms and chests serving as the pivot.

Blood sprayed everywhere. "Sorry about wasting a head. You lot, go chop a few off," Bai Lang told the soldiers. "I'll go kill a few more."

Outside the city, the rebel chieftain Abahai watched from horseback with several senior officers. "The city has fallen." Seeing Qing soldiers storm onto the wall, the Jurchen officers were neither surprised nor particularly pleased. They had seen this scene many times. When Ming forces stubbornly defending a city were overwhelmed and Qing soldiers reached the wall, it was only a matter of time before the gates fell—perhaps the time it took to burn one incense stick, perhaps a little longer. Meanwhile, good news arrived from the Qing soldiers attacking the other gates: they had nearly all reached the walls in a single charge. The city would fall in the blink of an eye.

But the advancing force atop the wall was suddenly halted. Instead, Ming soldiers appeared and began shooting arrows and hurling stones down at them. Abahai gave a quiet "Hm?" but wasn't surprised. Some brave Ming soldier or a general's personal guard had counterattacked. Nothing unusual; another assault would be enough to break them.

The Qing soldiers below regrouped and fired powerful bows and heavy arrows at the Ming troops on the wall. In an instant, they had suppressed the defenders once more. The Qing had not used cannons in this assault; a mere city like Yanzhou could be taken with a single charge. Besides, the first wave of attackers hadn't even been the Manchu Qing's own Banner troops.

Then a figure appeared on the wall, shielding his face with his arm. Armor covered it, deflecting arrow after arrow. The man leaped from the wall and slammed into the ground with a thud. There were no Qing corpses below to break his fall. Though the people of Yanzhou had resisted, their fighting strength was weak; any Qing dead or wounded beneath the walls had already been carried away.

The Ming soldier stood up after landing. He had jumped from a wall nearly two zhang high and was completely unharmed. After swaying slightly from side to side, he charged straight at the massed Qing soldiers. The officers all laughed. "The man's gone mad. Go take his head! If he can jump down from there, he's got guts." The White Banner soldiers had been ready to climb the walls from the start. Now they only had to advance a little and crack the skull of the lone Ming soldier rushing toward them.

Bai Lang held a sixty-four-jin Polished Purple Gold Mace in each hand. Each mace was three chi and six cun long and as thick as a duck egg, its dark, heavy appearance unremarkable. He still wore his mail shirt beneath an outer battle robe, with armor on each arm. His only other protection was an eight-lobed iron helmet. Bai Lang crossed his maces before his face, swinging them to deflect the arrows aimed at him as he charged toward the Qing ranks without slowing.

He used no light-footed techniques. The Qing formation was only about thirty paces away; he could reach it in a dozen breaths. The heavy arrows the Qing soldiers fired packed a powerful punch, but they were no use against Bai Lang. The mail shirt had been bestowed by the General and was well made, with tightly woven rings. Beneath it, Bai Lang's body was protected by the Thirteen Great Protectors' Adamantine Bell Shield. Even if an arrow pierced his armor, it couldn't leave so much as a mark on his flesh. The impact had lost too much force.

Bai Lang charged through the arrow fire. The few Bayala White Banner soldiers were taken aback. "This Ming fellow's got some skill. He must be wearing two layers of armor." They joked among themselves, completely unconcerned as they prepared to kill him. A blade weighing more than ten jin came down toward Bai Lang, but he caught it with the Purple Gold Mace in his left hand. The weapon flew from the soldier's grasp, and the impact split his palm, leaving it streaming with blood.

The Bayala's hand had gone numb; his entire arm seemed to have lost all feeling. He was just about to shout when an iron mace came down at him. "Oh, be careful not to smash his head!" He even heard the White Banner soldier say that before everything went black. Even two layers of armor would have done him no good. The mace struck his shoulder and smashed all the way down to his waist. He crumpled like a torn sack, blood and pieces of his organs spraying out.

Another Bayala raised his shield. These men were veterans, and he had lifted it at the first opportunity. But Bai Lang thrust forward with the Purple Gold Mace in his left hand, and the shield shattered with a crash. The blow punched a gaping hole through the White Banner soldier's arms and chest, driving his spine out through his back.

Bai Lang swung both maces. Qing soldiers shot up into the air one after another, twisted and broken, then crashed to the ground several meters away. "Trash!" With a single hand, he swept and lifted with his mace, tossing men weighing over two hundred jin into the air like wisps of straw. Such strength seemed straight out of an old tale.

The Qing officers behind them—Jiala, Niru, and Gūsa commanders, along with Abahai—stared in disbelief. This Ming soldier had charged into their formation alone and was now carving through it as easily as slicing melons. Those two weapons—judging by the way he smashed his enemies, could they really be genuine and not mere props? Was there anyone in the world who could wield weapons that heavy?

Spears, swords, and other weapons thrust toward Bai Lang from behind. But his Purple Gold Mace struck them aside, bending or snapping them cleanly. The soldiers holding them had their palms split by the shock and could no longer keep hold of their weapons. Then Bai Lang leaped into their ranks and began slaughtering them. As for the arrows? When one of the White Banner soldiers shot a heavy arrow straight at Bai Lang's face and watched it slide right off, the Qing soldiers began to fall apart. "He's invulnerable to blades and spears!" someone cried in terror. The entire Qing formation attacking the city began to break into disarray.

Prince Abahai also sensed that things were going badly. The Ming commander looked like a peerless warrior. He was no longer just some Ming soldier's personal guard—he had to be a fierce Ming general who had appeared from nowhere, more terrifying than the Bayala White Banner soldiers. And now he was coming straight for Abahai. "Cavalry! Send in the cavalry! Shoot him with matchlocks!" Abahai was one of the more capable sons of the old chieftain, and even in this dire situation, he could order cavalry to charge and fire their matchlocks. After all, even now, Bai Lang had killed only a little over thirty Qing soldiers.

No Ming soldiers followed Bai Lang. He had charged in alone, so Qing troops behind him tried to shoot arrows and encircle him. But no one dared stand in his way. Then matchlock soldiers appeared ahead of him, followed by cavalry.