Chapter 39

"Matchlocks?" Bai Lang was troubled. He had never considered charging straight into a formation of matchlockmen. The key issue was that at close range, matchlocks might really be able to penetrate his defenses. He had never tested it, but he had no desire to find out. There was one problem, though: distance. By his estimate, he might not be able to withstand lead shot within seventy paces. Inside fifty paces, he definitely couldn't. But at a hundred paces, he should be fine—though at that distance, they probably couldn't hit anything anyway.

Bai Lang didn't slow down. He was already within seventy paces, and the enemy, just as expected, opened fire in their haste. People liked to say that when Qing and Ming forces fought, the Qing troops would lure the Ming soldiers into firing their firearms from beyond a hundred paces, leaving them empty-handed and in disarray before the Qing swept them away. But Manchu Qing matchlockmen were no different—just a little better. At seventy paces, the hundred or so matchlockmen hit absolutely nothing. Bai Lang had even crouched halfway and used his Purple Gold Mace to shield himself.

Bai Lang was overjoyed and charged straight at the matchlockmen, striding forward. They had already fallen into chaos and started running. Even the Niu Lu soldiers assigned to keep them in line couldn't stop them by waving their swords threateningly; they wanted to run themselves. There stood a man-shaped weapon from the stories, and one impervious to blades and spears, too. Who'd be foolish enough to stand in his way? So the cavalry rode out. They were Ge Bu Shi Xian Chao Ha, elite Eight Banners cavalry in heavy armor, both riders and horses weighing over a thousand jin as they thundered across the earth toward Bai Lang.

They were clever enough, at least. They charged in groups of three, making several successive waves. Bai Lang charged toward the cavalry as well, and the distance between them closed rapidly.

Ming soldiers on the city walls were watching. Bai Lang's charge had driven off the Qing troops below, and the Ming soldiers quickly restored their defensive line. The General saw Bai Lang's bravery from the tower. Almost everyone was left speechless. Such ferocity had no place in the mortal world; it belonged in a tale. "Quick! Hurry and send reinforcements to the other gates! They're about to fall!" By then, the other gates were all reporting trouble.

Bai Lang had the courage of a ferocious tiger, but how could one man defend an entire city? Even with his immense strength and his Golden Bell Shield that made him impervious to blades and spears, he could still be wounded in the end. His strength wasn't so exaggerated that dozens of men with grappling hooks and clawed ropes couldn't restrain him. But as the cavalry charged toward him, he swept his left-hand Purple Gold Mace aside, knocking away a Ge Bu Xian Chao Ha soldier's spear. Before the soldier could draw his saber, Bai Lang's right-hand mace came crashing down on his head.

Horse and rider were crushed to pieces.

The cavalryman and his horse, weighing over a thousand jin together, were brought to an abrupt halt. The horse's head and the rider's torso behind it were nearly smashed to pulp. Bai Lang sidestepped and thrust with the Purple Gold Mace in his left hand, impaling the rider to the right of the one he had just crushed. The mace's head was shaped like an armor-piercing awl, its four ridges tapering to a somewhat pointed tip. It wasn't sharp enough to prick a hand under ordinary circumstances, but with Bai Lang's divine strength, it pierced right through the double armor worn by a Ge Bu Xian Chao Ha soldier.

The cavalryman spat blood as he was flung to the ground. He was as good as dead, left only to struggle in his final moments. The rider on the other side had hit nothing and hadn't been struck by Bai Lang either; he simply charged past. A horse and its rider, now reduced to a mangled corpse, lay in Bai Lang's path, forcing the cavalry to veer around them. The second wave was knocked from their horses as well. Two more men died, one after another. The third wave stopped charging and instead fired heavy arrows from horseback. Two missed, of course, and Bai Lang knocked the remaining one aside with his Purple Gold Mace.

Bai Lang pressed on, charging straight toward the Qing officers on horseback. Their guards couldn't stop him; anyone who stood in his way merely offered up his head.

But someone seemed to have come up with a solution. Dozens of men rushed toward Bai Lang with grappling hooks, clawed ropes, and fishing nets, intending to ensnare him. Seeing this, Bai Lang turned and left. No one dared pursue him. One cavalryman came at him with a clawed rope and hook, but Bai Lang seized it as soon as it flew toward him and yanked. Not only did the rider fall, but his horse went down too. Bai Lang caught up and brought his mace down on the man's head, smashing him to pulp—and gaining himself a horse.

"What a shame to miss out on their heads. Still, if I charge alone on horseback, I may as well make a run at them." Bai Lang controlled his horse with his legs. At his level of martial skill, he could command his body with ease, even on horseback, sensing the horse's every movement and adjusting his posture accordingly. Wielding his two iron maces, he charged into the enemy ranks. This time, he broke straight through the Qing formation. His martial skills were polished, and his eyesight and reflexes were extraordinary. He bent low and used both maces to deflect arrows aimed at his horse, urging it straight into the enemy ranks.

Wherever the Purple Gold Mace swept, the spears aimed at his horse snapped and flew aside. Then he began cutting down men, knocking them away like wisps of straw. "Retreat!" At that command, a long horn blast rang out, and the Qing troops began withdrawing from Yanzhou. Not a single man dared approach Bai Lang to reclaim the bodies.

Once the Qing troops facing him retreated, Bai Lang rode toward the other gates and killed many more Qing soldiers, leaving them with heavy losses and almost nothing to show for it. Some Ming soldiers later sallied out to pursue them, but they didn't achieve much.

The main gate of Yanzhou was the only one that held; the other gates had all been breached. The Qing troops had also set fire to many places inside the city. If they hadn't sounded the retreat, the city might truly have fallen. Even so, more than a thousand townspeople had died, and the Ming Army had lost over a thousand men as well. The defenders at several gates had all been killed. But Prince Lu's residence remained untouched, and Prefect Deng had survived. Bai Lang had likely killed more than a hundred Qing soldiers. Alone on horseback, he had truly slain a hundred men.

He seized three cannons abandoned by the Qing, dozens of suits of armor, several warhorses, more than ten mules, and a quantity of other belongings they had left behind. Most importantly, on the battlefield he had taken seventy-three identifiable heads, quite a few belonging to real Jurchen—and some to men of the Bayala rank. When Bai Lang entered the city again, the townspeople and soldiers looked at him as if he were a heavenly god. Such a fierce general was truly a rare sight in the world.

After dismounting, Bai Lang saluted the General. "I'm glad I didn't fail you. I killed dozens of Jian Lu, thanks to everyone's planning and valiant fighting. Yanzhou has been saved." With those words, Bai Lang left the report to the General and Prefect Lord to work out between them. Who could ignore his achievements now? How many such ferocious men were there even in the history books? Perhaps you had to look back to the Han and Tang dynasties, or the Northern and Southern Dynasties and the Sixteen Kingdoms, to find one.

The Ming Army awarded high merit for taking Jian Lu heads. Bai Lang wasn't very clear on the details, but he figured he could probably earn himself an official post. Maybe I can become a Battalion Commander? I might even make Guerilla General.