Qin Feng Borrows Lightning to Charge the Perilous Fortress, Bloodily Washing Away Old Grudges with Arrogant Might

On the main battlefield, Luandi Motu was close to losing his mind with urgency.

He reined in his horse halfway up a gentle slope, looking down from above at that stretch of low ground.

It was a defensive work he had examined and deemed useless.

A crude passageway he had dismissed with utter contempt before the battle.

Yet now, that passageway had become a vast slaughterhouse.

He saw his soldiers.

The thirty thousand men of the reserve vanguard and the twenty thousand men of the forward rear army—more than fifty thousand in all—were crammed into that narrow stretch of low ground.

The trenches and wooden stakes on either side were like two rows of teeth, clamping them tightly in the middle.

The passage ahead was blocked by routed soldiers, while the slope behind them continued pouring men downward under the force of their charge.

Those cavalrymen who could see with their own eyes that hell lay before them and wanted to retreat could only be shoved alive into that inferno by comrades behind them, whose momentum could not be stopped.

Endless terror filled them, yet nothing could halt it.

They could not advance, nor could they retreat. Men and horses were packed together, horse heads crashing into horse tails, making even turning around difficult.

And those strange things kept flying down from the high ground on both sides.

Every iron shell that fell into the crowd raised a mist of blood, a heap of severed limbs, and a heart-rending scream.

Every iron shell that struck the densest part of the crowd smashed and hurled over more than a dozen men.

Every iron shell that exploded unleashed flames that swallowed everything within several zhang.

The ground trembled, smoke and dust churned, and the air was thick with the nauseating stench of