22, Battle

Cao Cao took a light breath: "There are at least forty thousand in this formation of the moth-thieves. Could it be they have emptied their entire nest?"

He had originally assumed the Yellow Turban Army would send a small detachment to challenge the Han Army and test their strength; he had not expected them to mobilize their entire force, which left him momentarily stunned.

Fu Xie spoke up: "Over half a month ago, Zhang Jiao dispatched a flanking force of fifteen thousand to seize cities and capture strongholds along the way. They conquered several counties and converged with the moth-thieves under Zhang Bao at Xiaquyang.

According to intelligence from our scouts, that flanking force has yet to return, and Zhang Bao's troops have shown no unusual movement, remaining holed up in Xiaquyang for training. Therefore, there are only forty thousand combatants at Guangzong now; they have indeed emptied their entire nest."

Once these words were spoken, everyone fell silent.

Why were the Yellow Turban Army fighting completely outside the established rules of war? Could there truly be some hidden conspiracy?

Dong Zhuo's eyes rolled as he spoke: "Lord Lu, have you seen this so-called Holy Venerable Huang Tian on the opposite side?"

Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan squinted as they gazed into the distance, but they saw no five-year-old child within the ranks of the Yellow Turban Army.

Indeed, they still believed that the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was a five-year-old child.

"I do not see him," Lu Zhi said in a muffled voice. "Furthermore, I believe the status of the Holy Venerable Huang Tian in the hearts of the moth-thieves must be higher than that of Zhang Jiao, the Great Virtuous Teacher. If he were to take the field, the moth-thieves would surely be cheering to the heavens, kneeling and praying. Looking at the state of the moth-thieves now, the Holy Venerable Huang Tian is not in the formation."

Cao Cao laughed loudly: "What Holy Venerable Huang Tian? In my view, it is nothing but a rustic sorcery, a mere trick of the eye! They see our great army pressing upon them and are filled with fear, not daring to come out and fight!"

Lu Zhi remained silent, while Zong Yuan let out a cold snort.

If it were as Cao Cao said—that the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was merely a rustic sorcery—wouldn't that make the two of them fools who had been deceived by a trick of the eye?

At this very moment, a thought actually surfaced in Zong Yuan's heart: he hoped the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was a true immortal, so that he might teach Cao Cao a proper lesson.

However, he discarded the thought the next instant. "If it were a trick of the eye, that would be a blessing. I only fear it is not. If a true immortal has descended, then the Great Han is likely doomed..."

Huangfu Song gave a light cough. "Since the moth-thieves wish to engage us in a field battle, we shall satisfy them. We have a force of forty thousand, and our men and armor are far superior to those of the moth-thieves. How could we avoid the fight?

Pass my order: raise the flags! Beat the drums! Form the ranks!"

As the order was passed down, the heavy, desolate sound of drums began to resonate. Detachment after detachment of the Han Army poured out of the camp like a tide of crimson fire, forming battle lines upon the flat wilderness. Military banners fluttered, and halberds glinted with cold light.

Rumble—

The sound of hooves striking the earth arose. Cao Cao led his personal fifteen hundred cavalrymen and the three thousand Sanhe Cavalry assigned to him by Huangfu Song, whistling past the front of the Han Army's main formation and inciting waves of cheers.

Nest Carts and Watchtowers were erected high. Han soldiers climbed the Nest Carts to observe the Yellow Turban formation, ready at any moment to wave their signal flags and report the enemy's movements.

Smoke and dust rose across the battlefield, obscuring the view. Accompanied by Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan, Huangfu Song ascended the Watchtower of the central army. Standing there, he could clearly see Fu Xie's force in the vanguard, Cao Cao's force on the left, Dong Zhuo's force on the right, and his own central army—the strongest of them all—along with the small detachment guarding the camp.

Outside Guangzong City, the two armies of equal size had not yet formally engaged. Only scouts skirmished along the flanks of the formations, exchanging volleys of arrows and driving off the enemy's cavalry harassment.

Whoosh—

The Han commander's flag waved.

The burly man on the command platform beat the drums heavily, his rhythm making hearts surge with fervor.

"Advance the formation!"

A roar echoed out. Fu Xie's vanguard of ten thousand stepped forward in unison, the friction of their armor plates providing a sense of reassurance.

At this moment, the Yellow Turban Army also rolled forward. In the front ranks were rows of swordsmen and shield-bearers, holding their shields half-raised to block the inevitable rain of arrows.

As the two armies approached, they halted to adjust their ranks. Their breathing was heavy. Whether Han or Yellow Turban, all thoughts and ideas vanished; in their eyes remained only the enemy across the field, only the pure intent to slaughter!

Another shout rang out, and both armies continued to advance.

Finally.

"Loose arrows!!"

Arrows like locusts descended from the sky. The front-line Yellow Turban soldiers raised their shields to block them. These Yellow Turban shield-bearers were mostly former Han soldiers, and they were well-versed in dealing with arrow volleys. The arrows clattered against the shields, slowing the advance of the Yellow Turban formation.

Immediately following, a cluster of arrows rose from the Yellow Turban ranks, falling into the Han formation and pinning down a dozen unlucky souls.

After several volleys, the two armies finally collided face-to-face. Roars and wails of agony erupted. Ring-pommel Sabers flashed with cold light, carving away swathes of flesh and bringing forth sprays of blood. Spearmen followed behind the shield-bearers, occasionally thrusting their weapons into the gaps of the enemy's armor—the neck, the armpits, and the tops of the feet.

The brutal slaughter quickly stained the earth blood-red, turning it into a crimson mire. Soldiers fought with all their might, treading on slippery ground that was indistinguishable from mud or viscera. Severed limbs flew, men fell continuously, and the corpses of both sides piled up in layers, nearly forming a low wall.

Soldiers surged forward one after another, treading on the wall of bodies to hack and thrust. Every sound of spear striking armor was accompanied by splashing gore and shattered plates.

He Yi, the commander of the Yellow Turban vanguard, calmly directed his men to fight against Fu Xie's force. However, compared to the Han soldiers under Fu Xie, the Yellow Turban force—a mix of former Han troops—lacked coordination in formation fighting, and their lines began to slowly retreat.

At this moment, the heavy sound of hooves arose. He Yi turned his head to look; dust billowed within his own formation as a cavalry force of two thousand charged forward to reinforce the vanguard. However, Huangfu Song, watching from the high platform, saw the Yellow Turban movement clearly. He ordered the signal flags to be waved, and Cao Cao's cavalry stirred. At Cao Cao's command, they thundered across the earth.

Riding his horse with the gale in his face, Cao Cao felt his blood boiling. He led nearly three thousand cavalry to intercept the Yellow Turban horsemen, preventing them from supporting the vanguard.

Swish, swish, swish—

The Han cavalry drew their bows and loosed a dark, heavy rain of arrows. The Yellow Turban cavalry returned fire in kind. Men from both sides were struck in vital spots, tumbling to the ground to be trampled to death by hooves.

After several volleys, the two cavalry forces clashed in close quarters.

Clang!

As the horses crossed, blades collided violently, sparking fire. Cao Cao led his men through the Yellow Turban formation, opened a distance, loosed another volley, and then, utilizing their momentum, clashed again.

On the flank, men fell from their horses from time to time. The riderless horses let out mournful cries, but the soldiers, blinded by the blood-lust of the kill, took no notice. They simply continued to loose arrows and charge, until they were struck by an arrow or hewn from their saddles by a blade. Only when their backs pressed against the cold, unyielding earth did they realize, in a flash, that they were dying.

Pfft—

A hoof crushed an eyeball, and the vision plunged into a long, eternal darkness...