22: Battle

Cao Cao drew a quiet breath. "There are at least forty thousand bandits in that formation. Could they have committed their entire force?"

He had thought the Yellow Turban Army would send out a small detachment to challenge the Han Army, just to test each other's strength. He had never expected them to deploy their entire force, and the sight left him dumbfounded.

Fu Xie spoke up. "More than half a month ago, Zhang Jiao sent a detachment of fifteen thousand troops to seize cities and strongholds along the way, conquering several counties before joining up with Zhang Bao's Moth Bandits at Xiaquyang.

"According to the reports from our scouts, that detachment has yet to return, and Zhang Bao's forces have made no unusual moves. They're still holed up at Xiaquyang, training their troops. So Guangzong has only forty thousand battle-ready soldiers at present. They truly have committed their entire force."

At this, everyone fell silent.

Why did the Yellow Turban Army refuse to fight by the rules? Could they really be plotting something?

Dong Zhuo's eyes darted about before he spoke. "Lord Lu, do you see this so-called Holy Venerable Huang Tian on the other side?"

Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan narrowed their eyes as they gazed into the distance, but they still couldn't spot a child the size of a five-year-old among the Yellow Turban ranks.

Yes, even now, they still thought Huang Tian was a five-year-old child.

"I don't see him." Lu Zhi's voice was low. "And I believe the Holy Venerable Huang Tian must hold a higher place in the Moth Bandits' hearts than Zhang Jiao, their Great Virtuous Teacher. If he had gone into battle, the Moth Bandits would surely be cheering to the heavens, kneeling and praying. But judging by their demeanor, the Holy Venerable Huang Tian isn't among their ranks."

Cao Cao burst out laughing. "What Holy Venerable Huang Tian? In my eyes, he's nothing but a country bumpkin dabbling in heretical arts, with a few tricks to fool the eye! They saw my army bearing down on them and lost their nerve. They don't dare fight!"

Lu Zhi said nothing. Zong Yuan snorted.

If Cao Cao was right and the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was nothing but a country bumpkin dabbling in heretical arts, then the two of them would be fools who'd been duped by parlor tricks, wouldn't they?

At that moment, Zong Yuan actually found himself hoping the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was a real Immortal God, so he could teach Cao Cao a good lesson.

But in the next instant, he cast the thought aside. If it's just a trick of the eye, that would be good. I only fear it's not—that an Immortal God truly descended into the mortal world. If so, the Great Han may well be doomed...

Huangfu Song gave a soft cough. "Since the Moth Bandits want to meet us in formation, we'll grant their wish. We have forty thousand men, and our horses and armor are superior to theirs. How could we avoid battle?

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

The order was carried down, and the heavy, mournful beat of drums rang out. One line of Han soldiers after another poured out of the camp like a tide of crimson, then formed ranks across the flat plain. Their banners fluttered, and their halberds gleamed coldly.

Rumble—

The clatter of hooves striking the earth rang out. Cao Cao led his own fifteen hundred cavalry, along with the three thousand Sanhe Cavalry assigned to him by Huangfu Song, thundering past the front of the Han Army's formation and drawing wave after wave of cheers.

The Nest Carts and towers were raised high. Han soldiers climbed aboard the Nest Carts to survey the Yellow Turban Army's formation, ready at any moment to wave their signal flags and report the enemy's movements.

Dust swirled across the battlefield, obscuring the view. With Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan accompanying him, Huangfu Song climbed the tower at the center of the army. From there, he could see Fu Xie's forces in the Han Army's vanguard, Cao Cao's forces on the left, Dong Zhuo's forces on the right, and the central formation under his own command—the strongest of all—as well as the small detachment guarding the camp.

Outside Guangzong City, two armies of equal size had yet to officially engage. Only their scouts rode along the flanks of the formations, trading volleys and driving off enemy cavalry trying to harass them.

Whoosh—

The Han Army's commander's banner swept through the air.

On the command platform, a broad, powerfully built man struck the drums with force, setting every heart pounding.

"Advance!"

A roar rang out. Fu Xie's vanguard of ten thousand soldiers marched steadily forward in unison, the scrape of their armor scales lending a sense of reassurance.

At the same time, the Yellow Turban Army surged forward. Their front ranks were lined with shield-bearers, shields raised halfway to ward off the rain of arrows they were certain to face.

The two armies approached, then stopped to realign their ranks. Breathing grew ragged. Whether Han soldier or Yellow Turban, all thoughts and feelings vanished; all they could see was the enemy before them, and all that remained was the pure urge to kill!

Another shout rang out, and both armies pressed forward.

At last.

"Loose!"

Arrows fell from the sky like locusts. The Yellow Turban soldiers in the front ranks raised their shields to block them. Most of these shield-bearers were former Han soldiers, well practiced at weathering arrow fire. The arrows clattered against their shields, slowing the Yellow Turban formation's advance.

Then volleys of arrows rose from the Yellow Turban ranks as well, raining down among the Han Army and pinning a dozen unlucky men to the ground.

After several volleys, the two armies finally met face-to-face. Howls and roars like the wailing of ghosts tore through the air. The Ring-pommel Sabers flashed coldly, slicing away chunks of flesh and spraying arcs of blood. Spearmen followed behind the shield-bearers, striking out now and then with their spears and halberds, aiming for unarmored places such as the enemy's necks, armpits, and feet.

The slaughter soon dyed the earth crimson, turning it into a scarlet mire. Soldiers fought desperately as they slipped over something slick, unable to tell whether it was mud or entrails. Severed limbs flew, and men fell without end. The corpses of both sides piled up in layers, almost forming a low wall.

Soldiers pressed forward over that mound, slashing with their sabers and thrusting with their spears. Every clash of spear and armor was accompanied by flying scraps of flesh and shattered armor scales.

He Yi was the Yellow Turban commander in the vanguard. He calmly directed his soldiers as they fought Fu Xie's forces, but compared with the Han soldiers under Fu Xie's command, the Yellow Turban Army he led—made up of former Han soldiers—worked together far less effectively in formation. Their ranks kept slowly giving ground.

Just then, the heavy pounding of hooves rang out. He Yi turned to look. Dust billowed from within his own formation as two thousand cavalry galloped toward the vanguard to reinforce it. But Huangfu Song, watching from the Han Army's raised platform, saw the Yellow Turbans' movements clearly. He ordered the signal flags waved, and Cao Cao's cavalry began to stir. At Cao Cao's command, they thundered across the earth.

On horseback, with the wind rushing into his face, Cao Cao felt his blood boil. Leading nearly three thousand cavalry, he intercepted the Yellow Turban horsemen, making it impossible for them to reinforce the vanguard.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

The Han cavalry drew their bows and loosed a dense rain of arrows. The Yellow Turban cavalry answered in kind. Horsemen from both sides were struck in vital places and toppled from their mounts, only to be trampled to death beneath the hooves.

After several volleys, the two cavalry forces closed to melee range.

Clang!

The horses crossed, blades crashed together, and sparks flew. Leading his men, Cao Cao charged straight through the Yellow Turban cavalry ranks, then pulled away to a safe distance. Another volley of arrows followed; then, carried by their momentum, they clashed at close quarters once more.

On the flank, men fell from their horses one after another. Riderless steeds let out mournful cries, but the soldiers, seeing red, paid them no heed. They only kept drawing their bows and loosing arrows, riding hard and fighting until an arrow struck them or a blade cut them down from their saddles. With their backs pressed against the cold earth, only then did they realize in a daze that they might be about to die.

Thud—

A hoof crushed an eyeball, and his vision sank into endless darkness...