If it had been somewhere else, against another enemy, Wu Yuan would certainly have harbored doubts, wondering whether this was the enemy trying to lure him into attacking.
But the situation before him was different. Zhao Cheng had been beaten by him with twenty-five men against two hundred, then hunted all the way like a dog being run down, pursued to this very point.
A few days ago, Zhao Cheng's Daoist arts had even been broken by him. He could be said to have reached the end of the road, with mountains exhausted and rivers spent.
Trying to lure the enemy with such a method under these circumstances would only turn false into true, dealing a massive blow to one's own morale. It was truly a path to one's own death.
And if this was real, it meant Zhao Cheng's control over his own men had already weakened to the extreme.
If such a thing happened in his own camp, anyone who sought to sow chaos among the troops would definitely be executed without mercy.
A grief-stricken army was bound to lose!
If one did not even understand such a principle, there was no need to lead troops into battle.
Wu Yuan was certain that if he led his men out to attack now, Zhao Cheng's remnants would definitely scatter without hesitation.
As for delaying another day or two to exhaust Zhao Cheng's group further, that was not impossible. But the enemy had already hit rock bottom. If he dragged things out any longer, it might instead give rise to unforeseen changes.
That would be disadvantageous to him instead.
He had read the military classics thoroughly and knew that in marching and warfare, nothing was more taboo than missing the moment of battle.
Having made up his mind, he immediately