"Kuchi! Kuchi! Kuchida!"
(Barbarian language: charge! Charge! Charge now!)
"Boerlu! Boerlu!!"
(Hold your ranks! Hold your ranks!!)
"Molo! Moluoda!!"
(Archers! Get the archers up here!!)
"Agra!!!"
(Kill them all!!!)
The roars in the barbarian language seemed about to tear the entire night sky apart! Battle cries surged in from near and far like a tide, wave upon wave, drowning everyone beneath them.
Xiao Baoyue could not understand the barbarian language, but she could hear the bloodlust and brutality, the rage and despair in those bestial voices. The shriek of clashing weapons, the hiss of arrows through the air, the thud of blows against shields, the crackle of burning flames... every sound churned together like a cauldron of boiling mud, pouring relentlessly into her ears, flooding her mind, then stirring without end. The scene before her seemed to sway with the noise, making her stomach heave.
The reek of blood on the wind grew stronger. Flames leaped skyward, illuminating a seething black mass of figures. Xiao Baoyue could think of nothing; all she felt was dizziness and fear. That icy terror coiled around her like vines, draining her strength and wits until she could barely move!
She had read military treatises and histories of war, visited drill grounds and inspected troops, and even discussed the art of command with more than one general. Yet she had never imagined a battlefield would be like this. There was no high ground from which to survey the fighting, no signal flags to guide her, and she could not even think calmly enough to devise a response!
She remembered Wang Guangzhi, a veteran general who had served two dynasties, once telling her: fighting required tempering; fight enough battles, and you would learn how. Forging a general was like forging a blade: a thousand hammer blows