With urgent hoofbeats came deafening cries of slaughter. Huo Qubing and Luo Wuji both rode magnificent steeds and were almost out in front, their personal guards and Dare-to-Fight Warriors protecting their flanks as they shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow.
The King of the Right Guli was frightened out of his wits. "Where did these Han troops spring from? Meet the enemy!"
But it was useless. In an age when communication depended mostly on shouting, large numbers falling into disorder was all too common. Xiongnu discipline was particularly poor to begin with. Facing Luo Wuji and Huo Qubing charging suddenly from their flanks, the Xiongnu troops instinctively moved to engage, only for a volley of arrows to send them hastily covering their faces and ducking their heads.
Once a crowd exceeded ten thousand, it stretched in an unbroken mass to the horizon. Moreover, the Xiongnu marched in a long, narrow formation that extended an enormous distance, and grasslands were different from plains.
Plains were flat. One could see clearly for dozens or hundreds of meters, or even farther.
Grasslands were not flat, but rose and fell in continuous undulations. Those slopes might be gentle, but over dozens or hundreds of meters, the elevation still changed by several meters, far exceeding the height of a person or a horse.
This created a very frightening situation: the marching soldiers could not actually see the people in the distance. They had no idea what was happening and could only hear fierce shouting and the sounds of fighting.
Luo Wuji and Huo Qubing charged out from opposite sides. Though their soldiers numbered only a third of the Xiongnu force, they held an overwhelming numerical advantage among those actually engaged.
There was no such thing in this world as a war in which