DLERB -Chapter 101 Stop Chasing, Dad! Those Are My Free Miners!

Sword light cascaded like a waterfall.

It was the unique icy gleam of the Taia Sword.

The sound of the air being torn apart even drowned out the dying screams of the warhorses.

Touman Chanyu felt like a rabbit locked under the gaze of a hunting hawk.

He glanced back.

That black-armored demon god was less than three horse-lengths behind him.

“Die!”

A single word.

It exploded beside his ears like thunder.

Touman Chanyu did not even have time to draw his blade.

Instinctively, he curled his body beneath the horse’s belly.

Slash!

Blood sprayed into the sky.

A thick arm, together with half the leather armor on its shoulder, flew into the air.

It was his left arm.

“AAAAAH!!!”

Touman Chanyu let out a pig-like scream.

He tumbled to the ground, writhing in agony.

Ying Zheng frowned.

He had missed.

That strike had originally been aimed at the man’s neck.

“Useless.”

Ying Zheng cursed coldly.

With a flick of his wrist, he prepared to finish him off with another strike.

“Protect the Chanyu!!”

More than a dozen Xiongnu guards charged forward like madmen.

They did not use their blades.

They threw their bodies directly at Ying Zheng’s horse and grabbed at the edge of the Taia Sword with their bare hands.

It was suicide.

But on the battlefield, even suicide could buy time.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

Ying Zheng swung three times in succession.

Three heads hit the ground.

But that brief instant was enough.

The remaining guards hauled the one-armed Touman Chanyu onto a spare warhorse and lashed it viciously.

Startled, the horse bolted wildly toward the northern wastelands with the screaming chieftain on its back.

“Trying to run?”

Ying Zheng snorted coldly.

He squeezed his horse’s flanks, about to give chase.

These ants blocking his way were not even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.

Just then—

Fweeeeeeeet—!!

A sharp, piercing whistle cut across the entire battlefield.

The elite warhorse beneath Ying Zheng suddenly seemed to hear an irresistible command.

Its four hooves dug violently into the earth.

It came to an abrupt stop.

Ying Zheng nearly got thrown off.

Face darkening, he yanked on the reins and turned around.

Ying Ziye came trotting over leisurely on his little Ferghana horse.

That damned bone whistle was still in his hand.

“Dad, that’s enough.”

Ying Ziye stuffed the whistle back into his robes, looking disgusted.

“If you keep going, you’ll run off the map.”

Ying Zheng pointed toward the dust cloud rising in the north.

The Taia Sword in his hand was still dripping blood.

“He’s lost an arm.”

“I… I only need another ten li to bring back his head.”

Ying Ziye rolled his eyes.

He pulled out a piece of dried meat from the saddlebag beside him—the leftovers from earlier.

“Why chase him?”

“Did we bring enough rations? Enough water?”

“Further north is the Gobi Desert. These horses were system—”

He paused abruptly.

“—were really hard to get. If you run them into the ground, are you going to compensate me?”

Ying Ziye pointed at the land beneath them.

“Besides.”

“That one-armed cripple is more useful alive than dead.”

Ying Zheng sheathed his sword.

A crisp metallic clang rang out.

He was annoyed.

Very annoyed.

It felt like he had just finished warming up and was ready for a grand battle, only for the referee to blow the whistle and end the match.

“What use is he alive for?”

Ying Zheng asked irritably.

“If he’s alive, he won’t want to die.”

“And if he doesn’t want to die, he’ll fear us.”

“When he goes back, he’ll definitely purge his rivals to secure his position as Chanyu.”

Ying Ziye bit into the dried meat and spoke unclearly while chewing.

“Wouldn’t it be better to let them tear each other apart like dogs?”

“We just sit back and watch. Once they’re exhausted from fighting, we go collect the furs.”

“This is called sustainable exploitation.”

Ying Zheng froze for a moment.

He stared at his eight-year-old son.

The boy clearly had the face of an innocent child.

So why did the things coming out of his mouth sound even more villainous than his own?

“Do as you like.”

Ying Zheng snorted.

He turned his horse around and no longer looked at the fleeing remnants of the Xiongnu army.

On the battlefield—

The smoke was beginning to clear.

But the stench of blood was so thick it was suffocating.

Severed limbs littered the ground everywhere.

That was the handiwork of gunpowder explosions.

Bodies trampled into pulp mixed together with charred corpses until no one could tell who was who anymore.

Tragic.

Far too tragic.

This was not a war.

It was a one-sided slaughter.

Only now did Meng Tian finally snap back to his senses.

His entire body was drenched in cold sweat.

Not from exhaustion.

From fear.

He scrambled toward Ying Zheng’s horse on hands and knees.

With a loud thud, he dropped to his knees.

His knees smashed into the blood-soaked earth, splashing up red mud.

“Your servant! Meng Tian! Greets—”

“Silence.”

Ying Zheng looked down at him from above.

His voice was not loud.

But the imperial pressure carved into his very bones forced the words “Your Majesty” back down Meng Tian’s throat before he could say them.

Ying Zheng gestured toward the surrounding soldiers with his chin.

“This is a battlefield.”

“Where would an emperor come from here?”

Meng Tian froze.

He looked up at that face—far too young, yet terrifyingly familiar.

His mind became complete chaos.

His Majesty had become young again?

Who would believe something like that?

But that Taia Sword could not be faked.

And that overwhelming aura of slaughtering men like chopping vegetables could not be faked either.

“Th-Then… how should this servant address you?”

Meng Tian’s voice trembled.

Ying Zheng jumped down from his horse.

His movements were as agile as a leopard’s.

He patted Meng Tian on the shoulder.

“Call me General.”

“Right now, I’m just one of Great Qin’s elite soldiers.”

“Understood?”

Meng Tian nodded frantically.

It felt as though his head might fall off from nodding so hard.

“Understood! This servant understands!”

“The General is mighty! The General is unmatched beneath the heavens!”

Ying Zheng listened with satisfaction.

Laughing loudly, he tossed the Taia Sword to a nearby guard.

“Go. Inform the entire army.”

“We have achieved complete victory in this battle!”

“ROAR!!”

The surrounding Qin soldiers erupted into cheers.

But Ying Ziye showed little reaction.

Still seated on horseback, he looked toward the kneeling Xiongnu prisoners.

There were probably twenty to thirty thousand of them.

Since their commander had fled, they had all surrendered.

Each one hung their head in despair like lambs awaiting slaughter.

“Qinglong.”

Ying Ziye beckoned with a finger.

Qinglong instantly appeared beneath the horse.

“Your orders, Young Master?”

“Tie every one of them up tightly.”

Ying Ziye swept his riding crop in a circle.

“If even one ear goes missing, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“These are all money, after all.”

Qinglong froze.

“Young Master… we’re not killing them?”

“In the past, barbarians like these were buried alive directly. Keeping them alive only wastes food.”

Ying Ziye looked at Qinglong as if he were an idiot.

“Kill them?”

“Does your family mine ore without workers?”

“Don’t our potatoes and sweet potatoes need people to plant them?”

“Don’t roads need workers to lay the stones?”

Ying Ziye looked deeply pained.

“What does Great Qin lack the most right now? Labor!”

“These Xiongnu men are strong and sturdy. They’ll definitely be excellent workers.”

“Give them just enough food to survive and make them work until they die.”

“Isn’t that cost-effective?”

“And once they die, bury them in the fields—they can even serve as fertilizer.”

Qinglong felt a chill run down his spine.

He had originally thought that, as commander of the Jinyiwei, he himself was already ruthless enough.

Compared to this eight-year-old young prince—

He felt like a philanthropist.

“And another thing.”

Ying Ziye pointed toward the corpses of the dead Xiongnu.

“Cut off all their heads.”

“Pile them up outside Shang Commandery’s city gates.”

“Make the pile taller.”

“Build a 京观—a mound of skulls.”

“So every barbarian who wants to march south in the future can take a good look.”

“This is what it costs to leave your mark here.”

After speaking, Ying Ziye yawned.

“Alright, let’s enter the city.”

“I’m starving. Let’s see if there’s anything good to eat inside.”

…

The gates of Shang Commandery stood wide open.

There were no flowers.

No red carpet.

Only blood and corpses covering the ground.

Fusu stood at the city gates.

He still carried that chipped sword in his hand.

The white Confucian robe on his body had already turned blackish-red.

Dried clots of blood had hardened across it like armor.

He stared at the approaching army in the distance.

At the very front—

It was not Meng Tian.

Instead, it was an eight-year-old child riding a tall warhorse.

Beside him was a young general clad in black armor, radiating heroic vigor.

The child lazily chewed on half a piece of dried meat.

The young general still had bloodstains on his face that had not been wiped clean, and he was talking with Meng Tian beside him.

General Meng Tian.

The guardian deity of Great Qin’s northern frontier.

At this moment, he looked like an aggrieved little daughter-in-law, following behind that young man with complete submissiveness.

Fusu felt like his brain had stopped working.

He rubbed his eyes.

“Th-That’s Ninth Brother?”

He recognized Ying Ziye immediately.

That figure was too distinctive to mistake.

But who was that young man?

Why did he look so much like… the portraits of Father Emperor in his youth?

The army drew closer and closer.

That overwhelming aura of bloodlust crashed toward him head-on.

Fusu instinctively wanted to bow in greeting.

But he realized he could not move.

His legs had gone weak.

The young general’s gaze swept over him.

Just one glance.

And Fusu felt as though he had been targeted by some ancient ferocious beast.

That fear and reverence etched into his bones—

It was even stronger than when facing the Xiongnu’s army of three hundred thousand.

“B-Big Brother?”

Ying Ziye’s voice rang out.

Clear.

Young.

Yet to Fusu at this moment, it sounded like a voice from another world.

Riding his horse, Ying Ziye stopped before Fusu.

Looking down from above at this elder brother who usually spoke endlessly of benevolence and morality—

“Tsk.”

Ying Ziye shook his head in disgust.

“Big Brother, your clothes…”

“They’re filthy.”

Fusu opened his mouth.

He wanted to ask what had happened to the Xiongnu.

He wanted to ask where these reinforcements had come from.

He wanted to ask who that young man was.

But no sound came out.

It felt as though something was in his throat.

All he could do was stare blankly at Ying Ziye.