“Charge!”
Ying Ziye’s voice was torn apart by the wind and snow.
Yet that single word branded itself into the hearts of the eight hundred Qin soldiers like red-hot iron.
There were no battle cries.
No war drums.
Only the muffled thump-thump of horse hooves crushing through deep snow.
The eight hundred cavalrymen were like ghosts crawling out of hell itself.
Silent and invisible—
As they lunged toward that dim yellow glow flickering through the blizzard.
Inside the Xiongnu camp, everything was peaceful.
The men sat around bonfires, guzzling mare’s milk wine while bragging about which small tribe’s women they had plundered that day.
No one believed danger could reach them.
This was the heart of the “White-Hair Wind Pass.”
A place where even gods lost their way.
A dead zone even prairie wolves dared not enter.
And besides—
This was one of Chanyu Touman’s winter royal camps.
Who would dare come here?
Who even could?
A drunken Xiongnu sentry staggered out of a tent to relieve himself.
He rubbed his eyes.
In the distant snowstorm, he thought he saw black dots.
The black dots rapidly grew larger.
What were those?
Stray wild cattle?
Before he could sound the alarm—
Bzzzz—
A dense buzzing sound, like a swarm of bees beating their wings, pierced through the blizzard.
He lowered his head.
Three black bolts were embedded in his chest.
Blood poured out from the holes.
Warm.
That was his final thought.
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Around the outer edge of the camp, every Xiongnu exposed outside the tents collapsed at the same moment.
They never even saw where the enemy came from.
The silent rain of arrows turned them into porcupines.
The Zhuge repeating crossbow.
Three-shot burst fire.
One synchronized volley meant two thousand four hundred deadly bolts.
The entire outer perimeter of the camp was wiped clean in an instant.
Only then—
Did the thunder of horse hooves truly arrive.
The eight hundred cavalrymen were like a red-hot blade slicing through butter.
They crashed into the camp.
The Xiongnu inside the tents finally reacted.
Screaming and roaring, they rushed out of their tents.
Only to be greeted by a second volley of arrows.
A point-blank barrage.
One Xiongnu warrior had barely stepped outside his tent before five or six crossbow bolts slammed into him head-on—
Pinning him straight back onto the felt tent wall.
“Kill!”
Wang Li’s roar finally erupted.
The Qin soldiers threw away their repeating crossbows.
And drew the Qin swords from their waists.
Using the leverage of the stirrups, they practically stood upright on horseback.
Towering above their enemies.
Cutting them down like vegetables.
One Xiongnu warrior tried to crawl beneath a horse to slash its legs.
Wang Li did not even glance at him.
With a casual backhand slash—
Splurt.
A perfectly good head flew into the air.
Blood splashed all over him.
“Awesome!”
Wang Li roared.
This battle felt too damn satisfying.
No worrying about being dragged off the horse.
No exhausting effort clamping onto the saddle.
All they had to do—
Was swing their swords.
Swing without stopping!
At the horse-handler camp—
Fusu’s eyes were bloodshot red.
He tightly gripped the reins of three reserve warhorses.
His nose was filled with the smell of blood.
That scent was like a hook, dragging something buried deep within his heart up to the surface.
A wounded Qin soldier fell from his horse beside him.
A Xiongnu curved blade immediately swung toward the soldier’s neck.
Fusu moved.
He released the reins and drew the dagger at his waist.
Then charged forward.
Using all his strength, he drove the dagger into the Xiongnu warrior’s lower back.
“ARGH!”
The Xiongnu screamed and kicked Fusu hard in the chest.
Fusu crashed into the snow.
Nearby, he saw a Qin centurion cut down an enemy.
The blood-covered Qin sword fell to the ground.
Fusu scrambled desperately toward it.
And picked up the sword.
Heavy.
He staggered to his feet.
A young Xiongnu boy, seeing him as an easy target, rushed toward him with a blade.
The boy looked no older than fourteen or fifteen.
His face still carried traces of childish innocence.
Fusu’s hand trembled slightly on the sword hilt.
He remembered the teachings from the classics:
“Love the young of others as you love your own young.”
But in that instant—
His mind exploded with a roar.
Another image surfaced before his eyes.
The infant nailed to a wooden stake by a spear.
Those eyes that refused to close in death—
Eyes accusing the entire world.
Fusu’s eyes changed.
That trace of hesitation.
That trace of mercy.
Vanished completely.
In their place—
Was endless hatred.
He did not retreat.
Instead, he stepped forward toward the young Xiongnu warrior.
The Qin sword in his hand swung upward at an extremely clumsy—
Yet unbelievably vicious angle.
Slash!
A flash of steel.
The savagery on the Xiongnu youth’s face froze solid.
His head slid from his neck.
Thunk.
It fell into the snow and rolled twice.
Warm blood sprayed all over Fusu’s face and body.
Fusu did not dodge.
He even stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from the corner of his mouth.
Salty.
Bloody.
He smiled.
A smile uglier than crying.
“Repay hatred with justice…”
He muttered softly.
Turning around, he saw a Xiongnu soldier trying to flee.
Fusu chased after him.
One thrust.
The sword pierced straight through the man’s heart from behind.
Fusu pulled the blade free.
Then hacked viciously at the corpse again.
One strike.
Two strikes.
Three strikes.
“Repay hatred with justice!”
“Repay virtue with virtue!”
He had gone mad.
Shouting while slashing wildly.
Until finally, the Qin sword could no longer withstand the insane force behind his blows.
Clang.
It snapped in half.
Fusu stood amidst the pile of corpses, gripping the broken sword.
Panting heavily.
…
The battle was over.
So quickly it was unbelievable.
From the first volley of arrows to the fall of the last Xiongnu warrior—
Less than half an hour had passed.
Eight hundred Qin soldiers.
Three dead.
A little over ten lightly wounded.
The results:
Nearly three thousand enemies annihilated.
More than ten thousand cattle and sheep captured.
Over five thousand warhorses seized.
Riding that crimson divine steed, Ying Ziye slowly paced through the camp where blood flowed like rivers.
Like a king inspecting his domain.
He stopped before Fusu.
Fusu still stood there, drenched in blood, resembling an evil ghost crawling out of hell.
Wang Li rode over and spoke quietly.
“Ninth Young Master… the Crown Prince… seems to have killed himself into madness.”
Ying Ziye said nothing.
He simply looked at Fusu.
For a long time.
Then he nodded.
“Now that…”
“…looks like a true son of the Ying family.”
After speaking, he turned his horse around.
“Pass down the order.”
“Slaughter the cattle and sheep. Everyone drinks a bowl of hot blood to recover strength.”
“No fires allowed.”
“Switch to the best Xiongnu horses and carry raw meat.”
“We continue moving.”
The orders were executed immediately.
The Qin soldiers slit open the throats of sheep with their blades.
Using their helmets to catch the spurting hot blood before tilting their heads back and drinking it down.
Then, at maximum speed, they skinned animals, cut meat, and changed horses.
The entire process was silent and efficient.
Like a pack of wolves working in perfect coordination.
While clearing the battlefield—
Two soldiers dragged a trembling Xiongnu man out from inside a haystack.
He was the only survivor.
“Young Master, how should we deal with him?”
Wang Li walked over with sword in hand.
“Stop.”
Ying Ziye’s voice rang out.
Sitting atop his horse, he looked down coldly at the Xiongnu man who had already wet his pants in terror.
“Ninth Young Master, this man is one of Touman’s personal guards. We cannot let him live!” Wang Li urged.
Ying Ziye smiled.
“Who said I was going to kill him?”
He pointed his horsewhip at the Xiongnu man.
“Let him go.”
Wang Li froze.
“What? Ninth Young Master, this is letting a tiger return to the mountains!”
“No.”
Ying Ziye shook his head.
Looking at the Xiongnu survivor, he spoke word by word.
“This is not a tiger.”
“This is a letter.”
“A letter that can run, scream, and spread fear across the entire grassland.”
He leaned closer to the terrified man and softly spoke in the Xiongnu tongue.
“Go back.”
“Tell your Chanyu Touman.”
“Tell every man on the grasslands who dares hold a blade.”
“I—Ying Ziye, Ninth Prince of Great Qin…”
“…have arrived.”
The Xiongnu man felt as though he had been granted a royal pardon.
Scrambling and crawling, he fled madly into the endless snowstorm.
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