MLMD -Chapter 144 A Crushing Blow

The Later Jin scout, whose limbs had all been severed, wailed uncontrollably on the battlefield. Thanks to his strong physique, he did not die immediately despite losing all four limbs; instead, he writhed on the ground in agony. Blood gushed from his wounds, staining the ground crimson and forming twisted patterns as it spread.

The Later Jin soldiers, who had been celebrating their killing of dozens of Ming civilians, fell silent the moment they saw the scout’s horrific state.

Seeing the enemy army go utterly quiet, a Ming soldier lifted an iron horn and shouted in Manchu, “You barbarians! If you continue to oppose the Great Ming and slaughter our people, let this cripple be your example!”

In the midst of his ranks, Hafong’a had laughed when the Niu Lu had massacred those Ming civilians, eagerly anticipating the fear or anger on the Ming soldiers’ faces. He had never expected such an immediate and brutal retaliation.

By the numbers, exchanging a single scout for dozens of civilians should have been a massive gain. But to the arrogant Hafong’a, this was a humiliating disgrace. That elite Later Jin warrior had been captured—and then killed in such a cruel and humiliating way right before their eyes. If he could not endure this insult, his position as a Jalarchangjing (a senior military commander) would be meaningless.

Fuming, Hafong’a roared, ordering Gosh’ha to tell Niu Lu that if he failed to crush this group of Ming soldiers, he would personally take his head. The soldiers around him were equally enraged at the audacity of the Ming to execute a captive in front of them; the only way to satisfy their anger was to kill them all.

With the blare of horns, Niu Lu led over three hundred men toward the Ming lines. Among them were cavalry and infantry: at the front, over thirty white-armored soldiers and more than a hundred warriors, followed by over two hundred auxiliary troops, either mounted or on foot, surging toward the Ming formation.

The Ming soldiers in the front ranks, especially the first-timers, felt their breaths quicken at the sight of the charging Later Jin troops. As the shouts drew closer, many of them paled, for the reputation of the Jurchen soldiers was far greater than any bandits or rebels they had faced before. The pressure on them was immense.

However, Yue Yang’s training instilled strict discipline, and a recent decree reinforced it: “In battle, anyone who retreats, acts without orders, or panics shall be publicly punished.”

Nearby captains and squad leaders quietly encouraged their soldiers, bolstering morale. After all, morale determines victory, and without it, a defeat is inevitable.

Suddenly, the sound of drums rang out. Feng Xiaoming turned to see the Sun-and-Moon banner waving in the center of the formation. He shouted loudly, “All troops, listen! First rank, ready!”

“First rank, ready!”

“Clack… clack…”

As Feng Xiaoming’s orders reached the front, the two captains at the forefront shouted, and the two hundred arquebusiers took aim. Their Minié-style rifles, already loaded, were leveled at the approaching Later Jin soldiers.

It was noon. The scorching sun beat down on the armored arquebusiers, sweat streaming down their faces, yet none of them wiped it away.

Soon, the Later Jin troops reached roughly three hundred steps from the Ming lines. Still, no firing order came from behind, causing Feng Xiaoming to anxiously glance back.

Finally, when the enemy closed to two hundred steps, a rhythmic drumbeat sounded, and three Sun-and-Moon banners waved. This signified that Yue Yang had delegated firing authority to the frontline commander. Overjoyed, Feng Xiaoming blew his whistle sharply.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

The front two captains swung their long blades and shouted: “Fire!”

From the left and right, two hundred arquebusiers simultaneously pulled their triggers.

Flashes and smoke filled the sky as the volleys erupted.

If Dorgon were present, he would have scolded Niu Lu harshly. Charging at the Ming at just over two hundred meters, in such tight formation, was sheer suicide.

But the unfortunate Later Jin soldiers, encountering Yue Yang’s forces for the first time, paid the price. The first volley of two hundred firearms threw the front ranks into chaos. Lead bullets struck the white-armored and mail-clad soldiers unexpectedly, instantly killing over thirty and shocking the charging troops.

Yet the battlefield is no playground. Those behind, seeing their comrades fall, only pressed forward with greater frenzy. Mounted troops leaned low on their horses, whipping them onward.

After firing, the first rank soldiers turned and retreated through the gaps in the second rank.

Feng Xiaoming shouted: “Second rank, fire! Take out the barbarians!”

The first rank retreated to the last row to reload, while the second rank stepped forward and opened fire again.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The Later Jin, unprepared for such rapid reloading, were hit again. Over thirty more fell, some horribly wounded, others screaming and writhing as the bullets tore through their armor into their flesh.

“Keep firing… third rank, step up!”

Feng Xiaoming’s eyes burned with intensity as the volleys continued. White smoke drifted across the sky.

After the fifth volley, the shrill cries of the Later Jin had vanished. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.

The white smoke dispersed, revealing the aftermath. The previously charging troops had mostly fallen; fewer than a hundred remained, mostly auxiliary troops. The elite white-armored soldiers, mail troops, and infantry who had led the charge lay in pools of blood.

A breeze carried the strong stench of blood.

All were silent. Hafong’a, who had been observing from behind, froze. He could not believe that the highly anticipated Niu Lu had been incapacitated in less than fifteen minutes, lying on the path of his own charge.

“This… this is impossible! How can the Ming’s firearms shoot so far?” Hafong’a shouted, his face twisted in rage. He had clearly seen them fire from over two hundred steps away, effortlessly toppling heavily armored soldiers. When had Ming firearms become so deadly?

As Hafong’a hesitated, the last few dozen auxiliary soldiers panicked. In unison, they cried out, turned, and fled. With the elite troops dead, their fate would have been certain death anyway.

Yet, they underestimated Hafong’a. Seeing the retreat, he barked orders, and two squads of white-armored soldiers charged in, cutting down the fleeing auxiliaries amidst screams.

Watching the bloodied Later Jin soldiers, Hafong’a’s rage boiled over. This was the worst defeat he had ever suffered. Over three hundred warriors had charged the Ming, yet not a single one had landed a blow; all were cut down. How could their firearms shoot so far? Why were they so deadly?

Hafong’a hesitated, unsure whether to attack further or retreat. Both choices were perilous: continuing the assault meant heavy losses, while retreat might incur Yue Tuo’s wrath. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of Yue Tuo’s furious temper.

At that moment, the thundering sound of hooves approached. Soon, a large force appeared—Roluohun and Ka’erchuhun had come to reinforce him.