MLMD -Chapter 154 Probing

“Woooo—woooo—”

A low, solemn horn call drifted over the camp. Fully armed Later Jin soldiers spread out, advancing behind rows of shield carts.

Today the Later Jin troops were noticeably more cautious. Hundreds of wooden shields tightly protected the soldiers hiding behind them, making the whole formation look like a line of giant turtles slowly crawling forward.

Watching the shield carts inch ahead, Yue Yang sneered. “Heh… the barbarians learned fast. They’ve brought out so many shield carts—looks like yesterday really scared them. But today isn’t the same as yesterday. Someone, order the artillery battalion to fire!”

“Boom! Boom! Boom—”

At Yue Yang’s command, the twelve tiger-crouching cannons deployed in front of the camp roared in unison. More than a dozen cannonballs flew almost simultaneously toward the Later Jin formation.

Each eight‑jin iron shot traced a semicircle through the air before crashing down into the advancing ranks. Most landed on open ground, but two struck shield carts that were moving forward slowly.

Carrying tremendous downward force and explosive momentum, the two iron balls slammed into the carts with a thunderous clang. Wood splintered everywhere as the carts shook violently before collapsing with a crash, exposing five or six archers hiding inside. Though the cannonballs did not hit them directly, the sheer force of an eight‑jin iron projectile traveling at high speed was far from trivial. Amid flying splinters and violent impact, the archers screamed and fell, many of their faces embedded with shards of broken wood.

Out of twelve cannons, two hits—already an impressive hit rate. Yue Yang nodded, then leaned over and whispered a few words to the messenger beside him.

Understanding at once, the messenger ran off toward the rear of the camp. Soon after, the front gate of the camp swung open, and squads of cavalry poured out from the main entrance.

Yet something strange happened. After leaving the camp, the cavalry did not charge the Later Jin army. Instead, they veered immediately to the right, galloping two or three li away before stopping, watching the enemy coldly.

Seeing that cavalry force clad in gray‑black armor and radiating killing intent, Yueto frowned deeply. Beside him, Luoluhun and several jalan janggin also darkened in expression.

Veteran commanders like them would never naïvely assume the cavalry had been frightened into retreat. They all knew that cavalry only showed their true strength once in motion. Staying inside the camp left them little room to maneuver. Once outside, they were like hawks released from a cage—circling nearby, watching closely. The moment the Later Jin army showed the slightest flaw, they would pounce like starving wolves and tear out their throats.

“Damn it—these Ming dogs won’t stop buzzing around us like flies,” Karchuhun cursed through clenched teeth. Then, turning angrily to Yueto, he said, “Ama, let me take a thousand cavalry and wipe out those Ming dogs. Please grant permission!”

Yueto glanced at him and replied coolly, “Karchuhun, what have I always taught you? Stay calm when facing matters. Leaving aside whether a thousand cavalry could defeat their two thousand, even if you could, do you think they wouldn’t run? If they flee, will you chase them or not? If you pursue, you’d fall straight into their trap. Our forces are already limited—if you take away another thousand cavalry, what happens if the Ming army suddenly charges out of the camp? Leading troops in reckless pursuit… what were you thinking? Step back at once!”

“Yes…” Chastised, Karchuhun retreated a few steps, not daring to speak again.

In truth, he knew his idea was flawed. The ancients always said that attacking an enemy city or camp required several times the defender’s strength. Yueto only had a little over four thousand troops—roughly equal to the enemy. Attacking the Ming camp was already risky; dividing forces further would be sheer folly. No wonder he had been scolded.

While Yueto was reprimanding his son, his eldest son Luoluhun was commanding two niru to push forward toward the Ming camp with great difficulty.

The Ming artillery fire was fierce and rapid—almost every one or two minutes, another volley. Each salvo claimed several lives.

On the surface, losing a few men at a time didn’t seem like much, but this stifling situation was devastating to morale. Even the famously fierce Later Jin warriors gradually grew agitated and panicked under such relentless punishment.

“Someone tell the warriors to speed up—charge to the front of the Ming camp!” Luoluhun finally understood how Hafenga had felt yesterday. Being beaten without being able to strike back was unbearably frustrating.

As the Later Jin troops drew closer, the Ming cannon fire became more accurate, and casualties began to rise.

“Hurry—reload quickly!” Behind the camp wall, the artillery unit leader shouted hoarsely, sweat pouring down his face as he urged the gunners to increase their rate of fire.

Each cannon was now manned by four gunners. After firing, one loader used a wooden rod wrapped with cloth to clean the barrel, scraping out residue, while another poured water over the cannon to cool it. Then came the powder, the shot, and the fuse—followed by aiming and ignition.

The process sounded complicated, but experienced crews could complete it in under a minute. Their orders were clear: fire as many shots as possible in the shortest time, inflicting maximum casualties on the barbarians.

“Boom—!”

An eight‑jin cannonball, carrying immense momentum, arced beautifully through the air and struck a wooden shield along with the auxiliary soldier holding it. The thick shield was pierced like paper, and the auxiliary along with several armored infantrymen behind him were smashed to the ground.

The shield bearer and two armored soldiers died instantly. The last armored infantryman had his lower body blown away by the speeding shot. Strong as he was, he did not die immediately. He lay screaming in agony, his shrill cries nearly drowning out the thunder of the cannons.

“Damn these cannons!” Luoluhun cursed under his breath from about two hundred paces away. He recognized the screaming soldier—a renowned warrior of the Bordered Red Banner, only twenty‑six years old, powerfully built and known as a Baturu. Just last year, he had taken a beautiful wife. Now, a single shot had torn half his body away.

“Damn these cannons!”

The same curse came from behind the battlefield—from Luoluhun’s father, Prince Yueto.

Standing farther back, Yueto could see even more clearly. Though the battle had lasted less than half an hour, his experience told him that this Ming force was different from those he had faced before.

Compared with previous Ming armies, this one was better trained and better equipped. The steady, rhythmic artillery fire alone proved it. In the past, Ming troops needed five or six minutes between shots—nothing like this relentless tempo.

Yueto had formed a judgment, but he did not rush to conclusions. He continued observing the battlefield, wanting to see more before deciding.

“Sir, the barbarians are almost at the chevaux‑de‑frise. Can we begin?” Impatient, Feng Xiaoming hurried over to Yue Yang.

“What’s the rush?” Yue Yang shot him a sideways glance and replied calmly. “Wait until they’re within a hundred paces before acting. Otherwise, it won’t achieve the desired effect.”

“Yes!” Feng Xiaoming scratched his head anxiously, then returned to his post.

He stood about ten paces inside the main gate. Beside him were nearly fifty small trebuchets, each attended by two soldiers.

At the front of each machine was a basin‑like cup holding a black, round object, with a fuse sticking out.

In essence, these were enlarged Wanren Di bombs. The smaller version weighed only two jin and was thrown by hand; these weighed five jin and were launched by trebuchets. Their range was limited—just over a hundred paces.

Another seven or eight minutes passed. Under Luoluhun’s command, after losing seventy or eighty men, the Later Jin troops finally reached within a hundred paces of the Ming camp. Some began pushing aside the chevaux‑de‑frise, while others, under shield cover, swept away the iron caltrops scattered before the gate.

Growing impatient, Feng Xiaoming finally saw the signal flag from the cart behind him authorizing fire.

Unable to hold back, he shrieked, “Damn it—fire!”

“Fire!”

“Fire!”

Torches ignited the fuses. As they hissed and burned, another soldier pulled the release.

With a whoosh, the trebuchets hurled the four‑jin Wanren Di into the air. The bombs traced graceful arcs before dropping more than a hundred paces in front of the camp…