MLMD -Chapter 155 Retreat

“Boom…”

A pitch‑black, enlarged version of a Wannandi came crashing down from midair, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. It rolled along until it stopped beside a Later Jin auxiliary soldier holding a heavy shield.

The auxiliary soldier and the Later Jin troops around him had no idea what the thing was, but one thing they were certain of: anything sent over by the Ming army could not possibly be good. Just as they were about to move away from it, the round object exploded.

“Boom—!”

A violent explosion erupted, accompanied by thick black smoke shooting skyward. After detonating, the two jin of black powder instantly shattered the cast‑iron sphere of equal weight into dozens of jagged fragments of varying sizes. These once‑insignificant bits became deadly in an instant.

They spread outward faster than the speed of sound, blowing five or six heavily armored Later Jin soldiers nearby into mangled heaps of flesh.

“Boom! Boom! Boom…”

Explosions rang out one after another within the ranks of the Later Jin troops. The shield carts and soldiers who had rushed up to the front of the camp were immediately struck down. The projectiles hurled by these catapults were nothing like the iron balls from earlier that relied solely on momentum to kill—these things exploded.

Amid the deafening blasts, more than twenty shield carts and over a hundred Later Jin soldiers at the very front were blown off their feet. In an instant, the area before the camp was shrouded in thick bluish smoke.

When the smoke slowly dispersed, a scene of utter devastation appeared before everyone’s eyes. Within a hundred paces of the camp, hardly any soldiers were left standing. Shattered shield carts, soldiers torn into bloody pulp, and severed limbs scattered everywhere all bore silent witness to the horrific slaughter that had just taken place.

“Hiss…”

Even the Ming soldiers who were still fighting desperately against the Later Jin could not help but gape in shock at the sight.

“Damn… this is way too brutal.”

Feng Xiaoming, his face blackened by smoke and gunpowder, stared at the area in front of the camp—which had been packed with enemy troops just moments earlier but was now eerily empty—and muttered an unconscious exclamation.

If even the perpetrators were stunned, the impact on the side that had suffered such heavy losses was naturally far deeper. When Luoluhun, positioned farther back, saw that more than a hundred Later Jin warriors who had finally reached the front of the Ming camp were obliterated by successive explosions without accomplishing anything, he was so agitated he nearly fell off his horse.

Clenching his lower lip tightly, drops of blood trickled down, yet Luoluhun felt none of it. All he felt was as if his heart had been set ablaze, the pain in his chest burning unbearably.

“These damned Nikan! I’ll kill every last one of them!” Having lost much of his reason, he raised his saber high and roared hoarsely, “All men, charge! Kill every one of those lowly Nikan!”

His distorted, rasping voice echoed through the air, and the soldiers around him all went red‑eyed.

Suddenly, a burly niru commander stepped out from behind a shield cart. With bloodshot eyes, he shouted loudly, “Warriors of the Later Jin! Those cowardly Han only dare to hide behind mud walls and use despicable means to slaughter our brave men! As faithful servants of Eternal Heaven, how can we endure such humiliation? Warriors, take up your blades and spears—follow me and slaughter every one of those lowly Nikan!”

With that, the niru raised a tiger‑head spear and charged forward.

Dozens of heavily armored maja soldiers and five or six white‑armored elite troops also leapt out from behind shield carts or heavy shields under his lead, weapons in hand, rushing madly toward the front. At that moment, they had only one thought: to kill all those Han who had slain their comrades, using the cruelest methods possible.

These maja and white‑armored troops truly lived up to their reputation as the elite of the Later Jin. Despite wearing two or even three layers of heavy armor, they still moved with astonishing speed, instinctively seeking cover as they ran.

Nearly everyone on both sides fixed their gaze on this niru and the dozens of charging maja.

Farther back, Yueto also watched the scene tensely. Normally calm and composed, he now gripped his reins tightly with both hands, waiting to see whether these elite warriors of the Later Jin could bring him a surprise.

At this moment, the Ming artillery and catapults ceased firing. Watching these seemingly irrational Jurchens, Yue Yang curled his lips into a mocking smile. He raised his hand and said softly to a soldier carrying a bugle beside him, “Tell the arquebusiers—they may open fire.”

“Di—di—di—”

The shrill call of the bugle echoed above the camp. Behind the walls, which had previously shown only sparse figures, rows upon rows of soldiers suddenly appeared. Each held a Minié‑type musket, the dark muzzles all pointed forward.

The niru shouted in Manchu as he charged at the center of the formation. He bore a red‑tasseled square banner, wore three layers of heavy armor, and wielded a long‑handled iron tiger‑head spear nearly seven chi long. The spearhead gleamed coldly, radiating death.

Close behind him were five or six white‑armored troops clad in heavy armor—the finest warriors of the Bordered Red Banner. Some carried shields and great sabers, others swung long‑handled blades or massive axes, howling as they charged.

Inside the Ming camp, a qianzong in his thirties raised his saber and shouted, “First rank, attention! Target… enemy Tatars ahead! Aim… ready… fire!”

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

A crisp, dense volley erupted like popping beans. Amid flashes and white smoke, more than twenty of the charging maja soldiers were immediately struck down.

The niru and the five or six white‑armored troops beside him were singled out in particular. In the flashes and smoke, over a dozen muskets were trained on them at once. The shots slammed into the massive frames of the white‑armored soldiers. Even with three layers of heavy armor, at less than a hundred paces the tremendous power of the Minié muskets easily pierced their armor, blasting one or several huge bloody holes through their bodies.

The remaining dozen or so attackers were stunned by the dense hail of bullets. Though no one had ever taught them how to deal with firearms, battlefield instinct took over. Some dropped prone, others hid behind carts or corpses.

As for the niru who had led the charge, luck favored him slightly more than the white‑armored troops around him. Whether by chance or intent, in that first volley he was miraculously hit only in the legs—both calves neatly shattered into pieces by lead balls. It was said that ten fingers were linked to the heart, but what of two legs? With both legs severed, he lay beside a corpse, screaming in agony, his cries piercing. The heavy tiger‑head spear he had been gripping tightly fell from his hand to the side.

“Save me! Someone pull me up!”

Wracked with pain and on the verge of fainting, he stretched out a hand toward his comrades. Two maja soldiers glanced at each other, then quickly dashed out from their cover to reach him, each grabbing one of his arms to drag him away.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

A string of dull gunshots rang out nearby. Several gaping holes suddenly appeared in the bodies of the two rescuers. Their double layers of heavy armor were shattered to pieces. They collapsed, coughing up blackened clots of blood, eyes wide open, and soon breathed their last.

“Bastards! Those despicable Ming dogs… bastards!”

Now everyone could see it clearly—the Ming troops inside the camp were deliberately not killing that niru, using him instead as bait to lure others into trying to rescue him.

The Later Jin soldiers were enraged. Shouting furiously, they surged forward.

“Kill them all!”

“Charge!”

Nearly four hundred enraged Later Jin soldiers swarmed forward from the rear.

Luoluhun, protected by more than ten heavily armored guards, followed at the back of the formation. Like the other Jurchens around him, his mind held only one thought: charge up and kill the Ming soldiers hiding behind the walls and giving orders.

Less than a li away, on a small hill, Yueto gently closed his eyes and said in a low voice to the goshha beside him, “Sound the horn. Have them all withdraw. Enough of our warriors’ blood has been shed today.”

“Woo—woo—woo—”

The mournful wail of the horn sounded once more. The sound caused Luoluhun and the charging Later Jin soldiers to freeze at the same time.

“Beizi, the Beile commands us to withdraw,” a white‑armored soldier whispered to Luoluhun.

“I know,” Luoluhun replied softly.

After his frenzied charge and upon hearing the retreat signal, the heat in his head gradually cooled, and reason returned. He slowly closed his eyes, pain etched across his face. After a long moment, he weakly waved his hand and said, “Alright… order the warriors to withdraw.”

The discipline of the Jurchen Eight Banners was exceptionally strict. Once the retreat horn sounded, even if there were a mountain of gold ahead, you still had to pull back. Thus, after a brief moment of hesitation, the Later Jin soldiers immediately turned around and began retreating.

But as the saying went, it was easy to come, hard to leave. When the Ming troops inside the camp saw the Later Jin withdrawing, the artillery that had fallen silent once again roared to life. Accompanied by dense musket fire, the Later Jin soldiers who had been at the very front now suffered terribly.

Lead balls chased at their heels, striking the ground around them or punching into their bodies. During the retreat, dozens more Later Jin soldiers fell along the road.

The dense gunfire continued for quite some time before gradually fading away. Then, waves of cheers erupted from within the Ming camp…

“The Tatars are running!”

“We’ve won!”