MLMD -Chapter 248 A Fierce Battle

Piercing screams tore through the night sky. The moment those cries rang out, the Qing soldiers lying beside the campfires were jolted awake. Grabbing their weapons, they leapt to their feet, shouting in alarm.

But caught completely off guard, how could they react in time? Arrows gleaming with cold light shot continuously out of the darkness, and Qing soldiers were struck down one after another. Most of them had already removed their armor, and with no protection at all, how could they withstand such sharp arrows? In just a few short minutes, more than a dozen Qing soldiers had been hit—killed outright or rendered incapable of fighting.

For a moment, men shouted and horses neighed as chaos erupted everywhere. Even these Qing troops, who prided themselves on being battle-hardened veterans, were thrown into panic. Over a dozen soldiers grabbed whatever weapons they could find and flailed wildly as they ran toward the large house, hoping to use it as cover.

At that moment, four burly officers rushed out of the house. They were the Fendeboshi-ku and three Zhuanda, who had heard the commotion and come running. Unlike their subordinates, these officers were of much higher quality; even while sleeping, they had not removed their armor. Thus, when they emerged, they were fully armored and holding iron hammers, long sabers, and other weapons.

The moment these four officers saw that more than half of their dozens of men had already fallen, they were furious, roaring in rage. The three Zhuanda were just about to charge forward when several arrows suddenly flew out of the darkness. Fortunately, these Qing leaders were skilled fighters; they swung their shields and weapons, knocking the arrows aside. Seeing this, the Fendeboshi-ku hurriedly shouted orders, telling his men to retreat into the house to take cover.

Just then, several sturdy men dressed in Ming clothing charged in from the side, wielding gleaming sabers, spears, and shields. Leading them was an exceptionally burly man—none other than Lengzi, whose killing ability was the strongest among them and who was always the vanguard in battle.

Lengzi gripped a heavy saber weighing over twenty jin with both hands and hacked it down at a Qing soldier. The man had no time to defend himself, and without armor, he was cut cleanly in half at the waist. He did not die immediately; the upper half of his body writhed on the ground, emitting shrill screams that echoed throughout the entire village.

This kind of death was known in ancient times as waist-cutting.

It was also one of the cruel execution methods used by ancient authorities. The victim would not die right away, but would struggle on the ground for a long time, fully conscious of every moment of pain. This Qing soldier, cut in two, was a hardened warrior with strong vitality, meaning his suffering would last even longer before he finally died in agony.

Close behind Lengzi was Bai Kai. With a shield in his left hand and a long saber in his right, he slashed toward another Tatar. That man was also fierce, raising a tiger-head spear and swinging it wildly at Bai Kai. Seeing the enemy charge forward so recklessly, Bai Kai sneered. He blocked with his shield, drew his saber back, then changed the slash into a thrust—driving the blade straight through the man’s chest, killing him instantly.

Old Kui fought differently. Though he was no longer young, his footwork was extraordinarily agile. He held a small leather shield in one hand and a standard-issue curved saber weighing five jin in the other, circling around a towering Zhuanda armed with a massive iron hammer.

This Zhuanda held a round shield in one hand and a huge iron hammer in the other. He was immensely strong and tall, with a huge head atop a square, solid-looking body. He swung the hammer again and again at Old Kui. The hammer weighed at least twenty or thirty jin—one solid hit would surely shatter bones and send flesh flying. Old Kui kept circling him, constantly dodging and refusing to meet force with force, which enraged the Zhuanda into roaring nonstop.

Soon, Old Kui seized an opening. As the iron hammer came crashing down, he sidestepped and slashed the Zhuanda’s calf with his curved saber. The Tatar howled in pain and involuntarily dropped to a crouch. Old Kui immediately lunged forward, thrusting his shield out. A sharp spike mounted on the leather shield silently pierced straight through the Qing soldier’s throat.

The man had just been raising his tiger saber when the spike drove in. His eyes filled with disbelief. Old Kui then pulled his shield back, and blood sprayed wildly from the Zhuanda’s throat. Still holding his arms aloft, he collapsed to the ground with a thunderous crash.

The cruelty of battlefield combat lies in this—life and death are decided in an instant. There are no romanticized “three hundred rounds of battle” like in operas or storytelling. Survival depends on speed and ruthlessness. Thus, the moment the two sides clashed, with one prepared and the other unready, six or seven Qing soldiers fell almost immediately.

At this point, the numbers stood at six versus five. The remaining five Qing soldiers, led by the Fendeboshi-ku, formed a small defensive formation, standing back to back and gripping their weapons as they glared at these Ming men disguised as civilians. Bai Kai, meanwhile, led Old Kui, Lengzi, and the others to surround them.

But the Tatars were not fools. From the brief exchange, they immediately sensed something familiar—the scent of fellow professionals. The Fendeboshi-ku suddenly glared at them and roared angrily in clumsy Chinese:

“You… I know you! You’re all Ming night scouts! You became soldiers for silver! If you let us go, I’ll give you silver—lots and lots of silver!”

Bai Kai smiled, his expression icy cold. He suddenly waved his hand, and the men behind him immediately stepped aside, opening up a wide passage.

The Fendeboshi-ku was overjoyed. He thought these Ming night scouts had been tempted by silver and were letting them go. He stepped forward, pulled out a bulging cloth pouch from his waist, threw it on the ground, and shouted loudly:

“As long as you let us go, all of this is yours!”

“Bang! Bang!”

Before his words had even finished echoing, two crisp gunshots rang out nearby. Behind him, the heads of two shield-bearing Tatars exploded like watermelons, brains and blood spraying everywhere—some of it splattering across the Fendeboshi-ku’s face.

“Ah—kill them all!”

Realizing he had been tricked and that musketeers were lying in ambush, the Fendeboshi-ku roared and charged at Bai Kai, swinging his heavy sword wildly.

The moment Bai Kai engaged him, he immediately sensed how formidable this opponent was. Though consumed by rage, the Fendeboshi-ku fought with clear structure and discipline. He used his shield to protect himself tightly while continuously hacking at Bai Kai with his heavy blade. Bai Kai blocked several blows with his shield; each collision between shield and blade produced a teeth-gritting metallic clang, and the shock sent dull pain rippling through Bai Kai’s left arm.

“Damn—this Tatar is strong!”

Startled, Bai Kai became even more cautious. They exchanged several more blows. Meanwhile, the Su brothers, hidden nearby, fired another shot. At such close range, with their marksmanship and the excellent performance of the Minié muskets, every shot was a guaranteed hit.

As two more Qing soldiers fell, the remaining Tatars quickly collapsed under the onslaught, hacked to pieces by Lengzi and the others. Soon, only the Fendeboshi-ku was left, struggling desperately.

Seeing all his comrades dead, he knew he could not escape. Howling like a madman, he raised his long blade and charged Bai Kai again. In a flash, the two exchanged several fierce strikes. Bai Kai hacked heavily from the enemy’s neck down to his chest, while the Qing officer roared and slammed a brutal blow into Bai Kai’s chest, the blade then sliding down into his right arm. Although Bai Kai wore full-body armor forged from fine steel, the ten-plus-jin blade still dented it badly, and as it bit into the bone of his arm, a grating sound rang out.

Bai Kai swept his right leg sideways. A sharp crack sounded as the Fendeboshi-ku’s sword arm was kicked out of its socket.

At that moment, Lengzi and the others rushed in and surrounded him. Red-eyed with bloodlust, Lengzi raised a heavy hammer he’d picked up from somewhere, ready to smash the Tatar—but Bai Kai shouted in time:

“Lengzi, take him alive!”

Lengzi twisted his wrist, slamming the hammer into the enemy’s shield instead with a loud clang. Though immensely strong, the Fendeboshi-ku’s left hand went numb from the blow. Intense pain followed immediately; without even looking, he knew his tiger’s mouth grip had split open.

Unable to hold his shield any longer, it fell to the ground under another heavy strike. Now he was completely unarmed.

Seeing this, Lengzi grinned savagely, tossed aside the hammer, and lunged forward. He grabbed the Fendeboshi-ku by the collar and began smashing his iron-gloved fist into the man’s head again and again. After just a few punches, the Qing officer’s face was a bloody, mangled mess—but Lengzi kept hitting him.

In the end, Bai Kai had to shout to stop him.

“Lengzi, enough! Hit him any more and you’ll kill him. If that happens, when we get back I’ll report it to Boss Liang and deduct your military merits!”

Though ferocious, Lengzi was also the most filial of them all—he was counting on earning merits to give his elderly parents and younger siblings a better life. The moment Bai Kai finished speaking, Lengzi immediately let go.

But it was already a bit too late. Though the Fendeboshi-ku was not beaten to death, his entire face had been smashed into something resembling a pig’s head.