MLMD -Chapter 400 Returning in Defeat

Thirty thousand people crowded into an area of less than three square kilometers, charging toward a single point. To put it nicely, it was spectacular; put harshly, it was cramped. In such a human-packed, shoulder-to-shoulder space, facing the incoming cannonballs, they hopelessly realized that there was nothing they could do but await the judgment of fate.

“Bang…”

A twelve-pound cannonball arced through the air and struck a bandit directly on the unprotected head, making a light sound. The bandit didn’t even have time to make a single noise before the body—now headless—took two more steps forward, then collapsed to the ground, never to rise again. But the projectile wasn’t finished; it barreled forward, knocking over several more bandits before finally hitting the ground, bouncing and rolling over ten meters before exhausting its kinetic energy. Behind it lay a trail of severed limbs and over ten writhing, screaming bodies.

The artillery unit accompanying Chu Di had twenty-four six-pound cannons, ten twelve-pound cannons, and thirty-two “tiger-crouching” cannons—a formidable force by the standards of the era.

At this distance, only the six- and twelve-pound cannons were firing. Cannonballs and powder bags were repeatedly loaded by the gunners, the fuses lit, and then hurled at the enemy. The dense mass of bandits required no precise aim; the gunners only needed to adjust the angle to avoid hitting the musketeer formations in front.

Each cannonball crashed into the crowds with devastating energy, stirring up winds of blood and flying body parts. Even seasoned soldiers could scarcely bear the carnage, let alone the peasants-turned-bandits who had joined merely to grab a meal. After three volleys, the momentum of the charging bandits slowed. The once-dense mob became riddled with gaps, but these were blood-soaked trenches.

The bandits were terrified by the initial volleys of the Xuanda army. Many at the front froze, seeing the dense rows of musketeers and their firearms. Many, like Liu Agen, had joined the bandits only out of necessity—to survive or make a living. That didn’t mean they could face death unflinchingly. Fear, panic, and horror surged through them, and many began stepping back, unwilling to risk their lives for a meager meal.

But their naïveté was deadly. On a battlefield, retreat isn’t simple. Three thousand veteran cavalry observing from behind saw the forward momentum slowing and immediately swung their long blades, cutting down the hesitant bandits on the spot. Many of them shouted frantically as they fought:

“Those who do not advance, die!”

Advance or die. The peasants-turned-bandits, wielding only hoes, kitchen knives, or wooden sticks, gritted their teeth and continued forward. The artillerymen, oblivious to the chaos ahead, kept loading and firing with all speed.

“Load quickly… Fire!”

Cannonballs screamed toward their targets, tearing anyone in the path apart. Each shot could claim a dozen or even dozens of lives. The battlefield had become a one-sided slaughter. Yet Chu Di, observing from atop a war wagon, was struck by the resilience of the bandits: whenever a blood-soaked gap opened, it was immediately filled by others pressing forward, as if death held no fear.

Even Chu Di couldn’t help but marvel. These bandits seemed to value their lives so little. Soldiers of the Xuanda army might stab enemy troops without hesitation, even if tens of thousands fell, but these were their own people, barely armed, and yet they charged on.

For a moment, Chu Di almost considered ordering a retreat. But he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew well that the bandit leaders hiding behind would be counting on him to hesitate—a weakness that allowed bandits to ravage Ming territory. Once the Ming army faltered, collapse was inevitable.

If he ordered a retreat, even a partially exhausted crowd of bandits could overwhelm them like a tidal wave. Cavalry waiting in the rear would descend like maniacs. Retreating even half of his troops safely would be miraculous. The old adage, “Defeat comes like a landslide,” was a lesson left by ancestors. Chu Di understood that, no matter how reluctant, he had to hold his ground: on a battlefield, it was life or death—there was no third option.

As the bandits entered the three-hundred-meter range of the Mini-style muskets, low volleys began again.

“Pop… pop… pop!”

Unlike cannons, muskets produced a softer report, but their lethality was no less—perhaps even greater. The artillery could only fire a dozen rounds every few minutes; muskets, by contrast, could unleash hundreds simultaneously. Rows of white smoke rose with each volley, each firing claiming hundreds of lives. If the bandits were a tide, the Xuanda musket formations were unyielding rocks, harvesting lives without mercy.

The slaughter continued. One wave of bandits fell, only to be replaced by the next, like an endless tide.

“Keep firing! Do not stop! Speed up!”

Even the front-line musketeers were under pressure. After long, continuous firing, many barrels glowed red from heat, forcing temporary pauses to cool. Seeing this, Chu Di atop his wagon immediately ordered:

“First formation, fall back!”

The musketeers obeyed without hesitation, retreating, and the bandits, who had been grinding forward through tremendous losses, suddenly saw a retreating wall in front of them. Excitement flared. Lesser bandit leaders among the peasants shouted madly:

“The damn soldiers have no ammo! Forward, brothers! Kill them and we’ll have food to eat!”

The mob surged forward, encouraged by the thought of easy plunder and a full stomach. Even the timid felt newfound courage. The temptation was irresistible after days of hunger.

But unpredictably, in front of them were two larger formations—each of two thousand musketeers. Beside them, Ming officials in green with steel helmets raised battle knives, eyes calm as the crowd surged. Sharp whistle signals pierced the air, and the terrifying volleys of muskets began anew.

“Pop… pop… pop…”

Every shot struck ruthlessly, felling the lead bandits. Those who had thought the Ming troops were retreating were crushed; they hit the ground in agony.

Fear finally broke through. Bandits who had believed victory was near now despaired, realizing this was a fight with no chance of winning. Some shouted:

“Run!”

The tension snapped; tens of thousands of bandits collapsed. After hours of fighting, with thousands dead and countless wounded, morale shattered. Liu Zongmin, shocked by the sudden collapse, cried out, red-eyed:

“Do not retreat! None of you may fall back! Anyone who dares is to be killed! Old camp brothers, move forward and stop them!”

Even without his orders, the veteran cavalry, whose job was to enforce discipline, formed a line and intercepted the fleeing bandits.

“No retreat… keep advancing! All who retreat die!”

These veteran riders were ruthless, caring little for the ragged peasants’ lives. A few of the more violent cut down those who attempted to withdraw as a warning. But they miscalculated. The bandits, already on the edge of despair from repeated charges, now exploded in anger at being attacked by their own comrades.

A shout rang out:

“Kill these sons of b**es!”

The retreating mob rose up, swinging whatever they had—wood, hoes, poles—against the cavalry. Chaos erupted. The elite riders, experienced though they were, were unprepared. Horses, stationary, made them easy targets.

“Bang!”

A cavalryman was thrown to the ground, pounded with tools by ten bandits, and silenced. His comrades tried to intervene, only to have a horse killed under them by another blow, and the rider drowned in the throng.

The retreating bandits collided with the veteran cavalry, creating total mayhem. Chu Di, seeing the infighting, rejoiced and immediately sent two thousand cavalry forward.

“Kill!”

The two thousand riders charged, slaughtering the already demoralized bandits. Scattered and hopeless, the mob fled in all directions. The saying “defeat comes like a landslide” was fully realized. Despite their numerical advantage, the bandits dared not resist. Even Liu Zongmin’s strongest three thousand cavalry could do nothing against the fresh Xuanda riders. Tens of thousands were routed.

The battle lasted from noon to dusk. In the end, nearly ten thousand of Liu Zongmin’s thirty thousand were killed; sixteen thousand of the survivors were captured, and fewer than three thousand made it back to Qufu. The veteran cavalry lost over a thousand men. This was a crushing defeat.

When Liu Zongmin returned to Qufu with barely a thousand veteran riders, the bandit army was shaken.

“What… you were defeated? Only a thousand old camp brothers return?”

In the rear hall of the Kong residence, Li Zicheng couldn’t believe his eyes. He had sent out thirty thousand yesterday, and now only a thousand remained.

“King of Rebels… I lost. Punish me as you will!” Liu Zongmin’s face was ashen, all arrogance gone.

“You… how dare you!” Li Zicheng trembled with anger. “Three thousand old camp brothers! You went out and lost half! How many men can I afford to waste like this?”

Like Liu Zongmin, Li Zicheng valued the old camp above all. Regular bandits were expendable; veteran troops were irreplaceable. Losing over a thousand of them was a blow to his heart.

Finally controlling his rage, Li Zicheng asked, “Explain… how did today’s battle go?”

“Yes, sir!”

Defeated, Liu Zongmin recounted everything. When he mentioned the Xuanda army’s muskets could reach five hundred steps—over three hundred meters—every bandit commander fell silent. They had never even heard of such precise firearms.