By any means necessary

The first round was a contest of bare-handed combat. Xu Chu made the first move, launching straight in with the ferocity of a “Black Tiger Steals the Heart,” his right hand shooting forward with unstoppable momentum toward Liao Hua’s chest. Had he managed to grab Liao Hua by the tunic, the match would have become a test of strength, and Liao Hua would surely have lost.

Knowing full well he could not win by force, Liao Hua remained unflustered, sidestepping the attack and striking with his left fist at the joint of Xu Chu’s right arm, hoping to parry the oncoming limb and prevent Xu Chu’s outstretched hand from turning into a fist and sweeping back at him. Immediately after, his right fist shot fiercely toward Xu Chu’s ribs.

Xu Chu chuckled, his left fist—which had been held defensively at his chest and abdomen—shooting out even faster to meet Liao Hua’s incoming right. At the same time, he shifted his weight onto his left foot, using the force from his parried right arm to swing his right leg up in a kick toward Liao Hua.

Though the description is lengthy, the exchange happened in an instant. Liao Hua, who had shifted his center of gravity forward, could not dodge Xu Chu’s kick in time. He could only lift his own right leg to block at Xu Chu’s ankle, absorbing some of the force. But his fist, which had aimed for Xu Chu’s ribs, was too late to change course and collided solidly with Xu Chu’s.

Staggering back several steps before regaining his footing, Liao Hua’s defeat was evident after just one exchange. Though he was known for his agility and skill in redirecting an opponent’s force, Liao Hua was no match for the raw power and seasoned experience of Xu Chu. After taking a punch and a kick head-on, Liao Hua grimaced and rubbed his reddened knuckles, then conceded with a frankness befitting a true warrior.

Xu Chu, having grown up in the rough-and-tumble of village brawls, had been constantly sparring with Li Damu, Du Yuan, and the rest. Under Wang Bo’s deliberate tutelage—out of fear that Xu Chu’s reputation as the “Tiger Fool” might be buried—he had been pitted against one opponent, then two, then eventually found himself regularly set upon by the likes of Ping Han and the others in group fights. Xu Chu, honest and loyal, not only could take a beating but also relished the challenge, despite often sporting bruises and black eyes. His progress, as a result, was rapid and remarkable.

After a short rest, they began the weapons contest. Both sides wielded single-handed wooden sabers, adopting their stances and shouting as they engaged.

This match was not decided so quickly. Blow after blow, shout after shout, the two men exchanged fierce attacks, both to bolster their own morale and to warn each other to be wary. Liao Hua, a veteran of many battles, fought with ruthless efficiency: no wasted movement, every strike direct and deadly, his saber moves dazzling in their variety and difficult to counter.

Xu Chu, on the other hand, employed fewer techniques and moved less, his blade tip shifting unpredictably to block Liao Hua’s attacks, remaining on the defensive.

After more than a dozen exchanges, the match was still deadlocked. Yet, should this continue, the advantage would shift to Xu Chu. The use of light, breakable wooden sabers already limited Xu Chu’s strength, giving Liao Hua a significant advantage. If Liao Hua could not quickly seize victory, Xu Chu would inevitably adapt to his rhythm and turn defense into offense, his superior stamina winning out in the end.

The crowd cheered, the atmosphere lively. Wang Bo watched with great interest, giving encouragement and praise at the most thrilling moments. It was only when Yang Feng nudged him that he realized: with so many people watching, he couldn’t allow Liao Hua to be utterly humiliated.

With a wave of his hands, Wang Bo quieted the crowd and stepped forward to separate the fighters, praising them, “Zhongkang, Yuanjian—each a worthy rival, true talents meeting their match! This contest has opened my eyes and won my admiration. Brother Yuanjian, noon approaches. Why not rest for a while before continuing your discussion of martial arts with Zhongkang?”

Liao Hua wiped the sweat from his brow and replied graciously, “Brother Wang, you are too modest! Zhongkang is gifted with divine strength and quick reflexes. Though I have a few more years and some battlefield experience, I cannot best him. Given time, his brilliance will surely shine, and his future knows no bounds!”

Wang Bo then called over Zhou Cang and Pei Yuanshao, helping Pei Yuanshao rub his wrist, split open in a bout with Xu Chu, and spoke earnestly to the group: “You are all valiant and loyal men of the Yellow Turbans! Now that fate has brought us together at the ‘Han Restoration Camp,’ why not stay and join forces once more, to fight for the cause that first united our hearts?”

Yang Feng chimed in, “Exactly! I too ask you, brothers, to remain and fight by our side. Should we find in the future that Qingyi is not fit for leadership, we may freely go our separate ways!”

All three laughed heartily, and Liao Hua replied, “We have long harbored such thoughts, but feared that, lacking merit, our sudden allegiance might make it hard for you, Brother Wang, to win acceptance.”

Zhou Cang quickly added, “Today’s contest was meant to showcase Yuanshao’s strength as a step forward, but unexpectedly we met the tiger general Zhongkang... Ha ha! Forgive us for this desperate strategy, brothers!”

After the laughter subsided, Wang Bo declared, “What does it matter? Here at the Han Restoration Camp, the capable advance, the idle retreat, and all are used according to their talents. No seniority, no favoritism—let all brothers rest assured!”

At these words, Liao Hua, Zhou Cang, and Pei Yuanshao exchanged glances, then knelt together and addressed him as “Lord.”

Wang Bo hastily helped them up and laughed to the sky, “All the heroes of the realm are gathered in my Han Restoration Camp! Ha ha ha...”

The crowd erupted with joy, especially Yang Feng, Huang Long, and the others who had once followed Zhang Jiao into battle and often fought alongside Liao Hua. Seeing their old brothers join and the Han Restoration Camp grow stronger by the day, their hearts soared, and any lingering doubts or confusion vanished.

Now, the drill grounds of the Han Restoration Camp were excellently equipped. In addition to the standard weapon racks and archery targets set by Yang Feng, Wang Bo had added military training facilities he remembered from dramas of his previous life: bramble nets, climbing frames, wooden horses, monkey bars, and more—anything he could recall. He also designed practical mock battlefields tailored to ancient warfare: rows of chevaux-de-frise for defense, trenches with drawbridges, and fortress walls built against the hills.

Regular soldiers held match exercises every few days, competing by unit and rewarded for victory. The worst performers were disciplined or relegated to auxiliary roles. Rewards were mainly honorific—soldiers, having only recently escaped hunger and fear, were easily satisfied: a word of praise, a chunk of fatty meat, or a small jug of rice wine was enough to delight them for half a day and inspire envy, spurring everyone to train even harder.

Wang Bo had considered establishing a comprehensive reward and punishment system combining material and honor, but, burdened by other affairs and wary of hasty flaws, he postponed it for now.

With plentiful meat, intense training, Chen Rong’s famed health-building medicinal soup, and frequent small-scale anti-bandit actions, the Han Restoration Camp’s soldiers were robust and formidable, their martial aura growing stronger by the day. According to Yang Feng, they could now sweep aside any regular Han army of equal numbers, and even face Huangfu Song’s elite guards on equal terms.

All soldiers, with resources concentrated, were well-equipped: weapons and armor were iron, as much as mobility allowed, all thanks to the contributions of county troops, local magnates, and mountain bandits over the past two months.

The largest force, the reserve and auxiliary troops, were also strong and well-armed, their prowess now matching that of the soldiers who had attacked Wang Family Fortress.

Even the young, old, and women in logistics were healthier. Wang Bo’s unforgiving dawn drills and steady food supply, plus the occasional piece of meat, had banished the sickly, sallow look from when they first arrived.

Even the dozen or so children were energetic, running about and helping however they could, their laughter filling the camp with vitality. Every adult cherished them; for couples who had luckily escaped here, the envious eyes of others and constant encouragement to “make more” left them no choice but to “work overtime” day and night. The “night blindness” that plagued them at dusk had long vanished.

Wang Bo surveyed his officers, the team leaders of the Han Restoration Camp’s soldiers, and asked in a loud voice, “What are the results of your days of coordinated drills? Is my envisioned ‘Elite Team’ ready to be formed?”

Yang Feng replied, “It is! The brothers have developed joint attack tactics, far more effective than fighting alone. Only a few still…”

“No more of that! This is a military order! Any further resistance, and I will not let brotherhood stand in the way!” Wang Bo’s tone hardened. He then shouted, “On the battlefield, my ‘Elite Team’ needs no gentlemen, nor upright conduct! Break the enemy’s lines, slay their commanders, seize their banners by any means necessary! Do you understand?”

“We understand!” the men replied.

“Are you women and children? Haven’t you eaten?” Wang Bo cupped his ear mockingly.

“We understand!” came the roar.

Wang Bo raised his hand and bellowed, “Break the lines, slay the generals, by any means necessary!”

“Break the lines! Slay the generals! By any means necessary!” the men shouted in unison.

They began to practice joint assault tactics. A dozen men formed a small circular formation to stand by the commander in battle, choosing whether to surround and kill the enemy general or strike the central command, according to circumstances.

When surrounding a general, they adapted according to the opponent’s strengths: if the enemy favored short weapons, more long-spears and broadswords were added; if he used long weapons, more archers; if he relied on missile weapons, more shield and blade men; if a peerless warrior, then all engaged together.

To storm the enemy center, they formed a wedge, shield and blade men on the outside, long weapons in the middle, archers in the rear.

The shield and blade men were armed with arm shields and broadswords, their main role close combat and protecting the long-weapon wielders. The long-weapon men were mounted, focusing on killing enemy soldiers. Archers, also mounted and equipped with powerful warbows, scouted, harassed enemy officers, or provided close support.

Everyone carried several javelins to throw before contact, with archers bearing the most, supplementing their firepower if their strength flagged.

The “Elite Team” could adapt to various combat situations: attack, defense, interception, encirclement—splitting into smaller units if necessary.

Niu’s brothers, Zhou Xiu, Wang Qi, and other longtime companions of Wang Bo, still lacked skill despite two months of training and advice from Yang Feng and others. Wang Bo dismissed them with a wave, earning him a round of eye-rolling from the old crew, who grumbled as he explained, “I want men to break enemy lines, not to send to their deaths!” With no argument left, they slunk away.

After careful selection, only Xu Chu, Yang Feng, Ping Han, Li Damu, Wu Huan, Huang Long, Zhang Baiqi, and Liu Shi were left—seasoned fighters, all veterans of the Yellow Turban battles.

Xu Chu was excluded; as one of the rarest warriors of the Three Kingdoms, he was best suited to single combat. Though he would boost the team’s strength in the short term, it would waste his talent and, besides, he was needed as a bodyguard.

Wang Bo also withdrew Yang Feng, needing a right-hand man for command and training. So be it.

According to their strengths: Ping Han, Huang Long, and Liu Shi became shield and blade men; Wu Huan and Zhang Baiqi, long-weapon men; Li Damu, the archer. Thus, a basic “Elite Team” was formed.

Now came the work of practicing coordination and real battle drills. All of them, having crawled through heaps of corpses on the battlefield, knew how to kill quickly and seize merit, inventing every possible tactic for one goal: swift and efficient slaughter. Wang Bo even suggested hiding chili powder and other devious tricks, sending chills down Yang Feng’s spine.

Wang Bo thought with satisfaction: Let Zhang Fei come! Let Zhao Zilong come too! If I can’t beat you one-on-one, I’ll throw a whole squad of warriors at you! Once our teamwork is polished, you’ll be the ones taking a beating! As for Lü Bu? Never mind, that guy’s too much to handle! I’ll wait until I’ve gathered even more champions before facing him!

Just as Wang Bo grinned and trembled with excitement, Liao Hua, who had been watching for some time, stepped forward and saluted. “Lord, your methods are truly ingenious! Yet, to set such seasoned warriors exclusively to this path, I wonder if…”

“Ah, Yuanjian, you worry too much! Have you not heard, mercy to the enemy is cruelty to oneself? My creed: be they red wolves or black wolves, if they bite, they are evil wolves! In the struggle between life and death, only victory matters—whatever the means! Did the imperial troops ever challenge you to single combat when they surrounded you?”

Liao Hua was left speechless. Wang Bo patted his shoulder and continued watching.

Soon, Pei Yuanshao could not resist, egging Liao Hua on to test the Elite Team. Wang Bo found a wooden saber and handed it to Liao Hua with a smile: “Yuanjian, why not give it a try?” Liao Hua agreed gladly.

They took up stances—the whole team against Liao Hua in the first round. He barely managed to touch Ping Han’s shield before blades marked him all over. Defeated.

Liao Hua, unconvinced, demanded another round.

Second round: a three-man team. One shield, one spear, one archer. Ping Han blocked while sneaking in strikes; Zhang Baiqi jabbed relentlessly with his spear; Li Damu, holding javelins and grinning slyly, drew much of Liao Hua’s attention even without throwing a single one, leaving him flustered. After just a few moves, Liao Hua was beaten back. And this was against his own brothers, without any underhanded tricks. Defeated again, he still would not give up.

Third round: mounted combat. Huang Long, not yet satisfied, replaced Ping Han as shield and blade. As soon as the match began, before Liao Hua could even charge a few steps, three javelins whistled toward him at once. Cursing their cunning, he twisted and dodged two, knocked aside the third, only to find Zhang Baiqi’s spear jabbing for his thigh. He fended off the spear in a flurry, but his counterattack struck only Huang Long’s shield. At that moment, a sharp thud and numbness in his back—he looked up to see Li Damu grinning wickedly… Five exchanges later, he’d been hit by two arrows. Furious, Liao Hua threw down his saber. He was done.

Everyone burst out laughing. Zhou Cang and Pei Yuanshao, seeing their former top dog humbled, exchanged winks and made faces, stoking Liao Hua’s irritation until he dragged them into the next round as a team.