49. The Final Blow

As the Xianbei cavalry drew near the defensive formation of the Xinghan Army, a chorus of commands resounded among the outermost ranks of heavy shield and spear soldiers. After swiftly hurling their short spears, the heavy shield soldiers crouched low, sinking their bodies, with their right foot stepping back half a pace and the left leg bent, pressing their shoulder against a leather pad on the inside of the shield. Their hands gripped the wooden handle wrapped in hemp rope at the center of the shield, bodies taut and breath held, bracing themselves for the imminent impact.

The heavy shields of the Xinghan Army were the product of painstaking effort by Wang Bo and his generals, designed specifically to withstand cavalry assaults on open plains. Building upon the large shields used in the Han dynasty, they added an outer layer of iron and numerous spikes of varying lengths, while the inside was reinforced with two additional layers comprising animal hide and short wooden strips, topped with a soft pad. Thus, the finished shield stood four feet tall and nearly three inches thick, proven by tests to deflect shots from small ballistae at a distance, and easily withstand ordinary strong bows. The protective effect was exceptional, yet the weight exceeding one hundred pounds made even the robust shield bearers struggle, unable to carry them for prolonged marches. Ultimately, each shield battalion was equipped with several animal-drawn carts, allowing the soldiers to alternate carrying and resting their shields during marches, dispelling notions of reducing their weight.

Wang Bo, having observed real battles, ingeniously added two clasps on either side of the shield's interior, to hang two three-foot-long hardwood rods. In wartime, these rods could be removed and angled against the middle of the shield, greatly enhancing the bearers' resistance to impact. The soldiers marveled for a long time, wondering at the general’s mind—how every ordinary object became magical in his hands.

A cacophony of dull thuds, metal clashing, mingled with horse screams and countless shouts echoed at the point where the armies met. The Xianbei cavalry, under orders, finally made substantive contact with the defending Xinghan Army.

One rider, two riders, an entire row—the Xianbei warriors, swords raised, crashed into the heavy shield line of the Red Tiger Army. Yet the outcome was starkly different for Budugen and Wang Bo, both watching intently.

Budugen’s brow furrowed: why had the devastation of Han infantry by Xianbei cavalry not repeated itself? Even if the Xinghan Army’s arrows were dense, even if their soldiers were fearless, even if their shield formation looked more imposing than any seen before—these were tens of thousands of elite cavalry! The very force that allowed the Xianbei to dominate the Han frontier! On the vast grassland, how could they fail to break the infantry formation? Standing atop Yunzhong City, Budugen was in a daze: was this still the once-mighty Xianbei iron cavalry?

Wang Bo, on the other hand, breathed a great sigh of relief, exchanging relaxed smiles with his generals.

Indeed, the seemingly fearsome Xianbei cavalry, slowed and disordered, crashed into the poised spear and shield formation, breaking only the wooden rods supporting the heavy shields, shattering countless spears, but leaving the shield bearers shaken yet rarely bloodied or fallen.

Because the Xianbei cavalry’s formation was disorganized, those in front crashed in while those behind lagged, failing to sustain a continuous impact against the Xinghan heavy shield line. Even in denser parts of their charge, horses caught on protruding spears and upright, spiked shields further hindered those behind, preventing any breakthrough.

A few downed shield bearers were quickly helped up by the knife-and-shield soldiers behind, restoring the slightly skewed formation. The spear soldiers, their feet planted firmly, gripped their spears without wavering, indifferent to the tremors or breakage of spearheads, and ignoring the countless Xianbei riders flung backward by the sudden halt.

Those Xianbei who flew into the Xinghan ranks were mostly thrown by the collision’s force, though some used their agility to leap further, only to crash onto the broad blades of unfamiliar sabers, impaled as they cried out. Though these intruders caused some chaos, their numbers were few and scattered, swiftly vanishing beneath the blades of the knife-and-shield soldiers, barely stirring the formation.

Under the relentless arrow storm from Xinghan bowmen and the stout defense of spear and shield soldiers, the Xianbei cavalry finally came to a helpless halt, crowding before the impenetrable shield wall. Unable to advance, the Xianbei warriors desperately swung their swords at the wall of shields and broken spears, a few managing to inflict casualties with thrown weapons, but their efforts were futile, unable to breach the formation.

Behind them, waves of Xianbei cavalry, trapped in the ranks, had no chance or space to dodge, crashing in row after row onto the backs of their own horses, worsening the chaos.

The Xinghan archers unleashed their prowess, ceaselessly nocking and shooting, the hum of bowstrings and the hiss of arrows filling the air. Some archers, losing their leather thumb rings, fought on as their fingers bled, ignoring their injuries until their strength was spent.

This stalemate lasted only a few moments before the panicked Xianbei cavalry, prompted by their officers' shouts, remembered their expertise—archery—and began firing back at the Xinghan Army.

The front-line spear soldiers responded by raising their spears vertically, shaking the flexible shafts to deflect most incoming arrows. The rear, less protected bowmen, continued their counterattack while seeking cover behind shield soldiers or armored saber bearers, yet casualties mounted under the Xianbei arrow barrage.

However, these losses paled compared to those of the Xianbei, and did nothing to dampen the morale of the Xinghan Army. Many wounded soldiers, their injuries not fatal, gritted their teeth and refused to retreat for treatment—a testament to harsh training and unwavering resolve.

Wang Bo glanced at Chen Dao and Liao Hua, who both nodded, signaling the moment for decisive battle had arrived. Chen Dao waved the command flag, prompting the drummers to shift from the deep beats to urgent attack rhythms.

As the drums changed, the saber bearers, previously motionless, suddenly raised their heads, let out a roar, and dragged their long sabers, stepping past the spear and shield soldiers before them. With another shout, they raised their wide blades high and hacked down through the gaps opened by the shield bearers.

Instantly, a chorus of screams erupted in front of the shield wall, limbs and bodies were severed, men and horses split apart, and torrents of blood washed over the upright shields, soaking the trampled grass in crimson. Such carnage was too gruesome for even battle-hardened veterans to watch.

But the saber bearers, their faces obscured by masks, ignored their handiwork, stepping out of the shield wall and twisting their waists for another upward slash, clearing everything in the blade’s path, unleashing another spray of flesh and blood.

With each cycle, they stomped forward, roaring, and began anew—downward slashes, upward sweeps, and steps forward, endlessly repeating.

In the blink of an eye, the Xianbei cavalry, spinning their horses and shouting, found themselves in a hellish slaughter. Shelled in iron armor, their swords barely scratched the saber bearers, who ignored the stabs and continued their bloody harvest, dismembering man and horse alike like reaping wheat. The saber bearers suffered minimal losses, with only a handful unable to fight, mostly due to being knocked down or stunned by enemy cavalry.

Before them, these iron-clad killers drew ever closer; above, arrows and spears rained like summer hail. Trapped, the Xianbei found their bows unwieldy, powerless to halt the massacre, watching their comrades fall in agony, uncertain when their own turn would come.

Fear and despair spread like plague from front to rear among the Xianbei ranks.

Soldiers switching to bows, in panic, slashed wildly at the saber bearers, their attacks frantic and aimless—but futile.

Heads and chests were heavily armored, layered with thick iron and leather, making the saber bearers slower but monstrously protected. Unless struck by heavy weapons, the Xianbei’s slender swords only sparked and rang against the armor, failing to so much as make the saber bearers flinch as they continued their killing.

The rear ranks, still firing arrows, watched the slaughter ahead in terror, their practiced movements faltering, some staring blankly and forgetting their bows. The once coordinated arrow rain, under officers’ orders, now thinned, losing both power and accuracy.

Tens of thousands of Xianbei warriors, eager to restore their honor, found only despair. Never, since the rise of the Xianbei, had they felt so weak before an enemy. This thought, impossible to suppress, grew into deep fear as they witnessed their companions dying.

Panic and confusion spread—were it not for the strict discipline enforced by tribal officers, many would have already fled.

From the onset of the assault to now, barely half an hour had passed, and at least five or six thousand Xianbei soldiers had fallen before the steadfast shields of the Xinghan Army. The hundreds of armored cavalry, meant to be the breakthrough force, had been nearly wiped out by the spearmen and saber bearers, their thin armor offering no protection for their battered bodies.

On the city wall, Budugen stood red-eyed, his heavy frame trembling, barely steady with support from those beside him. He exhaled deeply, glanced at the pale tribal leaders, and gritted his teeth to command: the rear forces should split into two flanks and attack the Xinghan Army’s wings, while maintaining pressure at the front! After dispatching the messengers, Budugen, face dark, ordered the leaders to select bodyguards for a supervisory team, threatening death for any who fled. The leaders, understanding the gravity, suppressed their dissatisfaction and carried out the orders.

A trumpet blast, different from previous signals, sounded from Yunzhong City, and the cavalry in the rear, previously hesitant, suddenly rallied, turning their horses left and right, and charging toward the weaker points in the Xinghan formation.

With comrades continually falling and the threat of the supervisory team behind them, these Xianbei, pressed from both sides, were driven to bloodthirsty frenzy. They howled, slapping their mounts to increase speed and power for the charge.

The Xinghan Army responded, widening the channels on both flanks. Eager for battle, Chen Dao led two thousand Red Tiger cavalry left, while Liao Hua and the Wolf Talon Guard went right, intercepting the ten thousand Xianbei cavalry.

Two thousand Xinghan heavy cavalry, equipped with new saddles, accelerated and curved slightly before crashing into the Xianbei from the side. The result was a tumble of men and horses, but Xinghan casualties were minimal, as the front ranks consisted of heavily armored riders, even their horses equipped with spike-tipped head armor, avoiding direct collision.

After a brief clash, the two armies became entangled in melee, but the battle was nearly one-sided. The Xinghan cavalry, feet in stirrups and sabers raised, slashed fluidly from horseback, their agile forms frustrating the Xianbei, who prided themselves on horsemanship but found themselves outmatched in both strength and skill. Forced to gang up three or five against one, the disciplined Xinghan cavalry maintained their formation, supporting each other and denying the Xianbei any chance to isolate them. Wounded riders at the edges were instantly replaced; those in the thick of battle threw short spears from their backs, downing several Xianbei for every Xinghan casualty.

On the left, Liao Hua and the Wolf Talon Guard waited for the Xianbei to strike the shield line, then, with support from archers, charged into the enemy ranks in a compact fighting unit. Their coordination and ferocity turned thousands of Xianbei cavalry into chaos, killing all before them while suffering barely any wounds themselves.

The Xianbei cavalry at the front, beset by the saber bearers, were panic-stricken; those attacking the flanks were also held at bay. This situation persisted for nearly half an hour, as Wang Bo observed Budugen atop Yunzhong City, seeing him motionless, and realized all his cards had been played. Sensing the time for a general assault had come, Wang Bo slapped Xu Chu’s broad shoulder, issuing the order: “Go! The final strike is yours, Zhongkang!”

Xu Chu, so excited he forgot to salute, turned and led the remaining thousand Red Tiger cavalry from the left flank, while Wang Bo sounded the drum for full attack.

The embattled soldiers immediately rallied, knife-and-shield soldiers lowered their arm shields, supporting the spearmen as they charged past the heavy shields, roaring as they attacked the Xianbei still frantically hacking at the saber bearers. With the cooperation of spear and knife-and-shield soldiers, the saber bearers’ slashing became even swifter, their efficiency in killing enemy cavalry soaring higher...