Chapter 67: Three Days Without Sheathing the Blade

Garong Qinling merely cast a disdainful glance at Songzhou City, his eyes holding the look one might spare for a utterly worthless object.

In his eyes, Songzhou City possessed nothing worthy of his covetousness.

The sole desire burning within his heart was to kill—to indulge in uninhibited, reckless, and wanton slaughter.

Every sight of splashing blood, every shriek of a dying soul filled him with an inexpressible euphoria, an intoxicating addiction from which he could never free himself.

That ten thousand strong force of light cavalry was like a surging, pitch-black torrent, the dust kicked up by their horses obscuring the very sky.

Ignoring the majestic city before them entirely, they bypassed it altogether and galloped toward the rear of Songzhou.

In Garong Qinling's plan, since the Tang garrison within Songzhou preferred to hunker down and defend, he would play along with their strategy and place the city under a complete siege.

He needed only to wait for the main army to arrive; by then, the provisions and water within Songzhou would inevitably run dry.

Once all lines of communication were severed, the imperial court of the Great Tang would not realize the plight of besieged Songzhou until it was far too late.

Standing atop the ramparts, Han Wei watched in utter bewilderment as the Tibetan cavalry bypassed Songzhou entirely, his brows furrowed in deep suspicion.

He simply could not fathom what the enemy general was plotting.

From his perspective, had the Tibetan cavalry entered the city, they would have been marching to their own doom. The Tang forces could have attacked from both front and rear to wipe them out completely—a mere ten thousand horsemen were not even enough to whet the appetite of the Tang military.

With these conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind, though deeply puzzled, Han Wei dared not delay for even a moment. He hurried back to his study, desperate to dispatch the military intelligence so that the court would know the truth.

Having bypassed Songzhou, Garong Qinling halted his army. With a cold and stern expression, he shouted his orders.

"Three thousand men, dismount! Secure every elevated vantage point around Songzhou! I don't want a single bird flying out of that city alive! Do you understand?"

"Understood!"

The Tibetan soldiers roared back in unison. These men were equally adept at mounted archery, and shooting down birds from the sky was second nature to them.

"Good! The rest of you warriors, split into seven squads and head in seven directions! Kill everyone you see, leave no survivors! Today, I am going to let you indulge yourselves to your heart's content!"

"No quarter for three days! At noon three days from now, we gather back right here! This is a military order! Violators will be beheaded!"

"Whoever slays the greatest number of enemies, I will personally speak to the Tsenpo to secure your reward!"

Garong Qinling raised his curved scimitar high, a frenzied glint flashing in his eyes.

The mounted Tibetan soldiers waved their scimitars and lances with wild excitement, letting out howling, ghost-like shrieks into the air.

Taking the lead, Garong Qinling spurred his horse forward, charging with his personal contingent of a thousand cavalry toward the nearest village.

The thunderous sound of hooves shook the earth, kicking up a billowing cloud of dust.

Chaos erupted the moment they surged into the village.

The Tibetan cavalry swung their scimitars, cutting down everyone in their path.

The shrieks of women and the terrified cries of children intertwined into a cacophony of terror.

A Tibetan horseman spurred his mount toward a woman fleeing with a child in her arms; with a single sweep of his blade, warm blood splattered against the mud-brick wall, and both mother and child collapsed together.

Garong Qinling watched this dispassionately, his gaze consumed entirely by the lust for slaughter.

His scimitar flashed coldly in the sunlight as he casually butchered the unarmed villagers.

Houses were set ablaze, the hungry flames swallowing everything in their path, while livestock scattered in panic only to be run through by thrusting spears.

A few villagers attempted to resist, but they were instantly hacked down into the dirt. The Tibetan cavalry rampaged through the settlement, plundering food and valuables, reducing the hard-earned livelihoods of the villagers to absolute ruin.

When not a single living soul remained in the entire village,

Garong Qinling led his cavalry away at a swift gallop, showing not a shred of lingering attachment.

...

The ink-black veil of night pressed heavily down upon the small village on the border of the Great Tang, as if intent on crushing it into the endless dark.

This hamlet, once as serene and tranquil as a dream, was now heavily shrouded in the foul, choking pall of death.

Like a pack of demons crawling up from the abyss, the Tibetan soldiers rode with a thunderous clatter of hooves, ruthlessly shattering the rustic fences that symbolized peace at the village entrance as easily as crushing fragile ants.

"Ha! Look at this pathetic dump! Today, this place is our slaughterhouse! Slaughter every last one of these Tang dogs!"

A fierce-looking Tibetan chieftain roared at the top of his lungs, waving a blood-stained scimitar.

"Show them the price of opposing Tibet!"

His face was splattered with blood mixed with grime, making him look in the moonlight like a fiend freshly crawled from a pool of blood, radiating a sickening, terrifying aura.

"Kill them all! Leave none alive!"

A nearby Tibetan soldier chimed in with frantic excitement, a cruel light glinting in his eyes.

"Let their blood wash away our shame!"

Dragged from the sweet embrace of sleep into the depths of a nightmare, the villagers felt terror pierce their marrow like countless steel needles.

Screams of panic instantly shattered the dead silence of the night—they were the wails of despair, cries for helpless salvation, and the final, desperate yearning for survival.

Yet, to the ears of the Tibetan soldiers, this was merely the sweet music accompanying their bloody feast.

However, the villagers did not entirely resign themselves to slaughter.

The hunters of the village picked up their hunting bows; though their hands trembled with fear, their eyes burned with absolute resolve.

An elderly hunter shouted at the top of his lungs,

"Brothers! We cannot let these beasts have their way easily! For our families, fight them to the death!"

Arrows flew like a swarm of locusts toward the invading cavalry.

"Hmph, these Tang dogs still dare to resist?"

The Tibetan chieftain sneered coldly.

"Kill them!"

The Tibetan soldiers raised their shields to ward off the arrow volley. A few soldiers were struck, tumbling from their saddles with groans of agony.

"Accursed Tang dogs, how dare you wound us!"

A Tibetan soldier bellowed, his eyes blazing with fury.

The elders joined the fray as well.

An old man, clutching a wooden walking staff, stumbled forward toward a Tibetan soldier while shouting at the top of his lungs,

"You barbarians, you shall die a horrific death!"

"I was a soldier under the Brave Cavalry Lieutenant in the second year of the Kaihuang era! I will not stand by and watch you barbarians run amok!"

Raising his staff, he smashed it with all his might against the head of a Tibetan soldier who was in the middle of a slaughter.

The blow carried considerable force, landing squarely on the Tibetan's helmeted head, instantly knocking him off his horse.

"Old bastard, you've grown tired of living!"

The soldier swung his blade at the old man, felling him to the ground. Yet his sacrifice galvanized the remaining villagers.

Women clutching their infants fled desperately through the chaos, but upon seeing the Tibetan soldiers hunting them down, several mothers turned and fought back with desperate fury.

One woman picked up a rock from the ground and hurled it at a Tibetan soldier, screaming as she threw,

"Don't you dare touch my child!"

The stone struck the soldier squarely on the forehead, drawing a stream of blood.

"Vile bitch!"

Enraged and humiliated, the soldier charged at the woman and cut her down. Even in death, however, the woman kept her arms tightly locked around the soldier's leg, trying desperately to impede his advance.

The young, able-bodied men picked up crude farming implements and fought back with valor. Though fear flickered in their eyes, it was overshadowed by the fierce urge to protect their families and homes.

"You damnable beasts! May you die without a burial place!"

A young man roared as he charged a Tibetan soldier, lifting his hoe high and smashing it down upon the enemy with the force of an avalanche.

"Hmph, ignorant Tang dog, go to hell!"

The Tibetan soldier smiled with supreme contempt, swinging his scimitar to meet the attack.

When the hoe collided with the scimitar, sparks flew in all directions, and the powerful impact sent a jolt through both men.

Yet agricultural tools were ultimately no match for tempered steel; the wooden handle of the hoe was cleanly severed.

Unflinching, the young man used the broken haft to thrust viciously at the Tibetan soldier's eyes.

The soldier ducked in alarm, only to have his arm slashed by a sickle wielded by another young villager.

"Brothers, rush them together!"

Other youths cried out, plunging into the melee alongside the Tibetan horsemen.

They used sickles to hamstring the enemy's mounts and pitchforks to fend off oncoming charges.

One youth took a deep slash to the shoulder from a scimitar, but gritting his teeth through the agonizing pain, he used his free hand to grab a heavy shovel and smashed it full-force into an enemy's face.

Torches set houses ablaze, and the towering flames, like the giant tongues of demons, gnawed viciously at everything in reach.

Soaring into the night sky, the fire turned the heavens a burning crimson, illuminating this most tragic and desolate of hellscapes.

Livestock bolted in blind terror, their panicked shrieks piercing the roaring of the flames and the cries of slaughter, only to be cut down by indiscriminate volleys of arrows.

Arrowheads fell like rain, burying deep into their flesh as fountains of blood erupted, staining the earth an alarming dark crimson—as if the very land itself were weeping blood.

The invaders slaughtered for the sheer joy of killing, unwilling to spare even the livestock.

Despite their fierce resistance, the villagers were ultimately no match for trained cavalry.

They fell one by one, their blood soaking the soil beneath their feet.

The laughter of the Tibetan soldiers echoed wildly and deafeningly through the settlement.

They looted the villagers' meager possessions with frenzied glee, slashing grain sacks open with their knives so that golden wheat kernels spilled all over the ground, while precious garments were torn to shreds and discarded carelessly into pools of blood.

"Look at these foolish Tang dogs, leaving all this grain behind for us."

A Tibetan soldier laughed heartily, scooping up a handful of wheat and flinging it into the air.

"Indeed, everything they owned is ours now, hahaha."

Another soldier chimed in agreement.

In a secluded corner of the village, several Tibetan soldiers stumbled upon the entrance to a cellar.

"There's bound to be good stuff down here, maybe even hidden gold and silver, ha!"

A Tibetan soldier rubbed his hands in excitement, greed gleaming in his eyes.

"Open it up quickly! If there are treasures, we've struck it rich."

Another soldier urged eagerly.

Prying open the cellar doors, they discovered a handful of shivering children huddled inside.

Catching sight of the children, twisted, cruel smiles spread across their faces.

"Ha, little whelps, today is your doomsday!"

With that, they raised their blood-soaked weapons and closed in on the children.

The children shrieked in terror, curling into tight balls, their eyes brimming with the absolute horror of impending death.

"Please... please don't kill us..."

A little girl sobbed and pleaded.

"Shut up! The spawn of Tang have no right to beg for mercy!"

A Tibetan soldier grinned hideously, thrusting his lance forward to impale a child, pinning the small body firmly against the earthen wall of the cellar.

The child's limbs twitched as blood gushed steadily from the wound, staining the cellar floor.

The wails of the remaining children grew even more piercing, yet they could do nothing but watch helplessly as their companion perished.

Those villagers who still clung to life writhed and groaned in agony upon the ground, their bodies horribly mutilated.

Some crawled laboriously through pools of blood, leaving a long, smeary trail behind them like a crimson path.

Others clutched severed limbs, uttering heart-rending screams with voices already hoarse, yet still begging for a scrap of mercy.

"Kill me... just kill me..."

A heavily wounded villager rolled back and forth in agony, pleading with a passing Tibetan soldier.

"Slowly rot and die, Tang dog."

The soldier cast a disdainful glance down, planted his boot hard onto the man's open wound, and walked away with a hearty laugh.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Tibetan soldiers continued their atrocities amidst this landscape of death and destruction, their faces and bodies splattered with gore.

In the flickering glow of the fires, they looked for all the world like ghouls escaped from hell.

The entire village had been transformed into a human purgatory of piled corpses and flowing rivers of blood.

Shrieks, wild laughter, and the crackling roar of consuming fire intertwined.

Until finally, all subsided into silence, save for the distant sound of retreating hooves fading into the night.