Chapter 24: A Fight to the Death, Never Retreating

Beside the road, hidden beneath withered branches and fallen leaves, a Qing soldier—a mounted archer—leaped out to ambush the cavalry, having just struck down a rider.

"Bang!" A sharp blast erupted.

A cloud of smoke rose less than ten paces behind the Qing soldier. A Ming rider stood there, leveling his three-eyed matchlock. The three barrels fired in unison; though it came too late to save his comrade, the impact sent the Qing soldier flying forward, serving as a grim retribution for his fallen brother.

"Whish!"

The dry leaves around the Ming rider were sent swirling into the air. Through the flurry of yellow willow leaves, he saw a dark shape hurtling toward him. Instinctively, he swung the now-spent matchlock like a club at the shadow.

"Clang!" His weapon collided with a long saber. The impact split the web of his hand, and the matchlock, slick with blood, flew from his grasp. Ignoring the weapon, he kicked off the ground and threw himself into a roll.

The Qing soldier, having failed to land his strike, sprang up and vaulted onto the road, intent on the pursuit. A sharp "thwip" of an arrow sliced through the air; he immediately turned his body, raising his long saber to deflect the incoming shaft.

At that moment, Sun Dashan, the leader of the third squad at the rear of the column, saw the second squad under ambush. He spurred his horse forward, thrusting a sharpened iron rod at the Qing soldier. The force of the charging mount drove the weapon through the soldier’s armor and into his chest. Sun did not stop; he urged his horse onward, trampling the dying soldier. The once-peaceful, tree-lined road had been transformed into a bloody, mangled battlefield.

Squad leader Liu Quan, hidden behind a tree, strained his ears to catch the sounds in the willow grove. Suddenly, he dashed out, leveling his three-eyed matchlock at the source of the arrows and firing all three barrels at once. He dared not linger; the Qing archers were lethal. After firing, Liu rolled along the ground and took cover behind another willow, drawing closer to the ambushers.

"Agh!"

Another scream pierced the air. A rider had barely made a move before a heavy Qing arrow pierced his neck guard and drove straight into his throat, extinguishing his life instantly.

The act of shooting, however, revealed the ambusher's position. Bai Shanzi, the leader of the second squad—a short, stocky, and formidable man—leaped up. Holding a shield in his left hand and a short axe in his right, he charged forward, hunched low.

"Clang… clink…"

The Qing soldier fired two consecutive arrows, both of which Bai deflected with his shield, though the force left him stumbling. Seeing the Qing soldier reach for another arrow, Bai did not hesitate; he hurled his short axe with all his might, then rolled to the side and dived behind a tree.

"Agh!"

The Qing soldier, having just nocked a heavy arrow, was struck in the face by the flying axe. He collapsed to the ground, howling and writhing in agony.

As Bai Shanzi crouched behind the tree, he felt the willow shudder. A massive shadow descended from above. Caught off guard, he could only raise his remaining shield to block.

"Crash!"

The Qing soldier who had leaped from the tree slammed his great axe into the shield. Sparks flew as the axe rebounded. The attacker, using the momentum, whirled it around for a second, crushing blow.

"Bai, kid, get out of the way!"

Squad leader Liu Quan shouted, hurling his three-eyed matchlock directly at the soldier. The attacker, forced to change his trajectory, swung his great axe horizontally to knock the flying weapon aside. But in that split second, Liu Quan lunged, throwing his body against the soldier and pressing a short dagger into the man’s chest. The blade failed to penetrate; the man was a *Zhuangda*, a Qing commander, clad in double-layered armor—the outer layer Ming-style iron plates, complete with a black-tasseled helmet and a back-mounted banner.

The Qing commander gripped Liu’s throat with his left hand while swinging the handle of his great axe with his right, slamming it into Liu’s back. The force made Liu cough up a spray of blood, some of which choked the commander’s own nose and mouth.

Bai Shanzi, still on the ground, swung his shield with all his might, slamming it into the commander’s ankle. The commander roared in pain, his grip on Liu’s throat loosening slightly, though he refused to let go.

"Agh… agh…"

Two more cries of agony rang out. Liu Quan knew his men were falling. His vision began to blur as his strength waned; his dagger remained pressed against the commander’s chest, unable to pierce the heavy armor.

"Thwip!"

A feathered arrow pierced Liu’s thigh. He couldn't even scream; his face turned a deep, blood-red, and the dagger slipped from its mark. Bai Shanzi, stubborn and desperate, gripped the rim of his shield and threw his entire body weight into another blow against the commander’s ankle. The commander, now enraged, kicked out at him. They grappled—one smashing, one kicking—until blood bubbled from the corners of Bai’s mouth.

"Thud…"

The Qing commander suddenly collapsed, dead. A feathered arrow was buried in his neck, its fletching still trembling.

The ambush had not gone as the commander planned. Liu Quan’s second squad had reacted with swift, iron-willed resolve. Despite suffering nearly fifty percent casualties in the initial surprise, they had not shattered; instead, they had latched onto the Qing forces like wolves.

The first squad, led by Du Chun, had arrived in time, killing the commander and saving Liu and Bai.

The commander’s massive, hairy hand fell away from Liu’s throat. His body slumped, blood foaming from his mouth and nose. He gasped for air, emitting low, guttural growls as his life force ebbed away.

Liu Quan lay atop the commander, gasping for breath, his dagger still pressed against the man’s chest. The two men locked eyes—one gaze, once ferocious, now fading; the other, filled with hatred and the flickering hope of survival, growing ever brighter.

Bai Shanzi scrambled up and, wielding his shield, brought it down on the commander’s head. Once, twice, three times…

The commander’s already hideous face was reduced to a pulp. His helmet was gone. The shield continued to rise and fall—striking until the eyes were gone, the nose crushed, the mouth obliterated—yet the shield did not stop.

"Shan… Shanzi, stop… enough, don't hit him anymore…"

Liu Quan looked up at Bai Shanzi, who looked like a demon from hell, and used his last ounce of strength to speak before losing consciousness.

"Agh…"

Another scream. A third-squad rider had his left hand pinned to a tree trunk by a heavy Qing arrow. A Qing soldier rushed forward, his long saber raised to hack at the rider's neck.

"Clang!" A nearby Ming rider swung his great axe, deflecting the blow and saving his comrade.

But then, a cold flash of metal struck—a heavy arrow pierced the rescuer’s right shoulder. The axe fell from his nerveless grip. He endured the agony, screaming as he rolled backward to avoid another shaft, only to be struck in the face by a flying axe. He collapsed, his body twitching on the ground, clearly beyond saving.

"Bang… bang…"

A cloud of white smoke erupted. Two matchlocks fired in succession. The Qing soldier, just as he raised his saber again, was struck and sent flying. The saber landed between the feet of the Ming rider whose hand was still pinned to the tree, its hilt vibrating stubbornly.