Chapter 33: The Silent Night Raid

Within the stronghold, dust and the stench of blood mingled, thick enough to choke the breath out of a man.

Fan Tong lay like a sack of rice tossed onto the floor, his very skeleton feeling as though it had come apart. He struggled to twist his neck, fishing a rock-hard piece of dried meat from his tunic. With his last ounce of strength, he shoved it into his mouth, grinding it fiercely with his molars.

The salty, bitter meat juices slid down his throat, finally bringing a flicker of warmth to his empty stomach.

He was still alive.

Looking around, the brothers of the Vanguard Battalion lay scattered in unsightly heaps, yet every single one of them performed the same rhythmic motion—chewing.

Their bodies could not move, but their mouths still could.

Outside the walls, the sounds of battle roared like a rising tide, wave after wave, slamming ruthlessly against this lonely mound of earth.

"Logs! Throw them, damn it!"

Old Man Hu’s hoarse roar echoed from the ramparts.

Immediately followed by the dull thuds of tumbling timber, the crunch of bones being crushed, and the final, agonizing screams of the dying.

"Archers! Aim for their damn eyes!"

"Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!"

The sound of crossbow bolts piercing the air was sharp and shrill.

Fan Tong lay on the ground, his eyes fixed on the creaking wooden gate. He could see nothing, but he could hear everything.

He heard the madness of the Yuan soldiers battering the gate, the muffled thud of falling stones pulverizing skulls, and the inhuman wails as boiling oil was poured down.

He also heard a withered voice screaming, "Great Ming..."

The voice cut off, choked out by the wet thud of a blade piercing flesh.

Another veteran was gone.

Zhu Di lay beside Fan Tong, his face buried in the dirt, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

He could not move.

As the exalted Prince of Yan of the Great Ming, he was, at this moment, nothing more than a useless wastrel, forced to listen as these old soldiers, whose names he didn't even know, used their decaying bodies to buy him time to survive.

A fire burned in his chest, threatening to turn his very entrails to ash.

Time passed slowly and agonizingly.

The battle cries outside raged from dawn until dusk, gradually losing their intensity until, following a long, mournful blast of a horn, silence finally fell.

The Yuan army had retreated for the night.

In the darkness, the prairie wind whistled through the battlements. Fan Tong finally felt a sliver of strength return; he struggled to rise, every movement feeling like needles piercing his joints.

He stumbled toward the ramparts.

The walls were littered with the corpses of Yuan soldiers and the bodies of his own veterans.

Finally, he found Old Man Hu in a corner of the wall.

The old soldier sat propped against the crenellations, a broken spearhead protruding from his abdomen, his blood congealed into black crusts. He did not look at his wound, but instead gazed up at the crescent moon.

"Old man..." Fan Tong’s throat was parched and raw.

Old Man Hu slowly turned his head, spotting Fan Tong and then Zhu Di, who had also struggled up the wall. He tugged at the corners of his mouth, trying to smile, but only managed to deepen the wrinkles on his face.

"We... we should have died long ago."

The old soldier's voice was light, like a whisper in the wind.

"Back then... following the Great Marshal to conquer the realm, the Yuan were fierce, and men died every day, but we survived... When the fighting ended, we thought about going home... to marry, to have children..."

His gaze drifted far away, as if he could see the home that had long since vanished.

"But when we returned... it was gone. Everything was gone. Our village... burned to the ground by retreating Yuan stragglers..."

Zhu Di stood to the side, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Later, we heard no one came to this place... so we few... we came ourselves..." Old Man Hu’s breathing grew shallow. "Home is gone... but this bag of bones still needs a place to be buried... to die on the land where we fought the Yuan... it’s worth it..."

"When I see... my old brothers... I won't have to feel ashamed..."

The old soldier’s voice faded until, with a tilt of his head, he went still.

Those eyes, which had witnessed too much life and death, closed forever.

The wind blew, and the tattered military banner on the ramparts gave one final, defiant flap.

Zhu Di could no longer hold back. This man, who had stared unflinchingly at mountains of corpses and seas of blood, felt a single scorching tear splash into the dust. He dropped to his knees heavily before the old soldier’s remains.

The soldiers of the Vanguard Battalion appeared on the ramparts, one by one. They stood in silence, many with reddened eyes, a fire burning in every chest, growing hotter and fiercer.

"Boss!" Bao Nianfeng hoisted his notched giant axe, his voice muffled and thick. "Let's kill the bastards!"

"Yeah! Kill the bastards!"

"Avenge our old heroes!"

Everyone began to roar.

Zhu Di stood up abruptly, wiping the tears from his face. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Fan Tong. "Boss Fan! Let's launch a night raid! Let's kill them all!"

Fan Tong said nothing.

He walked to Old Man Hu’s body and gently closed his eyes. Then, he turned to face the faces twisted with rage.

"Revenge, we will have."

His voice was not loud, yet it silenced everyone.

"But not now."

He pointed to the few remaining bags of grain in the stronghold and the dried meat hanging from the soldiers' belts, ordering in a low voice: "Bring out everything edible! Build a fire! Make a hot meal!"

"Once you're full, get your asses to sleep!"

"Boss!" Bao Nianfeng cried out, anxious.

Fan Tong shot him a cold glare. "You want the old heroes to have died for nothing? Charging out now is suicide! Our chance comes when the night is deepest, when they are sleeping soundest!"

He bared his teeth in a grim, chilling smile.

"We'll send those bastards down to kowtow to our heroes!"

At the hour of the tiger, the night was thick and impenetrable.

In the Yuan camp, save for a few scattered sentries, most were fast asleep. Exhausted from the relentless pursuit and siege, they had fallen into a deep slumber.

Outside the stronghold, dense shadows gathered silently like ghosts.

Fan Tong sat astride the back of the Demon Ox, slowly donning his hideous Ogre helmet. His field of vision narrowed to nothing but the sleeping camp ahead.

He did not utter another word; he simply swung his massive bone-cleaving blade forward.

No shouting. No roaring.

Only silent acceleration—faster, and faster still!

A charge of a thousand men, yet there was nothing but the dull thud of hooves on grass.

"Moo—!"

The Demon Ox let out a suppressed, guttural roar. Its massive body transformed into a terrifying siege engine, slamming into the gate of the Yuan camp!

Boom!

The crude wooden gate shattered like paper!

The Yuan guards didn't even have time to cry out an alarm before the Demon Ox’s sharp horns pierced through their chests, armor and all.

The soldiers of the Vanguard Battalion poured into the camp like a black, silent torrent of death.

They swung their blades in silence.

A Yuan soldier jolted awake from his dream; as he poked his head out of the tent, he was cleaved in two by a giant axe.

A cook rushed into a tent where seven or eight Yuan soldiers slept. Without hesitation, he swung his heavy weapon in a whirlwind of death, and soon only the dull, wet sound of mangled flesh remained.

This was not a battle; it was a slaughter.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The shrill, piercing alarm finally echoed across the camp.

Inside a lavish tent, the Yuan general shoved his woman aside, grabbed his scimitar, and charged out.

He had barely cleared the tent when he felt a fierce, cutting wind strike his face!

He instinctively raised his blade to parry.

Clang!

With a deafening sound, sparks showered the air. The general felt an irresistible force surge from his blade, his web of his thumb split instantly, and the sheer power sent him stumbling backward.

He looked up in horror to see a blood-drenched demon, wielding a hideous mace, staring at him with eyes burning with endless, incandescent rage.

It was that Ming youth!

Zhu Di looked at his enemy, baring his white, jagged teeth. His voice sounded as if it were crawling up from the depths of the earth.

"Your life is mine!"