Chapter 43: Border Turmoil: The New Hunting Ground Opens
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Beiping Camp, the Commander’s Tent.
Xu Da’s face was black enough to wring water from.
Upon the desk lay urgent reports from the frontier scout camps, each one like another freshly raised grave.
The remnants of the Northern Yuan had stirred to life once more.
Those hyenas of the grasslands always went for the softest flesh. Small bands of mounted raiders darted everywhere: today they burned the granary at Wang Village; tomorrow they raided Li Stockade for its cattle and sheep. The boldest band had even crept within a hundred miles of the main camp, slaughtered an entire scout squad, skinned the men, and hung their hides from the flagpole of a watchtower.
“Commander, if this continues, all the farmland we’ve worked so hard to reclaim will be ruined!” one deputy general cried, stamping his feet in agitation.
“But the moment our main army moves, they scatter like rabbits and retreat deep into the grasslands. We can’t even find their shadows!”
Xu Da said nothing. His rough fingers dragged heavily across the sand table.
A strategy of wearing down the enemy.
Use small units to harass them, dragging them into an endless war of attrition. Once they were exhausted in body and spirit, strike while they rested and deliver a fatal blow.
Just as the atmosphere in the tent sank to its most oppressive depths, a booming voice rang out from beyond the entrance.
“Commander! Commander! Old Fan has marvelous news to report!”
The curtain flew aside, and Fan Tong’s two-hundred-and-fifty-pound body rolled in like a ball of meat. His face was flushed with excitement, grease still glistening on his lips. Behind him came Bao Nianfeng, cradling a half-eaten roasted mutton leg in his arms, his honest face wearing an almost foolishly amiable expression.
Xu Da’s eyelid twitched.
“What is it? Why all the shouting?”
Fan Tong gave a broad grin. Without the slightest trace of ceremony, he crowded up to the sand table and pointed toward the vast territory to the north, his eyes gleaming with undisguised hunger.
“Commander, I hear those northern barbarians are lining up to send us their heads again?”
Xu Da’s expression remained cold. He gave a low grunt through his nose.
“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Fan Tong slapped his thigh, spraying spittle everywhere. “The lads under my command have been eating meat in camp every day. Their mouths are so bland they could barely taste a bird! Their bones are practically rusting from lack of use!”
He rubbed his hands together, his face full of longing, like a butcher gazing upon a pen packed with fat sheep.
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“Do you think you could let me take the brothers out for a little exercise? Call it field training. And while we’re at it… we could earn a little extra for the men and give them a change of flavor.”
Several generals in the tent nearly goggled their eyes out of their heads.
Other people grew grim and anxious at the thought of war. This fellow sounded as though he were on his way to a banquet.
Xu Da stared at Fan Tong’s plump face, which seemed to bear the words I want to go plundering in plain sight, and felt a turmoil of emotions. He recalled the Emperor’s secret decree.
Sustain the army through warfare. Reduce expenditure.
By some absurd stroke of luck, the fat man’s idea aligned perfectly with the Emperor’s intentions.
“Very well.” Xu Da nodded slowly, his voice revealing neither approval nor displeasure. “You have my permission. But remember this.”
He fixed Fan Tong with a hard stare and enunciated every word.
“You will provide all your own supplies. Not one grain of rice, not one blade of grass, will you receive from me.”
“Consider it done! Just wait and see!”
Fan Tong was overjoyed. Afraid that Xu Da might change his mind, he answered at once and dashed out of the tent.
When the news reached the vanguard camp, the entire garrison came alive.
Zhu Di was polishing his spiked mace with a rough cloth, rubbing it over and over. The weapon had been reforged; it was heavier and longer now, and the spikes along its head gleamed with a chilling light.
At the news that they would be marching out, his polishing hand stopped abruptly.
A battle lust he could no longer suppress surged madly from the depths of his marrow.
The look in Old Hu’s eyes before he died. The lonely beacon tower. The brothers who had fallen in pools of blood, their bodies slowly growing cold.
He yearned for a wild, cathartic slaughter.
He yearned to water the seed called strength in his heart with the blood of his enemies.
Fan Tong stood upon the raised platform in the camp and looked down at the dark mass of “monsters” below. Then he roared at the top of his lungs.
“Lads!”
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“Do you remember what it felt like to be surrounded last time? We nearly became someone else’s meat!”
“Now the wheel of fortune has turned! It’s our turn to find out what they taste like!”
“Over there are fat sheep wandering the plains, whole roasting cattle fleeing on the hoof, and more gold, silver, and treasure than you can count, all waiting for us to take them!”
“We do not defend! We attack!”
“Remember this: from today onward, we are the hunters, and the Yuan are the prey!”
“Bring me their heads, their cattle and sheep, their gold and silver—bring it all back!”
“Roar!”
Several thousand soldiers let loose a beastlike howl. With frenzied force, they hammered the heavy weapons in their hands against the black armor covering their bodies, producing a dull, thunderous crash that sent shivers through the heart. Bloodthirsty fervor burned in every pair of eyes.
The soldiers began inspecting their “Ogre Heavy Assault Kits,” hanging one grotesque heavy axe and chain hammer after another from their saddles.
The baggage wagons were piled high with blackened strips of dried meat and blocks of compressed broth as hard as stone. Beside them stood bundles of burlap sacks and coils of rope, all intended for carrying “spoils of war.”
Zhu Di and Bao Nianfeng led three hundred of the most elite enhanced cavalry to the front of the formation. The mounts beneath them—whether horse or ox—stood a full head taller than ordinary beasts. Their muscles knotted beneath their hides, hot breath poured from their nostrils, and their eyes flashed with the same savage light as those of their masters.
Several thousand fully armed “ogre” soldiers mounted their enhanced war beasts. Like a black torrent of iron, they slowly rode out of Beiping Camp beneath the countless awe-struck gazes of those watching.
They raised a vast cloud of dust and surged toward the boundless grasslands.
This time, their objective was no longer defense.
They meant to turn the entire northern steppe into their hunting ground.
The hunt had begun.
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