Chapter 62: Flying Arrow

"Sir, Suhetai's horse stumbling just now shouldn't have happened. Then a dozen more stumbled one after another. That is far from normal; there is something strange about the ground," said Nalantan.

Arinbao also felt a bit strange. There were stones everywhere on the ground. It would be understandable if one or two horses accidentally stepped on stones while running and lost their balance to fall, but too many had fallen. Half of the fifty battle horses had actually tumbled, and the remaining ones had all stopped. There was definitely something strange.

At this moment, the militia from the Lower Character Battalion were dragging back the wounded who were still alive, while others were using long spears to give the severely wounded and dying bandits on the ground a merciful end.

Zhao Shuigeng walked along, using his long spear to poke the men on the ground. One bandit had a broken leg and had also taken a shot to the shoulder. His arm was useless, yet he was still struggling to try to crawl up.

The corporal stepped forward and delivered a direct blow with a flail straight to the head, making a loud clanging sound. The inside of this bandit's felt hat actually concealed a helmet.

Though it didn't crack his skull open, the strike made him clutch his head, twitching as he curled up into a ball, letting out silent cries from his mouth.

"What are you still standing there like a fool for? Hurry up and run him through!" The corporal kicked Zhao Shuigeng.

Enduring his nausea, Zhao Shuigeng thrust his spear toward the bandit's chest. However, the bandit was rolling on the ground, causing the thrust to miss its mark and hit the stomach instead. When the long spear was pulled out, it brought out a large quantity of multicolored fluids.

Zhao Shuigeng could no longer hold it in. Leaning on his spear shaft, he vomited heavily.

"Useless trash!" The corporal walked over, swinging the flail to smash the bandit's head again and again. Finally, the bandit stopped struggling.

Suhetai had been knocked unconscious from the fall, his head striking a stone. Although he wore iron armor underneath, being flung from a high-speed horse and landing on this saline-alkali ground littered with pebbles knocked him out cold.

He staggered to his feet, looking around in a daze, only to find that he was the only one still standing. All around him were soldiers wearing green floral uniforms, using flails and long spears to finish off his wailing subordinates.

"Hey, there's still a live one over here! Master, look," Mo Zhuo shouted excitedly.

Yang Fan looked at Suhetai with keen interest. The fellow was very tall, easily reaching one hundred and ninety centimeters, and built like an ox. Yang Fan was only one hundred and seventy-five centimeters, which made him feel as though he had to look up at this enemy, a sensation he found intensely displeasing.

"Kneel!" Yang Fan said in Manchu. He was able to communicate simply using the Manchu language of later eras.

Suhetai was startled for a moment—this young company commander could actually speak Manchu—and then he let out a roar, raised his sabre, and charged toward Yang Fan.

"Barbarian, go to hell!"

Yang Fan did not move an inch, looking at him with utter contempt.

Smack! Smack! Two crisp sounds echoed. Mo Zhuo and Lü Dan swung their flails down onto his knees. Having suffered multiple fractures from the fall and experiencing excruciating pain in his ribs, Suhetai had struggled to his feet purely on raw courage, but his movements were now extremely clumsy.

Mo Zhuo and Lü Dan struck fast and merciless, leaving no chance for him to harm their master.

"Ah!" Suhetai shrieked as he crashed to the ground. He struggled and crawled toward Yang Fan, determined to bite this bastard to death even if it meant using his bare teeth. The sabre in one of his hands swept weakly forward.

"Damn it, dying Tartar, still struggling to the end!" Lü Dan smashed his flail onto Suhetai's wrist, sending the sabre flying from his grip, and then planted his foot squarely on Suhetai's neck. Suhetai could no longer move, left only with inchoate curses spewing from his mouth.

"Master, I'll cut out his tongue so he can't curse anymore," Mo Zhuo said, pulling a short blade from his calf sheath and looking at Yang Fan.

"Take him back. This man is useful," Yang Fan ordered.

"Tell everyone to fall back immediately," Yang Fan commanded. "Dock the pay of anyone who disobeys."

Watching Suhetai being dragged away while the remaining wounded soldiers were beaten to death with flails and skewered by spears, Arinbao drew a sharp breath. Were these garrison troops? They didn't leave a single one alive. These soldiers were clearly green recruits, yet as they vomited, they simultaneously thrust their spears into the wailing wounded without hesitation. Their hands never wavered. Truly, they were ruthless men of few words.

"Sir, we cannot let them take Suhetai away. We cannot expose ourselves," Na Lan said.

Arinbao felt a pang of reluctance.

"Give the order, sir."

Arinbao sighed and said, "Release the arrows. Three volleys of parabolic fire, then dismount and charge on foot."

More than five hundred cavalrymen leaped from their horses, formed three horizontal ranks, and pulled out their cavalry bows to shoot forward.

At that exact moment, Yang Fan issued the order to retreat.

"Quick, raise your shields!" Mo Zhuo shouted loudly through an iron-rolled megaphone.

The wounded militia members who had not yet been rescued were doomed. The ground seemed to sprout a layer of thatch made of arrows. Those wailing on the ground were blanketed by missiles and quickly grew still.

The militia of the Lower Character Battalion had no time to harvest enemy heads or tend to the wounded; they hurriedly grabbed the pot lids slung across their backs, held them slanted upward, and crouched down.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—in an instant, arrows flew like locusts. From time to time, some unlucky soul was hit in the limbs, crying out in loud agony. Beside Zhao Shuigeng, a man named Song Chuang took an arrow to the thigh, shrieked, dropped his shield, and hugged his thigh while howling. Immediately afterward, four or five arrows flew in and pinned him firmly to the ground.

Trembling with terror, Zhao Shuigeng curled his body up even tighter, striving to let the pot lid provide total cover for his frame.

Clatter, clatter, clatter! Arrows pelted the pot lids, failing to pierce them, but sending jarring, painful vibrations through the arms holding them.

"Everyone, fall back slowly! Form three horizontal ranks in front of the South Gate!" Lü Dan shouted at the top of his lungs.

This time, the order was exceptionally well-executed. Everyone closed in toward their respective squads, gradually clustering together, then stepped backward inch by inch. A squad of thirty men could effectively use their pot lids to shield their front, top, left, and right. Viewed from a distance, they looked like semi-circular eggshells.

Desperate life-or-death combat was indeed the greatest training ground. Everyone was improving rapidly, realizing that survival on the battlefield required strict obedience to orders and reliance on the collective; relying on reckless individual bravery was the fastest way to die.

After the three volleys of arrows ended, Arinbao looked across the field at the wounded soldiers and shield-bearing troops, noting that over a hundred had been killed or wounded. He nodded with satisfaction; Manchu arrows still packed a formidable punch.

"Advance!" Arinbao ordered.

The horizontal ranks began moving forward while continuously discharging arrows.

The personal guards raised their iron-reinforced shields, protecting Yang Fan as they slowly retreated.

A stray arrow struck Yang Fan's helmet and glanced off, jarring his head with a sharp ache.

"Form up! Form up!" Mo Zhuo shouted loudly.

In the end, operating in medium-sized units, they formed five semi-circular formations outside the South City Gate.

This formation offered the best defense against flying missiles, a tactic the soldiers had naturally discovered during the retreat. Along the retreat path, too many unfortunate souls had fallen. Everyone kept drawing inward, and as they walked, the formation naturally morphed into this egg-like shape, with shields raised covering the front, top, left, and right facing the enemy.

"Get your matchlocks ready and reload! The bandits are coming up!" Lü Dan shouted loudly.

In the distance, the enemy formations were advancing at a slow pace. Hand-to-hand combat was about to begin.