Chapter 152: Killing With a Borrowed Knife

If A'Ming wanted to call it overacting, then overacting it was. He was too lazy to argue.

Earlier, he had simply felt that Zheng Fan falling off his horse that cleanly had made things a little too convenient.

Fortunately, it was night.

Fortunately, the Qian cavalry were pressed for time.

They had not bothered coming over to check whether the two men were truly dead or to finish them off.

To those Qian riders, Zheng Fan and A'Ming had looked more like two lazy drunks returning home late at night.

There was one more thing worth celebrating.

Because they had come to transport severed heads today, both Zheng Fan and A'Ming were riding ordinary horses from the convoy.

There were many kinds of horses.

Warhorses were unquestionably among the most expensive consumable resources in the world. To put it coldly, the life of a warhorse was worth far, far more than that of an ordinary commoner.

The horses used for hauling cargo could pull carts and carry people without issue.

But if you expected them to charge formations and fight you were dreaming.

Zheng Fan's luck really had been excellent today.

He had escaped two separate brushes with death in a row.

Even the old cart horse carrying him home had helped confirm his disguise.

If he had ridden out on one of Green Willow Fortress's magnificent warhorses today, there was no way the Qian cavalry would have failed to notice.

"They're heading for Apricot Blossom Stockade," A'Ming said.

That bit of redirecting disaster onto someone else had been done beautifully.

"Who knows whether they'll actually start fighting."

Zheng Fan joked as he climbed back onto his horse.

"No matter what, let's get home first."

The Qian had suddenly grown some backbone.

The cavalry detachment they had seen might number only two or three hundred riders on the surface, but if they dared openly ask where Green Willow Fortress was, Zheng Fan suspected at least another thousand cavalry were hidden somewhere nearby.

Possibly even more.

For now, the priority was to return to the fortress and prepare its defenses.

Of course, if this Qian force happened to wipe out Apricot Blossom Stockade for him, Zheng Fan would be delighted.

Comrades were comrades.

They were all soldiers of Yan.

But Zheng Fan had never possessed much sense of sacrificing personal interest for some grander picture.

"Master, should we return to the fortress and mobilize troops?" A'Ming asked.

"Mobilize what troops?

"Let this Qian army make trouble.

"We aren't far from Green Willow Fortress anyway.

"If they help us uproot a few stockades, I don't mind going out tomorrow morning to collect the scraps and gather up the routed soldiers.

"Even mosquito legs have meat on them."

A'Ming laughed.

Zheng Fan laughed too.

Then he immediately lashed the old horse across the rump.

The animal suddenly discovered the passion of its equine life and began running as though its existence depended on it.

"Move!

"Don't let us get stopped again and asked for directions!"

...

Apricot Blossom Stockade occupied a fairly good position.

It stood amid what had once been rural farmland, with a river running behind the stockade.

Strictly speaking, building a military camp in terrain like this was actually unreasonable.

From a defensive standpoint, it was practically trapping yourself.

But Yan pride meant people did not care much.

And since the war began, Qian's constant cowering had only encouraged that arrogance.

The most important point, however, was that Qian's Three Frontier armies had been neglected for a long time and before the war began, Yan's defensive system along the Yinlang Commandery frontier had likewise long existed in name only.

When Zheng Fan first arrived to take up his post, the first things he had needed to do were dig pits and erect tents.

As a result, when numerous Generals and their forces were later shoved into this region from other commanderies, their military stockades sprang up like food being stuffed randomly into a child's mouth.

One here.

Another there.

Uneven.

Disorganized.

If you knew what you were looking at, you could call it a grand array of military stockades, with commanders from every direction and tremendous momentum.

If you did not you might think bandit chiefs from every mountain in the land had gathered here for some jianghu convention.

Zhong Tianlang was Zhong Wendao's youngest son.

The old commander had sired him late in life and naturally treasured him deeply.

That inevitably gave Zhong Tianlang an extra streak of pride.

But before an actual battle, Zhong Tianlang would never allow himself the slightest carelessness.

He brought two personal guards and approached Apricot Blossom Stockade first.

"This stockade..."

Zhong Tianlang had already inherited a considerable share of the Zhong Clan's military teachings.

Otherwise, no matter how much Zhong Wendao doted on his youngest son, he would never have let him take the Western Army's elite cavalry north to fool around.

The Western Army shared one universal weakness with the rest of Qian's army too few warhorses.

Which naturally meant too little cavalry.

Every mounted soldier was precious.

Yet the Apricot Blossom Stockade before Zhong Tianlang was... crude.

From the Western Army's perspective, the sight was almost unbelievable.

The Western Army had originally been formed to resist incursions by the Northern Qiang in Qian's northwest.

Later, it had also assumed responsibility for suppressing rebellions by the native chieftains in the southwest.

Those two kinds of enemies shared one characteristic.

On their own terrain, they came and went like the wind and excelled at harassment.

That was why the Western Army possessed its own inherited system for constructing camps.

At Mianzhou City now, the hundred and fifty thousand Western Army troops had erected four-sided defensive camps with cheval-de-frise barricades, wagon walls, trenches, arrow towers, and countless other works.

Everything had its order.

Combined with the spacing and troop allocation among the camps, Zhong Wendao, sitting at their center, dared claim that his fortifications could withstand the trampling of two hundred thousand Yan cavalry.

Compared with that this Yan stockade looked like children playing house.

Far too casual.

Logically, Zhong Tianlang ought to have been delighted by an enemy's slackness.

But he was not.

The enemy had become this lax precisely because Qian had previously exerted far too little pressure.

Zhong Tianlang drew a deep breath.

Then today he would tell these Yan men, arrogant beyond measure that the Great Qian also had sons brave enough to march north!

There was no need to keep observing.

No need to waste time forming some elaborate plan.

The flaws were everywhere.

This stockade was practically a sieve.

When facing a sieve, there was no reason to overthink anything.

Just smash through it.

For this northern raid, Zhong Tianlang had brought one thousand cavalry from his own Personal Camp.

He had begged another thousand from his various uncles.

And just before departure, his father had transferred another thousand elite riders to him.

Three thousand cavalry.

If he could not break a stockade like this with three thousand riders—

Zhong Tianlang might as well find a block of tofu and bash his own skull against it.

Perhaps the people inside had simply never imagined that one day Qian troops would dare penetrate this far north and charge them.

Zhong Tianlang shook his head.

Then said quietly, "I originally thought you might be somebody.

"Turns out you're nothing but an arrogant barbarian.

"You truly disappoint me, Zheng Fan."

...

According to Yan military regulations, only the household camp of a General was permitted to fly its own banner usually a banner bearing the commander's surname.

That was why Apricot Blossom Stockade only flew the Great Yan's black dragon banner.

There was no banner bearing the character "Deng."

At the entrance hung a small wooden sign with the words "Apricot Blossom Stockade."

But after months of wind and rain, the lettering had already faded badly.

No one had bothered repainting it.

Ever since Deng Ziliang returned earlier that day, he had remained inside his main tent.

He had not come out.

He had not been drinking either.

Deng Ziliang did not like alcohol something of an oddity among military men.

But just because he did not drink did not mean he could stop his men from doing so.

The Jingnan Army's discipline was famously strict.

These regional military commanders, however, operated under far looser restraints.

With a belly full of anger, Deng Ziliang sat before a brazier reading a military text.

Perhaps everyone knew their Assistant General had returned in a foul mood.

So after the soldiers of Apricot Blossom Stockade received their wine, they deliberately moved somewhat farther from his main tent before drinking.

They did not dare make the usual racket either.

There was wine.

But not enough for anyone to become blind drunk.

It was more ceremonial than anything.

The meat, however, was unlimited.

This was an Apricot Blossom Stockade tradition.

The day after every victory was a day for the whole army to celebrate.

That too was part of commanding soldiers.

You treated the men beneath you well.

Then on the battlefield, they were willing to die for you.

After reading for a while longer, Deng Ziliang lost his concentration.

He tossed the military text aside and rubbed between his brows.

At that moment, the tent flap lifted and a large man entered.

"Young Master, something troubling you?"

If he could address Deng Ziliang as Young Master, then he was clearly someone from the Deng Clan household.

Family.

Deng Ziliang shook his head.

He had no interest in retelling what happened at the General Headquarters earlier that day.

But tonight, he did intend to write home and report the matter.

How exactly they should respond the family would have to decide.

"Pass down the order.

"Keep the drinking moderate."

"Rest easy, Young Master.

"I already made a round earlier.

"The boys know their limits."

"Mm."

Deng Ziliang nodded and reached for the teacup beside him.

Then he noticed ripples spreading across the water.

A moment later came the heavy thunder of hooves!

Deng Ziliang instantly stood.

Although Zheng Fan did not believe in that nonsense about destined lifelong enemies at this moment, Deng Ziliang's reaction was identical to Zheng Fan's after being stopped on the road and asked for directions.

"How... how dare he!"

Deng Ziliang's first thought was:

Could it really be that lunatic Zheng Fan?

The large man pulled open the tent flap.

On the eastern side of the stockade, dozens of riders had already thrown grappling hooks.

The hooks bit into the palisade.

Then the riders accelerated outward in opposite directions.

The wooden barriers had never been sunk particularly deep.

They were dragged straight down.

Immediately afterward, cavalry from the rear charged forward without slowing in the slightest.

They smashed directly into the stockade!

Chaos erupted everywhere.

"Young Master!

"Enemy attack!"

Deng Ziliang shoved the large man aside.

He had never removed his armor.

He stepped outside holding his bow.

The next instant he drew and released.

An arrow streaked out.

One Qian rider was struck directly in the face and toppled from the saddle.

Deng Ziliang showed no trace of satisfaction.

He shouted to the large man beside him, "Pass the order!

"Every unit breaks out on its own!"

He did not order the soldiers to rally.

At a moment like this, rallying was impossible anyway.

Whenever a night raid gained the initiative, the side being attacked usually found it extremely difficult to re-form proper units.

Better to break out openly and let everyone fight for himself.

Cavalry warfare did not hinge upon controlling a single camp or a patch of ground.

As long as he could gather his troops again afterward he could come back and fight.

Just then, a rider burst from behind the main tent.

The long lance in the man's hands stabbed directly toward Deng Ziliang.

Deng Ziliang retreated two steps, narrowly avoiding the swift thrust.

Then he immediately drew his bow again and fired at the rider's back.

Qi and blood surged into the arrow.

The force was terrifying.

It punched straight through the man's armor.

The rider fell from his horse.

Deng Ziliang hurried forward and swept his gaze over the armor.

His brow furrowed.

Not Yan armor.

This was...

Qian!

"Heh!"

The Qian had actually dared march north?

And they had even come right to his doorstep?

Fury surged inside Deng Ziliang.

At first, he had assumed Zheng Fan of Green Willow Fortress had launched a night raid against him.

For a lunatic who had even dared cripple an imperial Prince, something like this did not seem entirely impossible.

But it was not him.

Deng Ziliang drew again.

One arrow.

Then another.

Then another.

Three Qian riders died in succession.

For a brief moment, the area around his main tent became empty.

But just as Deng Ziliang was about to seize a horse and head elsewhere in the stockade to rally his men more than ten enemy riders charged toward him.

This Qian cavalry force was not simple.

In any night raid, confusion affected both the defenders and the attackers.

Deng Ziliang had already shot down several Qian riders near the main tent.

Logically, the surrounding Qian soldiers could not have failed to notice.

Ordinary troops, seeing that especially in darkness would likely have hesitated to keep approaching.

Darkness was the coward's finest cloak.

Yet these Qian riders charged straight back in.

More than ten horses thundered toward him together.

No matter how highly Deng Ziliang thought of himself, he was not stupid enough to stand there and take the charge head-on.

He turned and sprinted back.

Just before their long lances could reach him he plunged into his own main tent.

The Qian riders did not rush inside.

Instead, each threw his torch onto the tent.

"Whoosh! Whoosh!"

They had barely waited long enough for the flames to begin rising when two more arrows shot out from within the tent.

Two Qian riders were struck.

The rest no longer dared wait.

They forced their horses directly into the burning tent.

Boom!

The entire structure collapsed.

Deng Ziliang had already traded his heavy bow for a saber.

He sprang forward like a flood dragon bursting from the sea and landed directly behind one Qian rider.

His blade swept low.

The edge bit into the man's neck.

Then Deng Ziliang shoved the body from the saddle.

Kill the rider.

Take the horse.

One continuous motion.

But before Deng Ziliang could urge the mount away two cavalry sabers came chopping toward him.

Deng Ziliang flattened his upper body backward over the horse's rump, narrowly avoiding both blades.

At the same time, he struck the horse's flank hard with the back of his saber.

The animal screamed in pain and lunged forward.

Deng Ziliang straightened again.

Saber in his right hand.

Reins in his left.

The remaining Qian riders immediately gave chase.

The red armor Deng Ziliang wore and the martial skill he had just displayed both told them the same thing this was a big fish!

Quite possibly the very commander their general had come north to kill!

The Qian riders pursued so fiercely that Deng Ziliang had no chance to rally his own men.

And everywhere inside the stockade—

Qian cavalry seemed to be charging through the darkness.

Damn their mothers.

What medicine had these Qian bastards taken?

They had actually dared commit this heavily to a northern raid!

Suddenly, another cavalry detachment appeared ahead.

The officer leading them was one of Deng Ziliang's Lieutenant Commanders.

The two groups passed one another.

That cavalry detachment immediately turned and blocked the Qian riders pursuing Deng Ziliang.

At last, Deng Ziliang gained a moment to breathe.

His gaze swept across the stockade.

But before he could properly assess the situation and issue fresh orders a silver-armored general suddenly charged out ahead of him.

That was the nature of a night raid.

That was chaos.

No one knew where an enemy might suddenly appear.

No one knew where an ally might suddenly emerge.

Deng Ziliang did not hesitate in the slightest.

He did not even intend to meet the silver-armored general's spear.

Instead, he urged his horse forward and shouted, "Withdraw!"

The situation was already beyond recovery.

Now the only sensible choice was to get as many men out as possible.

Scattered cavalry could be gathered again tomorrow.

Dead cavalry could not.

Yan soldiers were fierce.

Their horsemanship was unquestionably first-rate.

But the problem was that regional commanders like Deng Ziliang were, in truth, closer to warlords.

They cared more about preserving and expanding their own strength than wasting the lives of their own men in meaningless resistance.

Had this been a Zhenbei Army camp or a Jingnan Army camp the scene would never have unfolded this way.

In truth, even before Deng Ziliang issued the withdrawal order, many of his riders had already seized horses and broken outward under the pressure of the night raid.

Of course, plenty of men never found their horses.

Others never even had time to put on armor before the Qian cavalry charging through the camp cut them down.

When Zhong Tianlang saw the red-armored general completely ignore him and spur his horse straight toward the edge of camp he felt both angry and amused.

This Zheng Fan had only this much courage?

Zhong Tianlang had no intention of letting "Zheng Fan" escape.

He urged his horse forward in pursuit.

The mount beneath him was a fine Northern Qiang steed.

Deng Ziliang, meanwhile, rode a warhorse he had only just seized.

Once the two generals broke out of the camp the distance between them rapidly began shrinking.

Then suddenly a detachment of Qian cavalry burst from the woods ahead!

Deng Ziliang's heart dropped.

The Qian commander had actually positioned an ambush on the western side.

The original assault had come from the east.

Naturally, most Yan cavalry trying to escape would flee westward.

Straight into the pocket the Qian commander had prepared!

Deng Ziliang immediately hauled on the reins.

Turned his horse.

Behind him the silver-armored general was already charging in.

Spear in hand.

Like a flood dragon transformed into steel.

Deng Ziliang swung his saber.

But terrifying force surged through the enemy's spear.

Clang!

Agony exploded through Deng Ziliang's thumb web.

He still gripped the saber tightly but the upper half of the blade snapped clean off.

Damn it!

The spear thrust straight forward without losing momentum.

Deng Ziliang leaned his body aside and barely avoided the point.

But the silver-armored general twisted his wrist.

The shaft suddenly whipped sideways.

Bang!

It struck Deng Ziliang squarely.

He was smashed from the saddle.

In the same instant—

Qian cavalry swarmed from every direction and surrounded him.

They wanted him alive!

The battle could be lost.

But as a son of the Sanshi Deng Clan how could he allow himself to be captured and bring disgrace upon his family?

Deng Ziliang immediately raised the broken saber across his own throat and roared, "Qian dogs!

"When the Great Yan's iron cavalry truly marches south—

"I'll be waiting below for you to join me!"

Then, the broken blade cut into his neck.

Blood sprayed outward.

The surrounding Qian cavalry opened a gap.

The silver-armored general rode closer.

Deng Ziliang glared at him furiously.

He could feel his blood pouring out.

Feel life rapidly leaving his body.

He was unwilling.

He hated it.

His life had only just begun!

He had been fortunate enough to reach adulthood precisely as this great war between states began.

A chaotic age had arrived.

The eastern wind was rising.

This should have been the moment for him to soar.

Yet he was forced to cut his own throat here!

The silver-armored general removed his helmet.

Beneath it was a face that had not entirely lost its youthful softness.

He looked down at Deng Ziliang, already dying from his self-inflicted wound.

Then said, "On this point, at least, you didn't disappoint me too badly.

"You had some backbone after all—

Zheng Fan."

"............"

Deng Ziliang!!!

(End of Chapter)