Chapter 258: Paying Respects

The black dragon banner raced across the snowfields, carrying with it an air of domineering supremacy.

After the great war among Yan, Jin, and Qian ended, a particular argument had circulated among the military houses of Shangjing’s Imperial Guards in the State of Qian:

Don’t just look at how rotten we are. Go look at the Yanjing Imperial Guards of Yan. Aren’t they rotten too?

The argument was shameless almost beyond belief.

And yet, to a certain extent, it did point toward something that genuinely existed.

Throughout that great war, the State of Yan had mobilized close to three hundred thousand troops in actual combat.

Li Fusheng and Li Bao had led sixty thousand iron cavalry all the way beneath the walls of Shangjing.

The Marquis of Jingnan and Marquis of Zhenbei had commanded two hundred thousand iron cavalry in a ten-day forced march and bloody campaign that destroyed half the State of Jin.

Xu Wenzu had gathered the various military commanders beneath Nanwang City and fought to the death without retreating.

There had been battle after battle.

And yet one force had been conspicuously absent from them all: the Yanjing Imperial Guards.

After the war began, the Yanjing Imperial Guards had been divided in two.

One contingent followed the First Prince, Ji Wujiang, to reinforce the defenses of Beifeng Commandery.

In the end, the barbarians never marched east.

That force never loosed so much as a single arrow.

The other contingent was stationed along the Horseshoe Mountains.

During the early stages, they had indeed faced the Jin people in a prolonged stalemate, the two sides seemingly evenly matched.

But only the highest-ranking commanders knew that the true backbone of that front had actually been the fifty thousand rear-camp troops of the Jingnan Army.

So the hereditary military nobles of Shangjing in Qian naturally found themselves with something to say.

Don’t look at how much money our Imperial Guards drain from the treasury every year, or how we nearly failed to even form proper units when war actually came.

Just look at the Imperial Guards of Yan.

What battles did they fight?

At the end of the day, what mattered was still whether your field armies were strong enough.

And from this, those nobles arrived at a conclusion: the reason the State of Qian had been humiliated so badly in that war was because its frontier armies could not fight.

It had nothing to do with the esteemed gentlemen of the Imperial Guards.

Of course, once the Emperor of Qian began purging and reorganizing the Imperial Guards, and one noble house after another found itself confiscated and exiled, that idiotic argument quickly vanished.

But regardless of all that, the Zhenbei Army and Jingnan Army of Great Yan had already become two of the foremost elite field armies in the world.

In earlier years, when Yan people discussed their own military, they had still included the Imperial Guards to create a neat “three-legged balance.”

Now even the Yan people themselves no longer bothered.

There were only two names they truly acknowledged.

The Jingnan Army did not charge.

Instead, it advanced in ordered ranks at a steady pace, bringing an immense pressure down upon everything ahead.

Hooves thundered like a storm.

Yet no one looked left or right.

The army moved like a single, tightly constructed whole.

That murderous discipline alone was enough to make nearby herders tremble after only a distant glance.

The herders who survived on the snowfields were accustomed to wild beasts and savage weather.

Naturally, they had developed an instinctive sensitivity toward anything dangerous.

So when this black flood appeared before them, many herders’ first reaction was despair.

That was not exaggeration.

Nor could it simply be called cowardice.

Only the ignorant could remain blindly fearless.

Those who truly understood danger were the ones capable of recognizing exactly what stood before them.

Angda sat on horseback and gazed toward the black “storm cloud” in the distance.

At that moment, he felt no admiration whatsoever for his King’s foresight or for the fact that the King had arranged defenses in advance.

His heart was heavy.

Oppressively so.

The Yan people had truly come.

And the black dragon banner that symbolized nightmares had finally bared its fangs upon the snowfields.

The black cloud ahead came to a halt.

It seemed almost as though it were following some ancient ritual of war: both sides formed their battle lines first, and only then would the true charge begin.

But what the gesture displayed was not merely “respect.”

More than anything, it revealed absolute confidence.

Quemu had already donned his armor.

His build was comparable to Fan Li’s.

But the mount beneath him was not a horse.

It was a massive wild boar covered in scales.

Anyone who had never lived near the mountains and forests could not truly understand how terrifying a wild boar could be.

It might carry the same word “pig” as a domesticated hog, but the two were nothing alike.

And the boar beneath Quemu was obviously some kind of demon beast.

“Quemu. Take the warriors under you and ride east.

“Tell the King.

“The Yan people have truly come.”

Quemu, whose face had been filled with battle-lust, froze when he heard that.

Then he roared, “Angda! Are you trying to turn me into a coward?!”

“This is not cowardice.

“The King must learn of this immediately.

“And besides—the Yan force outnumbers us.”

“So what?

“The Jin people had plenty of troops last time too.

“Didn’t we defeat them anyway?”

“Fool!”

Angda glared furiously at Quemu.

“You are one of the King’s warriors.

“Everything you possess should be offered to the King.

“Put down your pride and go tell him everything happening here!”

“Sending tribal warriors back is enough.

“I, Quemu, will never become a deserter.

“And I will show you that these Yan people you fear are nowhere near as terrifying as you believe!”

Quemu waved one hand.

Behind him, two warriors raised their horns.

A bleak, ancient horn-call rolled across the snowfields.

Compared with the savages of the Tianduan Mountains, the savages of the snowfields were considerably more “civilized” overall.

At the very least, they possessed far more experience with war.

The horn-call was essentially universal.

Every tribe used it when summoning its warriors.

And as the horns sounded, the ground began trembling from the rear and flank.

Young warriors from nearby tribes began converging on this place in separate groups.

Some were personally led by their tribal chieftains.

Others had ignored their chieftains’ objections entirely, mounted their horses, taken up their bows, and ridden out on their own.

The sight startled Angda.

Over the past several days, the nearby tribes had provided food and water on schedule, but none had openly declared submission or allegiance.

Angda himself had not pushed the matter.

In his view, the submission of these surrounding tribes was only a matter of time.

Once the King personally arrived here, everything in this region would become part of the King’s domain.

What Angda had not expected was that his companion—the man he had always thought of as nothing more than a mountain of muscle had quietly built ties with so many warriors from the nearby tribes.

Quemu raised the great iron staff in his hand.

Then roared, “Warriors of the Holy Race!

“Before you stands an enemy that seeks to trample your homes beneath its feet!

“Under the protection of the stars, tear them apart!

“Use their blood and their heads as offerings to our starry heavens!”

The surrounding savage warriors answered with a thunderous cry.

Angda understood.

He had already lost control of this army.

Even if, in name, he remained its highest commander.

Quemu turned toward Angda and said, “Long ago, our ancestors retreated before the remnants of the Great Xia Dynasty.

“We abandoned our homeland.

“We withdrew into the mountains.

“We retreated all the way back to the snowfields.

“But the Jin people still were not satisfied.

“They wanted to drive us away even from here.

“The Holy Race has become what it is today because we retreated too far.

“It was the King—the King who taught me that we cannot retreat anymore.

“We must resist.

“We must fight!

“Angda, I know what you fear.

“But have you ever thought about what happens if we retreat now?

“Yes.

“You might preserve these five thousand warriors.

“But you would abandon all the nearby tribes to the Yan people.

“Tens of thousands of our Holy Race.

“Their homes.

“Their sheep.

“All of it!

“Look at these warriors of the Holy Race riding here to fight beside us.

“They gathered here because the King’s name called to them.

“They long to fight beneath the King’s banner for the future of the Holy Race.

“What they want is a king who dares bare his claws and fangs toward outsiders.

“Not a great chieftain who knows only how to flee at the critical moment.

“Angda.

“You once followed the King and saw the world beyond the snowfields.

“So tell me.

“Tell an ignorant fool like me who has never left the snowfields in his entire life—if even our courage is gone, then on these barren snowfields, what do we have left?”

Angda fell silent.

“Angda.

“You are the wisest man I respect most.

“I have always admired your intelligence.

“But I only understand one simple truth.

“When a wolf pack comes to your tribe to carry away your sheep, if you become frightened and shrink back, then the wolves will devour you as well!

“Angda, you go back.

“Tell the King that the black dragon banner of the Yan people has appeared upon the snowfields.

“As for me—

“I will hold back the hooves of the Yan people for you.

“For the King.”

Angda drew a deep breath.

Then raised one hand.

“Quemu.

“Perhaps you are right.

“But send someone else back with the message.

“I, Angda, am not a man who clings to life and fears death.

“Fine.

“I accept your choice.

“But I ask you to respect mine as well.”

Quemu looked at him.

Then shook his head.

“I will not retreat.”

“I am not asking you to retreat.

“But before we truly begin fighting, allow me to speak with the Yan people opposite us.

“The King is currently devoting all his strength to dealing with those Jin people of the Situ Clan.

“He does not wish to go to war with Yan right now.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.

“You remain here.

“You need to command these warriors.

“I’ll go alone.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Do you truly believe I, Angda, have always been some coward afraid of death?”

With that, Angda urged his horse forward.

One man.

One horse.

Straight toward the Yan battle line.

Closer.

Closer still.

Until he could almost hear the black dragon banners snapping sharply in the wind.

“Raise!”

The Jingnan cavalrymen in the first rank lifted their bows and nocked arrows.

Tian Wujing raised one hand.

Then swept it toward the right.

“Lower!”

The archers lowered their bows, allowing the lone savage rider to approach.

Angda’s gaze swept repeatedly across the neat battle formation before him.

The feeling was extraordinarily familiar.

But this army clearly had not come from Beifeng Commandery.

The armor of the Zhenbei Army was not this bright.

They preferred the ancient, weathered look of metal polished by wind and sand.

Then Angda looked toward the center of the opposing army.

He saw the commander in gilded armor seated upon a Pixiu.

Angda had once seen the Pixiu ridden by the Marquis of Zhenbei.

He and the King had both marveled at the fact that such a beast was nearly impossible to find even within the demon-beast-rich Tianduan Mountains.

The bloodline of the Pixiu before him should be no weaker than that of the Marquis of Zhenbei’s mount.

Which meant the noble identity of the man before him was already almost obvious.

Angda rode to the front of the Yan formation and pulled on the reins.

At that moment, a strangely absurd sense of familiarity suddenly rose within him.

The Yan army before him was not the Zhenbei Army he once knew.

Yet they carried a similar presence.

That presence resonated with something inside Angda.

There had even been a time when he had been intoxicated by it.

Back in Beifeng Commandery, after receiving their monthly pay, he and the King would drink together.

Once, the King had asked Angda or perhaps had merely been asking himself if we stay here, if we fight for the chance to become true cavalrymen of the Zhenbei Army, would you be willing?

Would you?

Would you?

Angda swung down from his horse.

He dropped to one knee.

His right hand formed a fist and struck against the left side of his chest.

Then he shouted, “Angda, Squad Leader of A-Column, C-Battalion, Eastern Army Auxiliary Troops under the Marquis of Zhenbei’s Estate—pays his respects to the Marquis of Jingnan!”

[End of Chapter 258]