Chapter 384: An Irresistible Advance

Under the moonlight, Xue San’s shadow stretched to a length that should have been impossible for his actual body.

That final phrase—“accept fate”—carried far too many twists of feeling within it.

Everyone wanted freedom.

The Demon Kings even more so.

In each of their original “worlds,” whether their comics had succeeded or flopped, every one of them had been the protagonist. Then they were reborn and found themselves calling another man Master.

They were used to it now. Truthfully, none of them resisted all that strongly anymore. Emotionally and logically alike, calling Zheng Fan “Master” had become perfectly natural.

But if they had a choice, who would not want to draw one deep breath of fresh air?

And if breathing in was impossible... well.

Being able to breathe out would do.

More than a hundred black-clad men personally trained by Xue San slipped into the encampment. Some had been selected and trained by him back in Shengle. Others were jianghu men absorbed along the way. Whatever their origins, all had inherited a measure of Xue San’s craft—and his way of thinking.

Special operations had existed since ancient times. The idea of using elite troops to achieve an outsized effect was hardly obscure.

But in this era, forces capable of carrying it out with this degree of professionalism, discipline, and planning were genuinely rare.

More importantly, because of the Seven Demon Kings, Zheng Fan’s earliest military career had essentially been built on special-operations warfare.

With the outer sentry posts already cleared, the hundred black-clad operatives infiltrated with ease. Some went to assassinate key targets. Others prepared to set fire to the horse lines.

Their purpose was not to slaughter every enemy in the camp under cover of darkness. That would have been childish and impossible.

What they needed to do was strip away as much of the enemy’s “outer clothing” as possible during the final stretch of night.

Then, once the main force behind them charged the enemy would collapse completely.

A’Ming climbed down while holding his abdomen and came to stand beside Xue San.

Xue San clasped both hands behind his head, humming a little tune.

“Doesn’t this feel a little like using an ox-cleaver to kill a pig?”

“Treat it as training,” A’Ming said. “Though when you set the timetable earlier, didn’t you leave too much time?”

One two-hour block was a full two hours. A’Ming and Xue San did not need anything close to that long. Even after deliberately treating the operation like a game, they still had plenty of time left.

“Even a lion uses its full strength against a rabbit. Since we’re using this as training, we may as well train them properly. The timing is just right. By the time my people finish, dawn will barely be breaking. Ah Cheng charges once at that moment, and it’s a one-wave clear.”

“Oh.”

A’Ming nodded.

“By the way,” Xue San asked, “have you figured out how you’re going to lick Master?”

“Yes.”

“Want to share?”

A’Ming shook his head.

“That heartless?”

“Yes.”

“No regard at all for the bonds between comrades, brothers-in-arms, and companions?”

“None.”

“You’re really that cold-blooded?”

“My blood... was cold to begin with.”

“...”

Xue San.

The appointed time arrived.

Far away, just as the first corner of dawn appeared, Liang Cheng personally led four thousand Snow Sea Cavalry into a charge.

In an instant, it was as though thunder had begun rolling toward the encampment from the horizon.

The Naiman warriors inside jolted awake, only to fall straight into chaos.

Most of their centurions and other low-level leaders had already been assassinated inside their tents by the infiltrators. Snowfield tribes observed rigid hierarchy, and they displayed it with almost comical clarity. Men of different status slept in obviously different tents.

They were simply too easy to identify.

On that point, they really ought to learn from Count Zheng.

At the same time, fire suddenly erupted around the horse lines. Terrified warhorses broke loose and began racing wildly through the camp.

This was not a pure military garrison either. The Naiman warriors had brought their families with them, which meant panicked tribesmen were now running everywhere as well.

In short, if this had been an exercise, the Count’s Residence had committed true elites to the operation. Combat quality, planning, execution, timing, coordination—everything had been nearly flawless.

Their opponent, meanwhile, had committed almost every mistake available.

Liang Cheng’s cavalry smashed directly into the tribal camp. Great Sabers flashed and cavalry sabers swept through bodies as the riders began harvesting lives without mercy.

There was no real fluctuation in the battle at all.

The entire situation became an irreversible rout almost instantly.

A’Ming loosened the waterskin at his waist.

Xue San turned toward him.

“Going to fill up your drink?”

“Mm. Fanta.”

“Go on, then. Master isn’t here right now, hehehe.”

A’Ming left.

Because, exactly as Xue San said, Zheng Fan was nowhere near this place.

At the moment, Zheng Fan was still at least a day’s march away. Liang Cheng was serving as the vanguard. His task was to strike this place first and open the road for the larger force behind them. Once the camp fell according to plan, Liang Cheng would continue on a strategic detour toward the rear of the Naiman Tribe’s core lands and coordinate with the seven thousand-plus barbarian cavalry under Master to raid the Naiman pastures.

The Demon Kings themselves did not possess much “humanity.”

That was not meant as an insult, nor did it specifically mean they were dark or cruel.

It was simply an objective description.

Xue San sat down on the ground, propped his chin in one hand, and fell into thought.

He had been doing a great deal of thinking lately.

Unfortunately, he had produced very few useful results.

A moment later, Xue San scratched his head and put on Fan Li’s trademark guileless grin.

Then his expression turned cold, taking on Liang Cheng’s familiar air of *every bastard around me owes me a hundred taels*.

Then, he slapped himself across the face.

His expression returned to normal.

“Difficult...”

...

Nothing on a battlefield could ever be designed in advance and then executed without deviation. Unexpected events always appeared.

For example, according to the original plan, the seven thousand-plus barbarian cavalry under Zheng Fan should not have reached the western side of Deep Pool until the following day.

Instead, they arrived more than half a day early.

Liang Cheng’s troops were still clearing the battlefield when the lead barbarian riders appeared.

So Liang Cheng simply handed battlefield cleanup and prisoner control to the force arriving behind him, then immediately led his men—who had only just finished fighting—back onto the road to begin their strategic detour.

This sort of thing could only happen among the Demon Kings.

Leaving the boss to clean up the battlefield for you without giving him a shred of face?

Under any ordinary lord and general, that would have been a textbook example of insolence toward one’s superior.

Count Zheng himself arrived around noon.

The army had marched faster than expected.

The reason was simple.

The instant the Keyan warriors heard they were going onto the snowfields to seize the savages’ cattle, sheep, and livestock—and might even turn savages into their own slaves—it was as though someone had injected them with pure adrenaline.

The initiative they displayed was terrifying.

Not the slightest trace remained of the exhaustion from their long migration.

That was normal enough.

The Keyan Tribe had never been one of the desert’s truly great tribes, but neither had it been small. A tribe needed real strength before the Barbarian King would fear it enough to push it out of the desert.

During the long relocation, their herds had steadily dwindled.

It was the equivalent of standing there and watching your own wealth shrink day after day.

Agony.

Migration had been for survival.

Plunder was for better survival.

And once a target was placed in front of them, the passion the Keyan warriors unleashed was genuinely frightening.

According to the plan, Zheng Fan’s barbarian cavalry would camp here as the visible expeditionary force. Their presence would draw the Naiman Tribe’s main army toward them and hold it in place, providing cover for Liang Cheng’s detachment.

So after dismounting, Count Zheng went directly to sit beside Deep Pool.

Despite the name, Deep Pool was actually a lake. It covered a large area, and its central waters were said to be extremely deep, though the edges were little different from ordinary shallows.

Count Zheng removed his boots and lowered his bare feet into the water.

The water was cold enough to make him shiver.

But it also washed away much of the fatigue accumulated during the march.

Nearby, Jin Shuke set up a pot and began heating water.

Keyan Dongge was an exceptionally eager learner, and his chosen example was naturally Jin Shuke.

They were both barbarians. Presumably, Keyan Dongge believed Jin Shuke’s path was one he could replicate.

So Keyan Dongge stripped off his armor and clothes, jumped into Deep Pool, and began catching fish.

Desert oases had rivers and lakes as well, though smaller and far more scattered. Even so, Keyan Dongge was an excellent swimmer. Before long, he emerged carrying two large snowfield cod.

These were not the ocean cod Zheng Fan had known in his previous life. They were a species unique to the snowfields.

Xue San happened to arrive at that moment.

Without the slightest hesitation, he took the fish from Keyan Dongge, produced a small dagger, and began slicing sashimi with startling skill.

Keyan Dongge watched the knife work in amazement. He had not expected such technique from this tiny man.

An outsider watched the spectacle.

An expert watched the skill.

Keyan Dongge, the man who could eat ten enormous steamed buns in a sitting, was himself a Seventh Grade Martial Artist and an experienced saber user.

Once the sashimi was ready, Xue San produced two little jars.

One held soy sauce.

The other held chili paste.

He poured each into a small dish.

Then he rinsed a pair of silver chopsticks in the hot water beside them before offering them to Zheng Fan.

“Master, we don’t have wasabi. Make do with these.”

Zheng Fan accepted the chopsticks, picked up one slice, and placed it in his mouth.

It tasted extremely fresh and carried almost no fishiness.

Count Zheng was not especially fond of raw fish, however, so after eating two or three pieces he gestured for the others to help themselves.

Xue San immediately leaned closer.

“Master, we caught a big fish among the prisoners this time. The Naiman King’s Third Prince.”

“Third Prince?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Come on. Let’s take a look.”

Xue San picked up a towel and moved to wipe Zheng Fan’s feet.

Zheng Fan immediately pulled away.

“Enough, enough. No matter how desperate you get, I’m not making you do something like that.”

“Hehehe.” Xue San scratched his head and displayed Fan Li’s guileless smile. “I was only putting on a show.”

“Heh.”

Zheng Fan laughed once, took the cloth himself, dried his feet, and put his boots back on.

Then, after standing, he gave both Jin Shuke and Keyan Dongge—who were still squatting there eating sashimi—a kick.

“Go do some work! Stop thinking about nothing but food!”

Liang Cheng had already led the Snow Sea Cavalry away on the flanking march. Someone needed to manage the situation here.

Count Zheng could lounge around as the hands-off boss.

These two could not.

Especially since these two men were the actual field leaders of the barbarian force.

Jin Shuke hurriedly snatched the last few slices of fish and stuffed them into his mouth. Smiling, he bowed toward Zheng Fan, then ran off to handle military affairs.

Keyan Dongge’s eyes actually grew moist after being kicked.

“Hey. What’s this? You’re crying?” Zheng Fan asked.

Keyan Dongge shook his head, swallowed the fish in his mouth, and said:

“Count, I was thinking of my father. Father used to kick me exactly like this.”

Xue San, standing off to the side, narrowed his eyes.

*Fuck.*

*This one’s an expert.*

“Get lost and go work. Gather all the cattle, sheep, livestock, and horses. And keep your tribesmen under control. No reaching out and taking things privately. Once we return to Snow Sea Pass and finish counting the spoils, everything will be distributed properly.”

“Count, I already asked Brother Jin Shuke about all these rules on the road here. Don’t worry. I’m reliable when I handle things.”

Once he realized Count Zheng had no interest in adopting him as a godson, Keyan Dongge tactfully ran off to command his tribesmen.

Zheng Fan and Xue San headed toward the prisoner enclosure.

On the road, Xue San asked with some concern:

“Master, can we trust this barbarian force’s combat ability?”

They were foreign troops who had only just arrived.

They had not undergone any integration.

“At least there should be a reliable floor. They won’t be too terrible.

“Besides, our opponent isn’t strong either.”

That was Zheng Fan’s judgment.

The snowfields no longer had a Savage King.

The tribes had returned to fighting separately, nothing more than loose sand.

Their combat power was genuinely unimpressive.

Back in the day, both the Situ Clan and the Helian Clan had bullied the snowfield tribes almost at will.

The prisoner enclosure was large, though calling it an enclosure was generous. In reality, it was simply an open circle watched by mounted soldiers carrying bows and continuously patrolling the perimeter.

All the ordinary prisoners had been packed together inside.

Privilege, however, existed everywhere.

Inside the prisoner camp stood one tent.

The Third Prince was being held there.

After Liang Cheng’s cavalry smashed into the camp, the settlement had lost all ability to resist. The tribesmen could only surrender or flee.

The Third Prince’s tent had been distinctive enough that Xue San’s men identified it early.

So he had nowhere to escape.

Nor had he taken up a blade for some glorious last stand.

He surrendered cleanly.

As Zheng Fan approached the tent, Xue San deliberately drew out his voice.

“COUNT PINGYE HAS ARRIVED!”

The Keyan warriors around them looked at one another.

Some saluted from horseback.

Some struck their chests.

Others awkwardly tried to imitate Xia etiquette and cupped their fists toward Zheng Fan.

The chaotic response displeased Xue San slightly.

He silently entered the matter into the little notebook inside his head.

Within the Snow Sea Army, there was one standard almost equal in importance to combat power: ceremony.

Not ordinary ceremonial etiquette.

What mattered was knowing how to coordinate with Master, answer Master, and create the kind of atmosphere where Master could stand there, casually raise one hand, and receive the submission of thousands.

Master should be able to shout one line and thousands upon thousands of soldiers below should know the next line to roar back.

In short, the first mission of the army was to keep Master happy.

Fighting came second.

Of course, the two objectives hardly conflicted.

In an age like this, any army capable of achieving synchronized order and absolute familiarity with a shared rhythm could hardly possess weak combat power.

The soldiers beneath Count Zheng were either cavalrymen born in the Three Jin, men from convict formations and the Jingnan Army, or barbarian troops.

Their individual quality was guaranteed.

They were not some parade formation assembled from palace maids and eunuchs.

With troops of that quality, strict order and repeated drilling produced an obvious rise in battlefield effectiveness.

Xue San’s announcement failed to get a proper coordinated response from the nearby Keyan warriors, but the tent flap opened almost immediately.

The Third Prince, wearing a plain white inner robe, came out and dropped directly to his knees before Zheng Fan.

“This guilty subject kowtows before Count Pingye. May Count Pingye enjoy health and good fortune.”

Behind him, a woman knelt as well.

She was no young maiden.

But neither was she anywhere near old.

Xue San stared thoughtfully at Lady Wu.

The fact that Master possessed the tastes of that old villain Cao Cao was hardly a secret anymore.

Even the Silver-Armored Guard knew to send married women over as infiltrators.

Naturally, the Demon Kings who had lived beside Master all these years understood even better.

Zheng Fan reached out and flicked Xue San in the forehead.

Xue San immediately came back to himself.

Zheng Fan did not enter the tent.

Instead, he had Xue San place a chair outside.

Count Zheng sat down.

The Third Prince remained kneeling.

Xue San stood beside him.

The Demon Child remained inside Zheng Fan’s armor. Whenever Zheng Fan went on campaign, the Demon Child could no longer continue babysitting and was forcibly dragged along by Count Zheng.

Several dozen barbarian warriors also stood guard around them.

Away from home, a little extra caution was never wrong.

What if this Third Prince only looked scholarly and refined, while secretly being some hidden great expert?

Count Zheng had always enjoyed decapitation strikes against other people.

Naturally, he took every possible precaution against someone copying his methods.

Once Zheng Fan had settled comfortably into the chair, the Third Prince raised his head and spoke loudly.

“Count, the Naiman Tribe has defied its superior and raised disorder, slaughtered the people of Yan, and offended imperial majesty. Its crimes cannot be pardoned!

“The Count has raised a righteous royal army to punish the lawless, destroy rebels, and carry out Heaven’s sentence.

“This guilty subject is willing to run before the Count’s saddle and serve like horse and hound, so that I may redeem my crimes through merit!”

Hearing such an elaborate, classical speech from a savage felt strangely dissonant.

But the man genuinely possessed ability.

The Naiman prince had killed several hundred Jin people.

From his mouth, however, they immediately became **people of Yan**.

In truth, what had enraged Count Zheng was the corpse mound.

That corpse mound had been a slap directly across Count Zheng’s face.

How could he possibly endure that?

But in the Third Prince’s telling, Zheng Fan’s army had become a royal force raised to protect the subjects beneath him.

Technically, there was nothing wrong with that.

Jin territory now belonged to Yan.

The Jin people were subjects of the Emperor of Yan.

But being able to detect that political angle instantly—and state it directly—proved this man possessed genuine political acuity.

More importantly, now that he had become a prisoner, he displayed none of the tiresome affectation so common among defeated men.

He did not posture as a tragic loyalist.

He did not pretend he had some sacred dignity to preserve after failing to find the courage to slit his own throat.

Instead, as a member of the side under attack, he first gave Zheng Fan political legitimacy.

Then he stated plainly that he was willing to become Count Zheng’s dog a guide who would open the road for the invader.

Clean.

Direct.

Without wasted movement.

Zheng Fan became interested.

He pointed toward the Third Prince.

“Continue.”

“Count, this place was originally territory of the Anyang Tribe. The Naiman population and troops stationed here are not numerous.

“But in the core Naiman lands, we can mobilize twenty thousand warriors!”

Zheng Fan raised one hand and interrupted him.

“As far as this Count knows, the Naiman heartland has only a little over ten thousand bow-bearing warriors.”

“Count sees clearly. The other ten thousand-plus are slave troops and forces from subordinate tribes.”

Zheng Fan was not especially accustomed to slave armies.

He had learned warfare beneath Tian Wujing, and Tian Wujing’s influence naturally pushed him toward an elite-army doctrine.

As for the Naiman Tribe’s own warriors—

Count Zheng did not think much of them either.

Savage armies only displayed their true power when placed in the hands of the Savage King.

Otherwise, they were painfully ordinary.

Last year, Zheng Fan had accompanied the Marquis on an expedition into the snowfields.

Thirty thousand Jingnan Army cavalry had shattered encampment after encampment and broken tribe after tribe.

If the Savage King had not breached Snow Sea Pass, Zheng Fan believed he could have followed the Marquis and swept across another whole stretch of the snowfields.

“Count, this guilty subject still has a group of followers I personally cultivated in our tribal homeland.

“They will obey my orders.”

Meaning he could cooperate from inside.

Zheng Fan nodded.

“Continue.”

“Please release this guilty subject and allow me to return.

“I will cooperate with the Count and help seize the Naiman Tribe!

“Even without my assistance, the Naiman Tribe is nothing but clay chickens and pottery dogs before the Count.

“But the Count’s soldiers are precious.

“There is no reason for them to suffer unnecessary losses.

“Beyond that, this guilty subject is willing to become the Count’s hawk and hound— and help the Count pacify the snowfields!”

“Good.

“San’er, wine.”

Xue San produced a wineskin and offered it to Zheng Fan first.

Zheng Fan removed the stopper, took a drink, then tossed it to the Third Prince kneeling before him.

The Third Prince caught it.

First he kowtowed to Zheng Fan.

Then, unable to hide his delight, he lifted the wineskin and gulped down several mouthfuls.

He drank too quickly and immediately began choking.

“Cough... cough... cough...”

Lady Wu crawled over at once and patted his back.

“Count, this wine truly tastes excellent. Hahaha!”

Zheng Fan smiled.

“Third Prince, your name has spread fairly far across the snowfields.

“Even this Count once heard that the Savage King praised you as the Wenqu Star of the snowfields— a man with the makings of a future Chancellor.”

The Third Prince immediately grew solemn.

“Count, this guilty subject is only a coarse savage from the snowfields.

“I truly do not deserve such praise.”

“A savage from the snowfields?”

“Yes, Count.”

“Someone once said something very similar.

“He said he was merely a barbarian of the desert.”

The Third Prince immediately answered:

“This guilty subject greatly admires the bearing of the Left Guli King.

“I would never dare compare myself to him.”

“Oh?

“You know quite a lot.”

“Count, this guilty subject enjoys reading. In the past, I also exchanged letters frequently with people beyond the snowfields.”

“Impressive indeed.

“Looks like the Savage King did not misjudge you.

“You are not simple.”

“This guilty subject is willing to die in the Count’s service!”

The Third Prince spoke loudly.

“Good.

“Then die.”

Zheng Fan agreed.

At the same moment, Xue San tossed a dagger onto the ground before the Third Prince.

The Third Prince froze.

How had things become this?

Zheng Fan yawned.

Then slowly said:

“But the Savage King said something else.

“Oh, perhaps you never heard this part.

“He said that if I attacked the Naiman Tribe and encountered you, I absolutely could not let you go.

“And I absolutely could not listen to your words and allow you to leave.

“He said you were inferior to him.

“But what you lacked was mostly the burden of your tribe, your father, and your brothers— along with a little deficiency in temperament.

“Once the Naiman Tribe was destroyed and those burdens disappeared, the snowfields would eventually produce another Savage King.

“I told him I wasn’t afraid.

“If another one appeared, I could simply deal with another one.

“And he asked me:

“‘Then are you afraid of trouble?’”

Zheng Fan leaned slightly backward.

He looked sideways toward the blue sky.

Then answered his own question.

“Yes.

“I hate trouble.”

————

Good night, everyone.

[End of Chapter 384]