Volume One: Flames of War at the Border Chapter Twenty: The Bloody Battle

He Yu had a background as a special forces soldier, but he had never seen real combat before. After crossing into this new world, he had killed two scouts, but both times he relied on ambush tactics. He had never engaged in this kind of face-to-face melee with cold weapons. A wild, frenzied excitement mixed with a trace of fear roared through his veins, making his eyes glow with a bestial red light, and his body surged with adrenaline.

Shoot the horse before the rider, capture the king before the thief. He Yu’s gaze darted swiftly, searching for Diao Bao—only by seizing him could Chen Jing escape. Yet a quick scan revealed that Diao Bao had already vanished into the dense forest behind; he was surely setting up a deadly counterattack. This was no place to linger—they needed to seize horses and flee.

“Master! Master! Grab a horse, quickly!” He Yu shouted in warning.

A cluster of blades, glinting coldly, thrust toward He Yu’s chest. He twisted aside at lightning speed, dodging the blade, and, with a swift slash of his own long knife, there was a sickening squelch as a spray of hot blood drenched him. The enemy who had attacked He Yu clutched his neck, collapsed, and began to convulse violently.

He Yu had always seen in films and dramas that melee combat with cold weapons was a drawn-out exchange of blows. Who knew that, in true battle, life and death could be decided in just a few moves?

Strangely enough, after killing a man with his own hands, the wild agitation and tension in He Yu’s heart seemed to subside, replaced by an inexplicable calm.

There was no time to think; He Yu pressed forward, stabbing his blade directly at the opponent blocking his way. He seized the perfect moment, and as the enemy’s long knife missed, He Yu’s own blade found its mark, piercing through flesh. The enemy let out a miserable scream and died instantly. He could distinctly feel the resistance as his blade broke through armor and flesh.

Hearing He Yu’s warning, Chen Jing raised his blade and charged toward the warhorses, his men following close behind. After the recent skirmish, the enemy had only three men left, while they themselves were reduced to five.

He Yu brought up the rear; with a sudden slash, he broke another enemy’s blade, then kicked the foe squarely in the chest. The man grunted, his breastbone shattered, clearly mortally wounded.

He Yu, endowed with decades of martial skill from the old master of Taiping, possessed strength enough for dozens of men. In the blink of an eye, he dispatched three foes, striking such fear into the remaining two pursuers that they slowed, not daring to approach.

Chen Jing was already beside the horses; if he could mount, escape was at hand.

Suddenly—whistling from the dense woods—a volley of wolf-fang arrows shot forth.

A chorus of screams rose as bodies fell. Four of Chen Jing’s men were struck down in an instant. Chen Jing tried desperately to fend off the arrows with his sword, but in his haste, he could not untangle the reins.

Another storm of arrows rained down, this time targeting the horses. Amidst agonized screams, over a dozen warhorses collapsed, writhing on the ground. The air stank of blood—Xie Ma Ridge had become a slaughterhouse.

An arrow struck Chen Jing’s shoulder. He cried out bitterly, “Is this where I, Chen Jing, meet my end?” Like a maddened tiger, his hair disheveled, he charged at the enemy.

He Yu, who had rarely known fear since childhood, now felt a cold dread. No matter how fast a man’s legs, he could not outrun arrows. The legendary feats of sword masters deflecting countless arrows existed only in fantasy.

To flee back the way they came would be to die under a hail of arrows. Only by charging the enemy might there be a sliver of hope.

Decision made, He Yu gathered his inner energy in his legs, caught up to Chen Jing in two strides, and together they charged toward the foe.

At that moment, from behind the forest, hundreds of cavalry burst forth, encircling them, long spears leveled for the kill.

During the Eastern Jin, ironworking was limited. He Yu’s ring-hilted straight blade, after slaying several men, was already dulled.

He let out a fierce shout, targeted a rider, and hurled his blade. With a whistle, the weapon pierced the rider’s throat.

Meanwhile, Chen Jing was hard pressed—an infantry blade against a cavalry spear had no advantage. If not for his remarkable martial skill, he would have been slain in a single exchange.

It seemed that today, he could rely on no one but himself. He Yu unslung the giant Que sword from his back, shielding Chen Jing as he hacked and slashed with wild abandon.

The giant Que cut through iron like mud—enemy weapons snapped on contact, spears were sheared in an instant. In the blink of an eye, many spears had already been severed. The Tianxiong Fortress cavalry were fierce and unyielding, striking back with their spear shafts, but their power was greatly diminished.

Seizing the chance, He Yu leapt onto a rider’s horse, beheaded him with a single stroke, and shoved the body aside. In the same motion, he pulled Chen Jing up onto the horse.

The warhorse surged forward a few steps, and when Chen Jing was steady, He Yu repeated the move on another rider, seized his spear, and thrust it hard into the flank of Chen Jing’s mount. The startled horse bolted at full speed.

“Don’t let Chen Jing escape! Loose arrows! Loose arrows!”

Some riders reached for their bows, but He Yu would not allow it. He drove his horse into the throng, wielding a spear in his right hand and the giant Que in his left, slaughtering his way through.

The horses screamed, hooves thundered, and the riders circled He Yu, unable to bring him down for the moment.

Seeing this sliver of hope, Chen Jing fled for his life, riding off into the distance. Soon, only his retreating figure was visible.

The cavalry, enraged at the escape of their quarry, turned their fury on He Yu, determined to kill him at any cost.

He Yu stabbed and slashed, felling nearly thirty riders before his strength began to wane.

If he did not escape now, he never would. Gritting his teeth, he summoned his last reserves of energy, smashed aside two spears, and forced his way through the encirclement.

“Loose arrows! Loose arrows!” shouted the riders, but as their horses circled, their aim was poor. Arrows flew, but most missed or struck without force.

Two arrows hit He Yu’s back, but did not penetrate deeply. His horse was also struck, but not in a vital area; instead, the pain only made it run faster.

He Yu clung low to the saddle, eyes shut, letting the horse run wild.

He had no idea how long they ran before the horse’s legs buckled and it collapsed, panting heavily.

He Yu slid off, removed the saddle and bridle, and gently coaxed the horse to its feet.

“If not for you, I’d be dead today,” he murmured, stroking its mane, blood-soaked and weary.

The white horse, as if understanding, neighed skyward and nuzzled He Yu’s cheek.

Looking around, He Yu realized he was west of the Chen family stronghold—he had escaped danger.

He let the horse drink and graze, then led it toward the Chen estate.

After walking for over half an hour, the white horse flicked its tail against He Yu’s waist, signaling him to mount.

Despite running all day and collapsing from exhaustion, the horse soon recovered—surely a magnificent steed, a stroke of luck to have claimed it.

He Yu examined the horse carefully. It was taller and longer than ordinary warhorses, with a narrow head, long neck, wide nostrils, and what seemed to be blood-sweat seeping from beneath its neck.

“Aha! A blood-sweating horse—a heavenly steed from the Western Regions!” He Yu rejoiced, patting its neck. The horse broke into a brisk trot.

Women love fine clothes; men love fine horses. In ancient times, a warhorse was much like a car is to a man today.

He Yu rode at a walk for another hour before finally glimpsing the watchtower of the Chen estate.

The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with red clouds, as if on fire. The crimson light cast a tragic, heroic glow over He Yu.

The west wind grew stronger, the dying sun bled across the sky. He Yu, spear in hand and two arrows still lodged in his back, his battle robe stained with blood, white cloak billowing, looked every inch the battle-worn hero.

Looking up, he saw a commotion at the south gate—Lantern was there.

A heart-wrenching wail rose on the cold wind: “My father, my brothers are all dead. Today my husband has died at Xie Ma Ridge. I must bring him home... sob... sob...” It was Lantern’s voice, each cry full of pain.

A woman servant clung to her, refusing to let go, sobbing, “In times like these, who hasn’t lost someone? If Lord He was doomed to this fate, we must go on living.” Even as she spoke, she too wept.

“No, I don’t want to live. I want to follow my husband...” Lantern struggled fiercely, crying hoarsely.

For fear of worrying her, He Yu had not told Lantern he was accompanying Chen Jing to Xie Ma Ridge. Only after Chen Jing returned and explained did Lantern learn her brother might have perished.

According to Chen Jing, he had escaped only because He Yu risked his life to save him. With He Yu trapped among the cavalry, survival seemed impossible.

Hearing this, Lantern went mad with grief, her hair disheveled and feet bare as she ran from the estate. She had only one thought: if alive, she must find him; if dead, she must recover his body.

He Yu, knowing Lantern’s nature—her love for him above all else—feared she might do something desperate. He kicked his horse into a gallop.

As he rode, he waved and called out, “Lantern! Lantern! I’m alive! I’m here!”

Everyone turned in shock, as though seeing a ghost. The cries ceased; silence fell, broken only by the wind.

“Brother! Brother!” Lantern broke free and ran barefoot toward He Yu.

He Yu spurred his horse forward, leaned down, grasped her hand, and pulled her up to sit in front of him.

Lantern wept, “Brother, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s not my blood—it’s someone else’s.”

“You have arrows in you!”

“It’s nothing, just flesh wounds.”

He Yu held the delicate Lantern in his arms as he rode across the drawbridge, the crowd parting before him.

“Lord He has returned!”

“Lord He has returned!”

Voices shouted in joy.

News of He Yu’s safe return swept through the estate. The small courtyard was soon crowded with neighbors coming to check on him.

At last, stretched out on his own bed, He Yu’s taut nerves relaxed. He was utterly spent, every muscle drained.