Chapter 28: Grasping the Spear, Pressing Forward Unyieldingly

The slaughter at the Guluolu camp raged on relentlessly. Although caught completely off guard by the allied forces of the Four Forts, the Guluolu people did not cease their resistance in the slightest.

A Guluolu man lay in ambush on the ground. Seizing the moment, he leapt and knocked a young man from his horse. The two immediately rolled and grappled on the earth. Just as the Guluolu man gained the upper hand, pinning the youth beneath him and preparing to strike a fatal blow, his body suddenly stiffened.

“Shhh—” An arrow flew from afar, piercing through the man’s neck. The front half protruded from his throat, while the back half remained lodged in the back of his head, as if he were a pig about to be roasted.

The young man wiped the blood splattered across his face in one hurried motion and shoved the corpse aside. Looking up, he saw Li Xiao approaching on horseback, bow in hand.

“Da Long!” The youth breathed a sigh of relief, his face flushed with the fortune of survival. At the crucial moment, it was his brother-in-law who saved his life.

“Are you hurt, brother-in-law?” Li Xiao urged as he rode forward rapidly.

The young man appeared to be about twenty years old—none other than Li Xiao’s brother-in-law, Luo Meng. His wife was Li Xiao’s eldest sister, Li Dafeng.

“I’m fine.” Luo Meng spat a mouthful of congealed blood onto the ground and shook his head. “Just caught off guard by those Guluolu bastards.”

Though somewhat embarrassing, he was grateful to have been saved by his brother-in-law. That Guluolu assailant was formidable; had the fight continued, Luo Meng would have been at a disadvantage.

“That’s good. Mount up and keep fighting!” Li Xiao nodded firmly, withholding any unnecessary words. He sheathed his bow and drew his cavalry saber.

In the darkness, arrows risked striking their own comrades; spears and swords proved more reliable weapons.

Luo Meng mounted his horse again, gripping a spear, and followed close behind Li Xiao, plunging back into the fray.

Having just been ambushed, the young Luo Meng seemed to have matured somewhat, showing greater caution when charging through obstacles.

“Pfft!” Wielding his spear, he struck down a Guluolu man hiding behind a tent.

“Kill!” Luo Meng’s face twisted into a grimace as he withdrew his spear without hesitation, pressing forward heedless of the fallen.

Li Xiao watched in silent approval. Not a single man from the Northern Borders was cowardly. Luo Meng merely lacked experience and was prone to missteps.

Whether it was Luo Meng, Da Hu, Er Hu, or even Li Xiao himself, all had grown immensely through this war—shedding their former naïveté and innocence, donning bloodstained battle garments, spear in hand, charging ever forward.

The battlefield echoed with cries of war and agonized screams. Many Guluolu women and children, terrified by the carnage, wept and wailed, adding a tragic note of ruthlessness to the scene.

Caught unprepared by the Four Forts’ fierce assault, the Guluolu camp dissolved into chaos, utterly unable to mount effective resistance. The allied forces swiftly encircled and slaughtered them piece by piece.

Within a short span, the Four Forts’ troops had broken through the eastern camp of the Guluolu and surged toward the northern camp. The slaughter there was equally one-sided, the darkness soaked with the countless deaths under the blades of the Four Forts’ cavalry.

Amid the northern Guluolu camp stood a pen enclosed by fences—not filled with cattle or sheep, but a huddled group of ragged people. Men and women alike, numbering several hundred.

Among them were soldiers of the Jinzhou army captured during the Battle of the Northern Mountains by the Aslan tribe, as well as Han Chinese originally from Sanhe Fort. Many had lost family members to the Guluolu massacre; only these harmless Han captives were kept confined.

Exposed to the harsh wind and rain, with no shelter to shield them, clad in thin clothing, they clustered together for warmth. Many wounded went untreated, their corpses fed to dogs by the Guluolu.

Those who remained survived on meager rations, scraps doled out daily.

The Guluolu treated them cruelly to prevent escape or rebellion, and to coerce surrender. These Han prisoners endured lives worse than beasts.

When the east camp erupted with shouts, screams, and the thunder of charging horses, the captives stirred instantly.

“Someone’s coming to save us?”

“Yes! Someone broke in!”

“They’re our people—I heard voices!”

“Hahaha!”

“We’re saved! Break out!”

“Kill these Guluolu bastards!”

“Revenge!”

Though ragged and wounded, shivering in the cold rain and tormented by hunger and illness, their hearts burned with hope. Faces brightened with renewed spirit, some eyes reddened with tears.

They were Han, captured after a senseless defeat, suffering in the Aslan tribe’s grasp. Some succumbed to torment and temptation, joining the Guluolu rebels.

But the stubborn few who remained faithful deserved this salvation.

Their compatriots had finally arrived to rescue them. As men of the Northern Borders, they would not beg for mercy—they would exact revenge with their own hands.

The captives revolted. A scarred man led the charge, bursting from the pen. They tore down wooden fences as weapons and launched a counterattack against the Guluolu.

“Kill!” The man’s face twisted with rage and madness, stabbing a Guluolu with the sharpened end of a wooden plank.

“Pfft!” The wood pierced only an inch before stopping, but the captives’ assault soon overwhelmed the Guluolu man, who was beaten to death by a flurry of sticks.

The man seized the Guluolu’s curved saber, tossed his spear to a nearby captive, and mounted the enemy’s horse.

“Break out!” he shouted to the prisoners.

They would sever more Guluolu heads, avenging their fallen comrades and lost dignity.

Meanwhile, inside Sanhe Fort, Aslan was awakened by the thunderous sound of the Four Forts’ cavalry hooves. He sprang upright in bed, eyes wide open.

Turning his head, he saw the woman lying motionless on the floor, as lifeless as a corpse.

But Aslan no longer cared. His face twisted with fury as he heard the growing roar of horses and the screams of herdsmen outside.

Seizing his weapon without dressing fully, he charged from the room, shouting, “Enemy attack!”

“Get up quickly! The enemy is here!”

“Mount up!”

“Follow me—let’s fight our way out.”

The stormy night had concealed the thunder of horses. Coupled with the tribe’s preparation for a dawn assault on Hedong Fort, everyone was deeply asleep—completely unprepared for enemies arriving in the dead of night, only discovered when they were upon them.

“Damn it!” Aslan cursed as he mounted his horse in anger.

His mind raced to guess the enemy’s identity. The Jinzhou army had been utterly destroyed; the Khitan were impossible. The Eastern Capital forces could not have arrived so swiftly.

Therefore, it had to be either the southern Han or the other two Guluolu tribes.

The Guluolu had no allies, not even among their own tribes, where infighting outweighed unity.

If the Moman or Qibi tribes had attacked, Aslan would not be surprised.

“This is suicide. I’ll chop off their heads and make goblets of them!” Aslan roared furiously into the night.

Meanwhile, faced with the six hundred ironclad cavalry and the prisoners’ revolt, the northern Guluolu found themselves besieged and collapsing rapidly.

They mounted no effective defense, doomed to one-sided slaughter.

The blood-soaked earth of Sanhe Fort was filled with screams and cries.

Li Xiao’s spear was drenched in blood—this was already the third spear he had replaced. Charging into the northern Guluolu camp, his spearhead pierced a woman wielding a curved saber.

War knew no gender, only enemies.

“Charge into Sanhe Fort!” Li Xiao shouted, spear pointing toward the fort.

He led the men from Hexi Fort in a fierce assault toward Sanhe Fort.

Though fighting still raged in the northern camp, the fate of the Guluolu was sealed—utter slaughter awaited.

Only those within Sanhe Fort remained—the Guluolu nobles. Killing them would mean the destruction of this Guluolu tribe.

“Break in!” Luo Meng, Da Hu, and the others roared alongside Li Xiao.

Blood and torn flesh covered their bodies, resembling demons who had emerged from the underworld.

“Boom, boom, boom!” The Four Forts’ troops thundered into Sanhe Fort, horses galloping and striking fear with their formidable presence in the dark.

As Li Dashan had said, the Guluolu had filled many ditches and pushed down battlements on the fort’s northern side in preparation for defense.

Now, these alterations only facilitated the Four Forts’ assault.

The cavalry surged like a tidal wave, the slaughter ongoing. Screams and roars echoed ceaselessly—a bloody massacre.

Any Guluolu seen by the Four Forts’ soldiers—armed or not—if threatening, were met with the sword.

In terms of individual combat prowess, the Han were no weaker than the Guluolu; in fact, under the cover of this night raid, they often outperformed them.

With the relentless charge of the Four Forts’ forces, fewer and fewer Guluolu soldiers dared resist.

They could not even discern how many enemies there were, as shouts and cries came from all directions.

Within Sanhe Fort, the Guluolu were fearful and disheartened, many desperate to flee with their families.

The fort echoed with the sounds of slaughter, screams, and the unending neighs of warhorses.

The Guluolu were routed, their morale utterly shattered.