Chapter Twenty-Seven: Amidst Thousands of Soldiers and Horses, Seeking to Capture the Enemy Commander!

Li Guang loosened his fingers on the right hand, and the four-edged iron arrow shot toward the Left Wise King with a whistling sound. Watching the arrow tear through the air with deadly force, the Left Wise King felt a chill grip his heart.

Yet he was no ordinary figure. Raised from childhood in the arts of archery and evasion, skilled in horsemanship and combat, he was not one to sit and await death. Though he had noticed, just as he turned his head, that Li Guang had fired at him—an unexpected move—his trained reflexes kicked in.

He twisted his body, turning at a slight angle; urgent as the moment was, he could not dodge fully nor make any grand movement, but he managed to avoid a fatal strike.

With a dull thud, the iron arrow buried itself in his right shoulder. The Left Wise King frowned, but the intense pain did not draw a cry from him—not even a groan.

Grasping the arrow shaft, he braced his long knife beneath it, exerted force, and snapped the arrow in two, leaving only the arrowhead within his body. After this, he spurred his horse aside, leaving his previous spot, wary of another shot from Li Guang.

As Li Guang released his first arrow, over a dozen arrows flew from Qiansang City’s battlements, shooting skyward with crisp, ringing sounds.

This was Li Guang’s signal to the Han infantry hidden in the woods behind the Xiongnu army—a call to attack!

In the next instant, the Han soldiers, already assembled and waiting in the forest, surged out, forming ranks at its edge, unleashing a volley at the Xiongnu cavalry.

Meanwhile, from the city gate, two hundred light infantry poured forth—the last of Qiansang City’s northern gate defenders. These light soldiers, upon exiting, fired a synchronized volley at the Xiongnu cavalry guarding the Han captives.

This was to clear a path for the city’s cavalry to reach and rescue the Han captives, and to prevent the Xiongnu from slaughtering the prisoners in rage.

Li Guang’s caution, however, proved unnecessary. At this point, killing the Han captives would serve the Xiongnu no purpose. Upon hearing the cries and chaos from the rear of his formation, the Left Wise King immediately grasped the situation; his impulse to vent his fury on the prisoners vanished, replaced by the urgent need to rally his limited forces against the enemy.

Though the Han cavalry emerging from the gate were few, the infantry behind them continued their volleys, and to the left rear, a yet uncounted number of Han cavalry were swiftly approaching. The Left Wise King’s bloodshot eyes blazed with murderous red.

“Right Bone Commander, secure the city gate!”
“Chaha, lead your thousand to guard the rear!”
“Jindi, block the Han cavalry on the left flank!”
“All others, follow me—destroy the Han cavalry!”

His commands issued, the momentarily disordered Xiongnu riders quickly regained order, each led to their positions by their respective commanders.

After the first wave of infantry poured from Qiansang City’s gate, nearly two hundred cavalry swept out like a tide. These Han horsemen had long been eager for battle; if not for Qin Cheng’s restraint, they might have charged out to fight the Xiongnu already. Now, knowing reinforcements had arrived, they surged forth like wolves scenting prey, shouting and charging into the fray.

Their sole aim: to rescue the Han captives.

Yet, in such circumstances, it was a reckless decision.

Indeed, when the Left Wise King saw nearly two hundred cavalry from the city charging not to link up with the reinforcements but straight toward the Han captives, he was elated and led his own cavalry to meet them head-on.

He knew these two hundred city riders were doomed; they had no chance of saving the captives. Their fate would be the same as those prisoners—cut down by Xiongnu blades.

Only after they burst from the gate did Qin Cheng realize how unwise it was to rescue the captives first. But it was too late; Li Guang’s orders stood. Li Guang could not bear to watch nearly a hundred Han horsemen die, could not abandon them.

Because he was Li Guang.

He loved his soldiers as his own sons.

But this meant they might all perish together.

Qin Cheng rode close behind Ji Zhu and Li Hu, with the pale-faced attendant and Le Yi beside him; they led the charge, heading straight for the Left Wise King.

Behind them, before the city gate, a life-and-death struggle unfolded.

Led by the Right Bone Commander, the Xiongnu cavalry deliberately let Qin Cheng and his companions pass, focusing their attack on the gate, intent on seizing control.

The gate’s defenders had orders: once the cavalry had exited, infantry were to retreat inside and shut the gate.

Closing the gate meant the Han cavalry outside could not return immediately. But it was the only way to prevent Xiongnu riders from storming into Qiansang City. The two hundred cavalry outside could not approach the gate again; they were already locked in battle with the Left Wise King.

Li Guang had plans for these riders.

The location of the Han captives was close to the gate, and though many Xiongnu cavalry tried to block them, the repeated volleys from the light infantry had lessened resistance. As Qin Cheng and his men drew near, resistance was much reduced.

Upon reaching the captives, some riders slashed the ropes binding them, tossing long knives down. Among the prisoners, those lightly wounded mustered their strength, grabbed the knives, and cut the bindings of their comrades.

Nearly two hundred cavalry split a small group to aid the captives, while the rest blocked the Left Wise King’s assault. For a moment, men and horses mingled in chaos, blades and swords flashing, warhorses screaming, blood flying, lives fading away.

Qin Cheng, at the front, spotted a formidable Xiongnu warrior—well-dressed, imposing, with a noble air. He guessed this man was no ordinary foe and charged straight at him.

At Eagle’s Mouth before, Qin Cheng had slain the Right Bone Commander with a single stroke—though somewhat by chance, it was a decisive blow that shook the enemy’s resolve. Now, seeing another prominent figure, Qin Cheng, accustomed to striking the leader first, knew well the importance of the commander in battle. If he could kill this man, he might terrify the enemy and perhaps allow his two hundred riders to return safely to the city.

Resolute, Qin Cheng cut down several Xiongnu riders in his path. As he neared his target, he raised his blade, striking straight for the man’s chest.

The Left Wise King, leading his men in a deadly charge, saw the two hundred Han cavalry as walking corpses. Suddenly, he noticed a young soldier barreling toward him, ferociously cutting down three of his subordinates, each with a single deadly stroke—clearly skilled.

Watching his men cut down before his eyes, the Left Wise King’s temper flared. Already vexed by Li Guang’s surprise arrow, he now saw this small soldier rampaging through his formation, heading straight for him. Furious, he swung his blade to meet the challenger, intent on ending him with one strike.

As they closed in, the youth’s blade suddenly sped up, slashing directly at his chest. Alarmed, the Left Wise King leaned back, turning his strike into a block, barely parrying the blow.

At the moment of contact, the Left Wise King’s heart leapt—a mighty force! This unremarkable soldier’s seemingly ordinary attack sent a shock through his hand.

Realizing he had underestimated his foe, the Left Wise King focused, matching Qin Cheng stroke for stroke.

Qin Cheng was surprised his blow was so easily blocked. He realized this commander was no ordinary man and abandoned hopes of a swift victory, concentrating on a cautious duel.

Le Yi, riding behind Qin Cheng, saw him entangled with a tough opponent. The two circled on their horses, blades clashing with each strike, danger at every turn. Cold sweat broke across Le Yi’s brow; just from the sound, he knew he could not withstand even a few exchanges against this foe.

Despite his anxiety, Le Yi rode closer, guarding Qin Cheng’s flank, lest he be ambushed by the numerous Xiongnu riders.

In this life, Qin Cheng could ride, but his skills were mediocre. Facing ordinary Xiongnu riders, he had managed well enough, but against the Left Wise King, he began to struggle. His opponent’s expert horsemanship lent extra force to each strike, and Qin Cheng’s powerful attacks were often deftly neutralized, giving him the frustrating sensation of striking into emptiness.

Worse, the Left Wise King’s warhorse began attacking Qin Cheng’s mount, sometimes under its master’s signal, attempting to kick it down. Qin Cheng narrowly avoided disaster several times, nearly being unhorsed.

This only fueled Qin Cheng’s rage, and the angrier he became, the fiercer his attacks—disregarding exhaustion and retreat, each blow more wild than the last.