Li Bei was still steeped in grief when Bian Sha struck again.
After the previous battle, Hassen had ascended to an irreplaceable status within the Viper Unit, earning the moniker “Russo-Japanese” and a reputation that rivaled even Amur’s. But there was no time for him to savor praise. His aim now was to strike Li Bei’s cavalry with full force, pushing the battlefield west of Tuda Long Banner. Before spring arrived, he intended to let Bian Sha’s cavalry occupy the fertile pastures of the Hongyan Eastern Mountains.
Sand One and Two Battalions faced the fiercest attacks of the year. Jiang Sheng was gravely wounded and unable to take command. Xiao Jiming dispatched Chao Hui and Guo Weili to hold the line, but the Scorpions’ constant raids left both of them severely injured.
Li Bei’s cavalry found themselves in a dire situation. If they removed their heavy armor, they risked facing the swift and deadly assaults of Bian Sha’s elite cavalry. Yet if they re-equipped the armor, Hassen’s agile Scorpion units would relentlessly pursue them.
Guo Weili suffered defeat after defeat, barely escaping with his life each time.
For the next month, the entire Li Bei front was under constant assault. Hassen was like a right hand wielding a curved saber, a left hand swinging an iron hammer—each strike precise and lethal. What made him truly fearsome, however, was his ability to distinguish each opposing commander. Hassen’s battlefield acumen was extraordinary; he could adapt fluidly to every encounter.
Amur had taught Hassen the full extent of his “Change” technique, and Hassen wielded it with masterful skill on the northern front.
Chao Hui practically fell off his horse, his lieutenant removing his helmet. Chao Hui refused help, collapsing to the ground and vomiting violently. His hands still trembled as he lay supine in the snow, gasping for air.
“One Battalion Commander Chao Hui reports,” he said weakly, “we encountered the Scorpion Unit north of here. Their numbers exceed five thousand. Our Seventh Company on the left flank was annihilated, the center forced to retreat, and we’ve lost again.”
Reports were quickly recorded and dispatched to Dajing before the next evening. Xiao Jiming, unable to mount a horse, had to manage affairs remotely. To guard against surprise attacks, he had granted local commanders emergency autonomy—but that meant a commander like Guo Weili, once freed from oversight, risked permanent loss if trapped.
Guo Weili emerged from the tent, stretching out a hand. Chao Hui waved him off, too weak to rise. The nausea from the blunt force blow still lingered; lying in the snow felt better.
“The Third Battalion is now under Wu Ziyu’s command,” Guo Weili asked, drawing tobacco from his pocket to chew, “and Second Master is still recovering. Who’s handling logistics now?”
“Chen Yang,” Chao Hui replied feebly, spreading his arms. “He’s been assisting Second Master for six years, managing everything from the Imperial Guards to the backyard. Nothing escapes his oversight. Now, Chen Yang oversees all of Bian Bo Battalion’s logistics. With open horse paths, he can ensure supplies reach all battalions safely.”
Guo Weili glanced at the scattered snowflakes and muttered, “We’re short on warhorses.”
They had begun to experience a shortage before autumn. Then, local stables could manage losses, but now the armored horses could not endure Hassen’s iron hammer attacks, often suffering worse injuries than the soldiers. On top of that, in the icy cold, ordinary breeds lacked endurance.
Night deepened. Chao Hui slowly regained strength and sat up, wiping blood from his hand. “That hammer strike had my nose bleeding, couldn’t wipe it, had to swallow it all.”
“Don’t gross me out,” Guo Weili said, his hair messy, his legs numb from squatting. He paused, voice hoarse: “I used to think Hu and Lu were Bian Sha’s elite, but after facing Hassen, I realize they were nothing.”
Chao Hui brushed snow from his knees. “Hassen is bold and unpredictable. He knows us inside and out,” he sighed. “That’s the difficulty.”
Yet they all understood—Hassen hadn’t even revealed his full power. Having spent years waging sieges on the southern front, Hassen excelled far beyond open-field battles. Now Li Bei’s forces had switched from offense to defense, their encampments effectively makeshift fortresses. Soon, they would witness Hassen’s relentless assault.
Guo Weili despised Hassen, but had to admit—Hassen was a battlefield prodigy. No one he’d seen could command the initiative like him, like a gale no one could predict, never allowing Li Bei a chance to strike back.
“Whoever controls the initiative dictates the rhythm,” Guo Weili spat, “Even if we lose, we must disrupt him. Otherwise, by spring—or less than half a month—the battlefield will fall.”
Distant fires flickered. The two men silently watched, then suddenly sprang to their feet.
“Damn it!” Guo Weili shouted, pointing toward the watchtower. “Are you blind? Who’s southeast?!”
The cavalry atop the tower raised hands to block the wind, catching the sound of hooves. The southeastern path connected to Sand Two Battalion, but it was impossible to identify the riders immediately.
“Cavalry,” Chao Hui stepped back, picking up his helmet, shouting with effort, “it’s Bian Sha’s cavalry!”
“Sand Two Battalion has fallen,” Guo Weili ground his teeth. “That son of a bitch Hassen!”
Amid the chaos, they saw the firelight rush forward. The night patrol didn’t sound alarms; the southeast route was likely cut off. And mixed in with the hooves were other sounds.
“A catapult…” Chao Hui’s helmet slipped, his voice frozen. “We’re done for.”
“Bullshit!” Guo Weili grabbed Chao Hui, punching him in the chest mid-stride, sending him stumbling, blood spurting again.
“You’re a dog!” Chao Hui spat through blood.
“We’re wolves,” Guo Weili turned, eyes blazing, shouting at the southeast, “The hardest iron wall to break isn’t Bian County—it’s Li Bei Cavalry!” He pounded his chest. “The northern battlefield belonged to Xiao Fangxu, Li Bei Cavalry ruled this ground! Who’s a dog, who eats shit? I will never retreat! We’re wolves,” he shouted, red-eyed and hoarse, “bite down on these sons of bitches!”
Chao Hui wiped blood from his nose, kicking Guo Weili lightly.
Guo Weili, beard ragged, met Chao Hui’s gaze. “Hassen excels at sieges, right?”
Chao Hui readjusted his helmet, sniffed, and replied, “Not for long.”
The mechanisms clicked—wooden walls shifted, sealing breaches on all four sides. Sand One Battalion instantly became an ironclad fortress. Bian Sha’s cavalry halted at a distance; Hassen saw the heavy ballistae protruding from the walls.
Years ago, Xiao Jiming had transformed Sand One, Two, and Three into heavily fortified encampments. Hassen quickly realized this was a true iron box, leaving no exploitable weakness.
The watchtower fires were extinguished, preventing anyone outside from discerning the internal layout.
Sand One still held two Qi Dong forged ballistae. To avoid alerting the capital, Xiao Jiming had gone to great lengths. Li Bei Cavalry raised the ballistae; mid-loading, Bian Sha’s catapults fired. Hundred-pound stones flew, crashing against the walls.
Gaps existed initially for archers, with movable wooden walls to cover them later. But these wooden panels couldn’t endure repeated impacts.
Hassen clearly targeted this weak point.
“Fire arrows, fire arrows!” Guo Weili stomped, urging the cavalry forward.
A rain of short arrows flew. Chao Hui looked through a loophole; the cavalry had already withdrawn, replaced by infantry with dense iron shields. Arrow after arrow fell harmlessly.
“Those are Qi Dong defensive shields,” Chao Hui said. “They nullify both northern and southern battlefield advantages.”
“He’s a beast,” Guo Weili said, leaning on the wall as stone impacts intensified. “These aren’t cavalry anymore.”
Indeed, with shield-bearing infantry added, they were no longer pure cavalry. The commanders had misjudged; Bian Sha had acquired unimaginable resources over six years, enabling such versatility.
Loading the ballista required dozens to coordinate, but for some reason, it froze at the last moment.
“Broken?” Guo Weili yanked it, stomping, pounding the mechanism in frustration. “Damn Qi Dong contraption—”
Before he finished, the ballista clicked, fired violently. Guo Weili, caught by his own clothing, was flung to the ground as the heavy arrow shot forth.
The iron-tipped projectile whistled through the air. Bian Sha’s shields raised again, but the arrow smashed through, collapsing the formation and toppling the next two rows.
Chao Hui prepared to report success, but the nearby wooden wall exploded. He ducked, nearly struck by splinters.
“Damn,” he muttered, “better tell the heir to swap for iron.”
Outside, the alarm sounded. The falcons swooped from the clouds, diving straight down.
Guo Weili blew his whistle. The falcons in the stables stirred, wings thrashing, ropes clattering.
Handlers freed them, but Meng refused to obey commands. It leaped, piercing the air, claws shredding a rival falcon mid-dive.
At this critical moment, the back gate opened. A line of light cavalry entered. Leading the charge, a flowing cloak snapping in the wind, the rider dismounted before Guo Weili.
“Yo,” Qi Zhuyin greeted, her usual tone playful. “Busy, are we?”
Chao Hui leapt down, exchanging a glance with Guo Weili, unsure of her intent. “Grand Marshal…”
“Don’t call me that,” Qi Zhuyin said, shedding her cloak and drawing the Demon-Headed Saber, planting it at her feet with a loud bang. She smiled, “Tonight, you’ll have the honor of joining me.”
Guo Weili immediately clutched his chest, eyes widening as Qi Zhuyin surveyed the encampment.
“Let’s see,” she said calmly, “which is tougher—Li Bei Cavalry or our Qi Dong Defensive Force?”