The cavalry led by Gao Zhen collided head-on with the Chu cavalry under Yang Jingyuan, and both forces slammed into each other without hesitation.

Yang Jingyuan had made peace with death. His only thought was to carve a bloody path for Prince Wu, so he charged with reckless abandon.

He was one of the finest commanders in the Left Martial Guard — a trusted man of Prince Wu, his fighting strength ranking among the very best in the unit.

Gao Zhen, for his part, was young, fearless, and razor-sharp. When these two clashed, it was spark against flint, neither giving an inch.

Gao Zhen’s spearmanship had been honed under Luo Jing’s guidance and further refined by Tang Pidi — outstanding even by the standards of the Ning army.

Yang Jingyuan favored the long lance, as did most commanders who had risen from the old garrison troops. It conveyed status, and more practically, it was devastatingly effective.

The moment they faced each other, that lance tip flew straight for Gao Zhen’s throat — fast as a striking viper.

Sitting atop his horse, Gao Zhen twisted his body sideways while simultaneously driving his spear toward Yang Jingyuan’s ribs.

The armor worn by garrison commanders was solid front and back, but the armpit was its weak point.

That thrust came at an angle so treacherous it was nearly impossible to defend. Yang Jingyuan had no time to dodge cleanly; he forced his body downward, turning what would have been a stab to the ribs into a glancing blow off his shoulder plate.

The pauldron was the thickest part of the armor. The spear scraped across it in a shower of sparks, the shaft deflected upward. Their warhorses crossed past each other in the same instant.

Gao Zhen reversed his grip and swung the butt of his spear like a cudgel, cracking it hard across Yang Jingyuan’s back. Yang Jingyuan mirrored him perfectly — sweeping his lance backward to slap Gao Zhen’s back in return.

In that single passing moment, both men landed a hit.

Both were enormously strong. Both winced.

Gao Zhen plunged into the heart of the Chu formation; Yang Jingyuan was swallowed into the Ning cavalry. Yang Jingyuan’s mission was to open a road for Prince Wu. He burned to settle things properly with that young general — but he crushed the urge and pressed on, lance cutting a path forward.

Gao Zhen, deep in enemy ranks, could not immediately break free. Cavalry charges had always worked this way.

When the two forces burst through each other, both had taken serious losses.

Gao Zhen emerged from the Chu cavalry bleeding from several wounds, yet his nature was warlike and his youth made him hungry for more. He called out to his men and wheeled them back at the Chu force in pursuit.

Yang Jingyuan had no intention of simply leaving. If he didn’t shatter this Ning unit, the main Chu column pressing up behind would be blocked. He wheeled his horse, bellowing, and drove his lance a second time straight at Gao Zhen’s chest.

Gao Zhen’s iron spear was slightly shorter than the lance, and spear techniques were more straightforward — easier to read. The lance was long as a double-edged blade, its forms intricate, its mastery devastating. But that did not make the spear inferior — a spear was faster.

Gao Zhen moved second. When the lance tip arrived, he gripped the shaft with both hands and lifted upward — clang — deflecting it skyward.

Their horses crossed at blinding speed. The moment he parried, he flung his iron spear horizontally with full force.

It was a technique no one expected. No thrust, no jab, no sweeping arc — he simply shoved the shaft into Yang Jingyuan’s body. The blow sent Yang Jingyuan lurching sideways, nearly unseated.

The lance was too long for a follow-up at this range. Gao Zhen seized the opening and executed a reverse-spin strike, driving his spear straight at Yang Jingyuan’s back.

Yang Jingyuan seemed to have anticipated exactly this killing blow. Rather than scrambling upright, he went with the momentum — pitching himself flat across his horse’s neck, clinging to it, body hanging off one side.

The spear bit empty air. Gao Zhen’s eyes flashed with a flicker of frustration. That reverse-spin thrust was meant to be flawless. He’d sent no few enemy commanders to their graves with exactly that technique.

But Yang Jingyuan had marched with Prince Wu through hundreds of battles over twenty years. In experience, he had Gao Zhen outmatched. Gao Zhen hadn’t yet reached twenty.

And young blood runs hot. Having missed, he actually considered wheeling around for another stab — an indulgence that cavalry charges simply did not permit.

The two forces collided again. More men fell. Gao Zhen drove through a second time; the Chu force was larger, yet Ning’s kill count ran higher.

Yang Jingyuan set his jaw and wheeled back for a third charge.

Then another Chu general arrived — two or three thousand cavalry at his back. Prince Wu, worried that Yang Jingyuan might not break through alone, had dispatched Huyan Sheng, commander of his three-thousand-six-hundred-man personal guard.

That Huyan Sheng held that post said everything about his capabilities.

Seeing reinforcements, Yang Jingyuan laughed and spurred his horse forward.

The Ning cavalry was now sandwiched between two Chu forces. But rather than breaking, that pressure only ignited Gao Zhen’s youthful fighting spirit.

“Then we kill both units!”

He didn’t wheel away. He drove straight at Huyan Sheng’s two thousand cavalry.

Huyan Sheng saw the figure riding toward him — covered in blood — and assumed the man was badly wounded. From some distance out, he unslung his bow and loosed an arrow at full gallop.

Gao Zhen saw the bow being drawn. He flattened himself against his horse’s neck. The arrow whistled over his back.

“Coward!” Gao Zhen roared. “Only brave enough to shoot from distance?”

When the gap closed, he straightened and drove his spear at Huyan Sheng’s throat.

Huyan Sheng wielded a long-handled battle-saber. Rather than simply dodging, he twisted aside and swept the blade horizontally at the same moment.

The saber came in nearly level with the saddle. Had it connected, Gao Zhen would have been cut in half at the waist.

Gao Zhen reacted with terrifying speed — his spear intercepted the blade mid-stroke, but the force of that saber nearly hurled him from the saddle.

He didn’t panic. He planted the butt of his spear against the ground for an instant, using it to vault back into the saddle, then speared an oncoming Chu cavalryman dead in the same motion.

His unit fought on. The two Chu forces had now merged into one.

“The Prince feared you couldn’t break through the Ning line alone — he sent me to help,” Huyan Sheng shouted to Yang Jingyuan.

“That young Ning general’s spearwork is something else,” Yang Jingyuan warned. “Watch yourself.”

Huyan Sheng laughed. “A wet-eared boy? What’s there to fear?”

Both men spurred forward.

Gao Zhen turned his unit to face them. There was not a shred of retreat in his chest — only the feeling of a fire burning in his belly, his will to fight blazing like a furnace.

The two Chu generals bore down on him together. Gao Zhen let out a battle cry and drove his spear at Yang Jingyuan.

Huyan Sheng saw the thrust and swept his saber horizontally at Gao Zhen’s waist — his favorite kill, slicing a man apart on horseback.

Gao Zhen had anticipated it. The spear was a feint. He yanked his reins sharply; the horse reared up on its hind legs.

Suspended in the air, the spear crashed down with full force — squarely onto Huyan Sheng’s saber shaft.

The blow didn’t stop the sweep. It actually accelerated it.

Gao Zhen’s horse reared to clear the saber — but Yang Jingyuan was right beside Huyan Sheng. That saber was going somewhere.

It swept through Yang Jingyuan’s warhorse’s head. The blade made a clean cut, separating it entirely. An instant later, a geyser of blood.

Yang Jingyuan’s eyes went wide. He threw himself flat on his back across the horse’s spine, the saber’s edge shaving past his face.

Gao Zhen let out a cold, contemptuous snort.

Luo Jing had once praised Gao Zhen unstintingly, calling him the most naturally gifted fighter he had ever seen. Show him an opponent’s technique once — however brilliant — and it would never work on him again.

Gao Zhen had read Huyan Sheng’s habitual saber pattern and used it to kill Yang Jingyuan’s horse.

The horse pitched forward. Yang Jingyuan tumbled with it, rolling across the ground.

In that instant, Huyan Sheng went pale with shock.

Already charging forward, Gao Zhen drove his spear down at Yang Jingyuan.

Yang Jingyuan rolled frantically aside, scrambling in the dirt.

Huyan Sheng erupted with fury. He wheeled and swept his saber a second time at Gao Zhen’s back. Gao Zhen bent forward and let it pass.

One exchange over. Facing two men alone, Gao Zhen had not merely held his own — he had come out ahead.

A Chu cavalryman hauled Yang Jingyuan upright, then jumped onto the back of a comrade’s horse and surrendered his own mount.

Second exchange. Gao Zhen knew that if he didn’t end this quickly, these two would eventually wear him down.

He watched Huyan Sheng’s saber come sweeping in — and made a savage decision. He yanked his reins and drove his horse directly into Huyan Sheng’s.

Both animals screamed. Gao Zhen seized Huyan Sheng by the collar, hauled him into the air with one arm, and flung him forward. Huyan Sheng hit the ground hard. Before he could rise, Gao Zhen’s spear punched through his chest.

The force was savage. It pinned the man to the earth.

Yang Jingyuan’s lance swept in and struck Gao Zhen squarely in the back. The heavy iron armor absorbed the blow — the lance tip split open the plate and carved a gash across Gao Zhen’s back. Had there been no armor, that strike would have shattered his spine.

The force ripped Gao Zhen off his horse.

Yang Jingyuan moved to press the kill, but Gao Zhen’s personal guards surged in and blocked him.

Someone leaped down, gathered Gao Zhen up, hauled him onto their own horse, and broke out of the fight.

Yang Jingyuan wanted to kill that young Ning general — avenge Huyan Sheng — but Prince Wu’s road needed opening. He had no choice. He rallied his men and drove on toward the southeast.

The Ning cavalry pulled back, shielding their wounded young commander from the main Chu column now pressing up.

The young general had slain an enemy commander — and not just any commander, but Prince Wu’s own guard captain — yet with limited numbers and his wounds, he had no option but to withdraw.

Even so, Yang Jingyuan’s heart was still racing. Without Huyan Sheng, it might easily have been him lying dead on that ground.

The two forces separated. The Ning cavalry was forced from the field. Yang Jingyuan led his vanguard on toward the southeast.

The Chu main column had arrived. Any longer and the Ning force risked being swallowed.

On the other side, Cheng Wujie had been ordered to attack Ting’an County, pinning the Chu rear guard hard.

The commander of that rear guard was Nie Qitai. He glanced back — Prince Wu’s main column was clear. He exhaled.

He turned to face the Ning army rolling toward him like a flood, raised his field blade, and roared:

“We will not yield one more step from this ground! Let our flesh and blood become the wall that holds the enemy back from the Prince!”

At his command, the Left Martial Guard soldiers in the rear exchanged glances. Then, with a single roar, they surged forward into the Ning line.

“We fight to the death — to repay Prince Wu’s great kindness!”

“Kill!”

—