Without question, Li Chi’s two raids had done wonders for the Ning Army’s morale. In such a moment, the value of morale could not be overstated.

When Li Chi led the three thousand elite cavalry back, the sky had not yet fully brightened — a grey, indistinct world, but just enough to make out shapes.

On the way back, they passed a lone tree. When Li Chi glanced sideways, he saw it again — that enormous eagle owl.

It sat there like a cold and indifferent god, crouching, watching the killing unfold.

Or perhaps it was simply waiting for the killing aura to dissipate a little before it dared look at this human battlefield, to see whether there was any flesh left to pick at.

Whether willingly or not, human beings are forever reshaping this world — including the survival habits of other creatures.

In the beginning, eagle owls likely never fed on human corpses. The thought may never have crossed their minds.

But once having tasted it, they may have begun to watch for it ever after.

Li Chi had no time to think on it. Yong Prefecture cavalry were chasing from behind, and he would not let his soldiers be caught in a desperate situation.

They returned swiftly to the city wall. Li Chi looked back once more.

The Yong Prefecture cavalry who had chased to the foot of the wall dared not press further. They stopped at the base of the slope, forced to halt.

For mounted cavalry, charging uphill — even with a ramp — was not necessarily faster than a man on foot, and seated atop a horse, they were simply targets for Ning Army arrows.

Li Chi leaped from his horse and called out to the Nalan cavalry: “Go get some sleep!”

The men raised their curved blades in a shout, then filed down off the wall one by one.

Zhuang Wudi watched the distant Yong Prefecture forces assembling and gripped his blade handle. “You rest, my lord. From here, leave it to me.”

Li Chi smiled. “I’ll sleep right here nearby. Let your battle cries be my lullaby.”

Zhuang Wudi chuckled. “You’re not afraid of the noise?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then I’ll make sure the enemy screams as loud as possible.”

Li Chi walked to the side, sat leaning against the city wall, and held his blade to his chest. “You fight yours. I’ll sleep mine.”

—

Shortly after dawn, the Yong Prefecture Army’s assault surged up again.

Enraged, Han Feibao personally came to oversee the battle from close behind, and great masses of Yong Prefecture soldiers crashed upward like floodwaters.

In truth, whether he was enraged or not made little difference — a decisive battle like this was inevitable today, for the ramp was now complete.

When the arrows flew down from the city wall, they were like a ribbon of the Milky Way flowing low across the earth.

In this world there are many painters skilled enough to capture all things — mountains and rivers, flowers and fish — with life and spirit.

Yet no painter in this world, however great, could capture the brutality of a battlefield. Not even a fraction of it.

A painting is still. A painting is silent. And so the flowing of blood loses its tragedy.

The corpses piled around that ramp rose at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Fallen men were shoved aside by those pressing up from behind, because the bodies blocked the path of the charge.

Those that tumbled to either side piled one upon another, and two hours later, the ramp had grown wider.

The widening was built entirely of the dead.

“General Zhuang!”

A fifth-rank officer ran to Zhuang Wudi, his voice slightly hoarse. “The crossbow bolts are exhausted.”

Zhuang Wudi asked, “And the arrows?”

The fifth-rank officer, responsible for logistics, lowered his voice. “If the enemy keeps up this relentless assault, at our current rate of consumption, by nightfall the arrows will also… be spent.”

Zhuang Wudi was silent for a moment. He glanced back at Li Chi, who sat against the inner wall of the battlements with half-closed eyes, resting.

Then he lowered his voice. “Tell the brothers in the supply camp — have them ready to come up to the wall and fight.”

The fifth-rank officer nodded. “We’re all prepared.”

They had no more arrows to bring up. They were the next wave of reserves.

Zhuang Wudi looked toward Yu Jiuling not far away and beckoned. After firing off an arrow, Yu Jiuling jogged over. “Big Brother Zhuang, what is it?”

Zhuang Wudi spoke very quietly. “Be ready. If the enemy breaks onto the wall, take the Black Cavalry and those three thousand Nalan cavalry and make sure you get Miss Gao out. Those are our lord’s orders to you.”

Yu Jiuling looked up at the black mass of soldiers pressing from outside. After a moment, he nodded. “Understood.”

He left the battle and went down into the city, finding the several Tingwei府 Qianban officers and Gao Xining’s guard, Han Shanjie.

“The battle ahead is going poorly. Our arrows are nearly spent — by afternoon, it may come to hand-to-hand.”

He looked at Han Shanjie. “Before that happens, watch the signal from the wall. The moment I send it, take the Black Cavalry and escort my elder sister out.”

Han Shanjie nodded. “Understood.”

Yu Jiuling looked at the several Qianban officers. “I’m leaving my elder sister in your hands. I’m staying with our lord.”

The Qianban officers, led by Yu Hongyi, clasped their fists toward Yu Jiuling.

Yu Jiuling let out a long, heavy breath, then smiled. “Everyone — take care.”

Then he turned and charged back up the wall.

The arrows had been estimated to hold until nightfall, but barely past midday, they were already running critically low.

The Yong Prefecture Army’s no-cost charges had consumed far more than anticipated.

Outside the walls, the corpses had nearly filled the earth. Even without the sandbags, it seemed the bodies alone could have piled up to the height of the ramp by now.

Yu Jiuling saw Yong Prefecture soldiers who had already clawed their way onto the wall. He knew the time had come.

He reached into his coat, drew out a signal flare, and pulled the cord. It shot into the sky.

The twelve hundred Black Cavalry soldiers of the Tingwei Army were already seated in their saddles, blades drawn.

Han Shanjie looked at Gao Xining. She drew a deep breath, then nodded.

“Move!”

With a single shout from Yu Hongyi, the Black Cavalry surged up the ramp and onto the wall — and then he led the charge himself, horse first, straight into the dense mass of the enemy below.

“Protect Chief Tingwei!”

Zhuang Wudi called out.

Then he realized — Gao Xining was not in the formation.

The Black Cavalry of the Tingwei Army called out: “Brothers — protecting the Chief Tingwei is in your hands! The killing on this battlefield now falls to us!”

They were not breaking out.

“Kill!”

Those Qianban officers charged at the front, leading the Black Cavalry down the slope like tigers descending from a mountain.

“Brothers, we go first!”

A Black Cavalry soldier shouted.

“We are fighting men too!”

“Kill!”

“The Black Cavalry of the Tingwei府 — we were once the ones who charged at the very front. Now, we charge one last time!”

“Brothers — in the next life, let’s wear these uniforms together again!”

“Kill!”

Twelve hundred cavalry, a single long dragon, crashed into the Yong Prefecture Army.

If they were a surging current, the dense mass of Yong Prefecture soldiers below was an ocean.

But a mighty river can cleave the sea.

Several Qianban officers at the front — their broadswords tore open a path of blood.

If the Yong Prefecture Army below formed a vast piece of cloth, the Black Cavalry was a pair of scissors, cutting a gash through it.

Those charging down fell from their saddles one after another, yet they pushed back the Yong Prefecture forces that had climbed onto the ramp, inch by inch.

Gao Xining stood on the wall. Her eyes had already gone red.

She would not leave. Neither would the Tingwei Army.

“Open the blood road!”

Yu Hongyi tore out the arrow buried in his shoulder without looking, tossed it aside, and cut down another enemy.

Their black robes stood out starkly against the sea of red.

No one on this battlefield could watch this as an indifferent bystander. The only cold observer was the eagle owl crouching on its lone tree, watching everything with unblinking eyes.

Perhaps it had grown accustomed to it all. Even this earth-shaking roar of battle had not frightened it away.

Perhaps once it had feared humans — at the sound of such cries, its first instinct would have been to spread its wings and flee.

But in an age like this, having seen so much, it feared no more. It waited for the shouting to end.

Because after the sound faded, the ground would be covered in its food.

It crouched there as though half-asleep, or perhaps drunk on the thick, heady scent of blood that filled the air.

The killing aura of men could no longer frighten it.

The Black Cavalry tore open the breach. The Ning Army soldiers behind raised their battle cries and surged out. With no arrows left, they used flesh and blood to drive the enemy back down the ramp.

“Our brothers in the infantry had no arrows left. My Black Cavalry soldiers told me — Chief Tingwei, we are cavalry. Our brothers have no arrows. So we will be their arrows. We can fly.”

Gao Xining gripped a blade. She knew that in truth, her martial arts were quite poor.

But her grip was iron-tight. The next one ready to die would be herself.

She had already prepared for that.

Han Feibao and Yuan Zhen were both shaken by what they saw. They both knew the Ning Army fought well, knew they were fierce — but only seeing this did they truly grasp how terrifying that fierceness could be.

In whose army had anyone ever witnessed a scene like this?

Those brothers, racing each other to be the first to die.

Yuan Zhen, who had come from Black Wu, said nothing. But he understood now — why it was Li Chi, Prince of Ning, who could rise in a land this vast and this chaotic, who could gradually become the dominant power.

Why, when a million-strong Black Wu army marched south and even the Chu border troops were helpless, it was the Ning Army that stood at that boundary.

Facing a million soldiers, they rebuilt with blades and blood the wall that Central Plains could not be violated.

Yuan Zhen slowly exhaled.

“Worthy of admiration. But they are about to lose.”

Han Feibao heard the words and instinctively nodded. “Yes. They are about to lose.”

The Black Cavalry had fought their way to the bottom of the ramp and cleared every enemy from it.

The lead soldier at the very front of the Black Cavalry had charged all the way to the base of that lone tree.

Pierced through by countless spears, he tumbled from his horse.

“Long live our King!”

His dying cry startled the eagle owl crouched in the tree’s branches. Its wings shuddered — but in the end it did not fly away.

It was likely thinking: this man who gave it such a fright would soon become its meal.

—

Li Chi had long since woken — and had long since been fighting in the thick of it.

Covered head to toe in blood, he walked to Gao Xining’s side, reached out, and took her hand.

“Stand behind me.”

Li Chi released her hand, stepped forward, and placed himself in front of her.

Just then, Li Chi suddenly heard a startled cry of distress. The great eagle owl launched itself from the tree in a frantic beating of wings.

It did not attack anyone. It fled — no, it fled in utter rout — at top speed and in the most wretched of fashions.

A piercing cry rang out through the sky, echoing across the heavens and earth.

Li Chi looked up.

A little dog, flying through the sky.

On the horizon, a black mass of Ning Army cavalry came like a hurricane, splitting the earth apart as they rode.

—