Chapter 3: Last Hitting—Not Just for the Enemy, But for Your Own People Too

The young man speaking wore armor that consisted of only a few remaining iron plates. His hair was tied back in a neat, orderly bun. In one hand, he held a charred wooden stick, and before him lay a piece of yellowed linen spread out.

On the linen were rows of charcoal-black characters.

"Me?" Zhang Yuan’s gaze was somewhat dazed. He said in a low voice, "A son inherits his father’s profession; I should be a Soap-Clad Martial Guard of Luyang Prefecture..."

The sudden change in his cultivation and perception left Zhang Yuan struggling to adapt.

The appearance of the chaos made it difficult for him to define his own identity.

"A Soap-Clad Guard?" The armored youth frowned, looking at Zhang Yuan. "Didn't you say you wanted to be a wandering hero who roams the world?"

"Once this battle is over, we’ll be rewarded for our merits. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to practice martial arts."

"Do you want to change—"

"Woo—"

The long, blaring sound of a horn interrupted the youth, causing the expressions of the others to change as they stood up.

"The Yan dogs are attacking again."

"Damn it, won't they let us live? Even if I die, I’m taking a few of them with me."

The men cursed as they tightened their armor, re-wrapped the linen around their sword hilts, and checked their makeshift spears and arrows.

"Young Master Tao, you should still follow Zhang Yuan. Cover the rear and finish off the wounded." The man speaking was about forty years old, with the character "Prisoner" tattooed on his forehead.

His name was Duan Hong. He had originally been a death-row prisoner sent from Luyang Prefecture to serve in the army, and now he was the squad leader of Zhang Yuan’s unit.

Zhang Yuan’s unit was composed of veteran soldiers from the Red Scale Army, conscripted guards, and death-row prisoners.

According to Great Qin military law, a unit consisted of one hundred men.

After three months, only Zhang Yuan and the twelve or thirteen men before him remained in their unit.

The other units in the city were much the same. With no reinforcements for three months, the defenders of Fengtian County were nearly all dead.

Zhang Yuan nodded, silently putting on his armor and drawing his waist saber, wiping the remaining bloodstains off with his sleeve.

The youth called Young Master Tao also nodded. He rolled up the linen covered in writing, tucked it into his chest, and gripped a wooden spear with a short dagger tied to the tip.

In times of battle, Young Master Tao, who was literate, and Zhang Yuan, the youngest of them, were assigned to the rear by the first squad leader.

Over the past three months, they had gone through eleven squad leaders, and all of them had made the same arrangement.

Zhang Yuan carried his saber and ran quickly along the base of the wall. The rough hemp rope wrapped around the hilt in his palm gave him a sense of peace.

It felt like an extension of his own arm.

That was the feeling.

Young Master Tao, holding his wooden spear, did not move quickly; he simply kept half his body positioned to shield Zhang Yuan.

The group spread out, a tactic used to dodge stones thrown by catapults and bolts fired by siege crossbows from across the city walls.

After three months of bloody warfare, even new recruits like Zhang Yuan and Young Master Tao knew how to survive on the battlefield.

"Duan Hong, the Yan dogs have entered the city. Follow me to the West City to plug the gap."

Turning a street corner, they merged with a squad of seventeen or eighteen soldiers. The leader, a large man wearing crimson outer armor and holding a grey-blue spear, barked an order when he saw Duan Hong’s group approaching.

Only the Red Scale Army wore this crimson battle armor.

Plug the gap.

Duan Hong’s face darkened as he nodded. Everyone behind him wore a heavy expression.

Zhang Yuan knew what it meant to plug the gap.

It meant close-quarters street fighting within the city—the kind of battle they dreaded most.

With few soldiers and broken armor, plugging the gap meant filling it with their own lives.

The two groups, totaling thirty men, ran quickly along the alleys. A dim, murderous aura rose, causing everyone’s blood to surge.

Within Zhang Yuan, blood and energy were also churning.

"Form up—"

The crimson-armored man in front shouted. The previously scattered formation of soldiers tightened, their blood and energy connecting as if they were one person.

The murderous aura condensed into a phantom of a grey wolf, hovering above the formation as they charged through the alley entrance.

When veteran soldiers of a hundred battles formed a formation, their blood and murderous aura condensed, doubling their combat power.

Ten thousand years ago, Great Qin had swept across the myriad domains relying on such military formations.

"Bang—"

The crimson-armored man swept his spear. The shaft whistled through the air, slamming into the chests of three black-armored soldiers charging toward them. They were knocked back over a yard, their breastbones shattered as they fell to the ground.

The augmentation of the battle formation allowed the crimson-armored man, who was already at the late stage of the Houtian martial realm, to strike with the force of a bull.

The force of a bull was two thousand catties.

This was the limit of the Houtian realm.

"Kill—"

He thrust his spear forward, piercing through the large shield held by a black-armored soldier and driving the tip through the man’s chest and abdomen.

"Charge—"

The crimson-armored man roared, pushing the shield with his spear and driving the body of the black-armored soldier—still impaled on the tip—out of the alley.

"Charge—"

Everyone roared. Their blood and murderous aura merged into a crimson mass, pushing the squad of black-armored soldiers who had entered the city back.

Swinging blades and spears sprayed blood, splashing it onto the walls on both sides of the alley.

Layers of mottled bloodstains dyed the broken walls and shattered windows red.

Beside a low wall, a black-armored soldier clutched a foot-long gash in his abdomen, struggling to rise.

"Finish him!"

Duan Hong roared from the front.

Young Master Tao stepped forward, pressing his wooden spear against the soldier’s neck. His face twitched, and his arms trembled.

"I’ll do it."

Zhang Yuan grabbed Young Master Tao’s arm, skillfully stepping forward and pressing his blade against the black-armored soldier’s neck.

In the three months since joining the army, Young Master Tao, who had studied books for ten years, had never killed a man. Every time a wounded enemy needed to be finished off, it was Zhang Yuan who did it.

The coldness of the blade made the mortally wounded soldier stiffen. He looked up at Zhang Yuan, raising a hand as if to grab Zhang Yuan’s arm.

"Slash—"

Zhang Yuan drove his knee into the soldier’s chest and pulled his blade in one fluid motion.

Bright red, scorching blood sprayed onto Zhang Yuan’s face, hot as fire.

In an instant, blood-red light appeared in Zhang Yuan’s mind, and the chaotic light screen transformed into rising flames.

A blood-red bead and a grey-blue bead rolled out.

Zhang Yuan clenched his fists.

The blood bead transformed into fifty catties of strength, pouring into his body and raising his power to five hundred and fifty catties.

The grey-blue bead shattered, and a figure wielding a blade emerged from within.

Ahead, Duan Hong’s voice sounded again.

"Xu Tuozi is done for. Give him a quick end."

Zhang Yuan looked up at the thin, dark-skinned middle-aged man sitting in a pool of blood, a half-yard-long crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.

Grasping his saber, Zhang Yuan stood up.

Finishing off the wounded wasn't just for enemies; it was for their own men, too.

Reaching out to drag the man to the broken wall, Zhang Yuan knelt down and pressed his palm against the man’s chest.

The bolt had pierced his heart; he wouldn't survive.

The man stared at Zhang Yuan, blood bubbling from the corners of his mouth.

"Xu Huanshan, from Pitian Township, Luyang Prefecture. Three years in the army, seven levels of merit. I wish to trade my merit for my brothers back home to study. I have noted it all down."

Young Master Tao, leaning on his wooden spear, recited loudly. He reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, letting the man’s fingers dig into his own until they drew blood.

With every sentence Young Master Tao recited, the man’s chest heaved heavily. Blood continued to spray from his mouth, soaking Zhang Yuan’s arm.

"Brother Xu, don't worry. The money will be delivered, it will definitely be delivered," Zhang Yuan said solemnly, staring into the man’s eyes.

One level of merit was worth five taels of silver, and the death pension was thirty taels.

This money was enough for an ordinary family to live on for ten years.

The man looked at Zhang Yuan, nodded slightly, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He spoke with great difficulty: "Zhang... kid... give me... a quick... end..."