Chapter Twenty-One: Red-Coated Cannons

In the dead of night, over a hundred men crossed the lake. Some soldiers who could not swim held onto wooden planks, pulled along by others, doing their utmost to keep the noise to a minimum. Jiang He submerged himself in the water, revealing only half his face; for him, moving through the water was perhaps even more natural than moving on land.

Thin Lake was not wide. The sounds of slaughter from the streets still echoed as they neared the shore. Chu Fuqiang held an axe in one hand; his military background had honed his excellent swimming skills. He kept his gaze fixed on Cao Lisha. Liu Dingwei trusted this strange man—the intelligence had all come from him—yet he never treated his own life as a joke.

Seeing this, Lord Liu whispered, "Master Chu, you may rest easy. The Qing soldiers slaughtered Datong; Cao Lisha's kin and clansmen all perished in that catastrophe. He claims he survived only by hiding in the grass like a snake. With such national hatred and family vendettas, his stance is even firmer than my own."

Chu Fuqiang nodded silently and loosened his grip on the axe.

Half a quarter of an hour later, they reached the shore. Before them lay a garden. As they rounded the wall, dozens of military tents appeared, brightly lit. Under the Eight-Treasure Pagoda, three miles away, the largest cluster of tents stood, and even in the dead of night, people were constantly coming and going.

Jiang He and Chu Fuqiang crept forward together. They reached the first tent and sliced through the curtain to peer inside, only for their hearts to sink to the depths. It was completely empty.

"Damn it, are they playing with me?" Chu Fuqiang gnashed his teeth, involuntarily tightening his grip on his axe.

Jiang He sighed softly. The situation was grim.

Meanwhile, outside Thin Lake, an officer retracted his brass telescope. During the Chongzhen era, the imperial court had developed the capability to manufacture telescopes, and wealthy merchants and officials owned them, though they were rarely equipped for frontier armies.

"Head to the lakeshore," the officer ordered his men. The Prince had decreed that regardless of the casualties among the original lakeside troops, if any anomaly occurred, they were to arrive and take over defense within a quarter of an hour. This order had been issued after the granaries and dungeons were set ablaze.

Fifteen hundred elite soldiers broke camp, accompanied by twelve Red-Coated Cannons—the most advanced firearms of the era.

...

Datata Temple.

Bonfires were lit, illuminating the deathly pale face of Grand Tutor Liu. Everywhere he looked, there were silhouettes. The Qing soldiers directly in front were all sturdy and powerful, gripping great halberds; they were the elite infantry of the Great Halberd Battalion, which had once held back the iron cavalry from beyond the pass, now lying in ambush here alongside the personal guard battalion.

At the edge of his vision, a man in red stepped out of the great tent, radiating an extraordinary presence. To his left stood a warrior in yellow armor, and to his right, a figure in black robes.

The man in black shouted, "The Prince has spoken: If Grand Tutor Liu is willing to surrender, he will be treated as a pillar of the nation. Your loyalty is fulfilled, your old debts repaid. A wise bird chooses its tree; no one under the heavens will bear you a grudge. The position of Minister of Rites in the new dynasty awaits you!"

Grand Tutor Liu’s eyes were bloodshot, and he roared with all his might, "Yesterday our nation fell and our homes were destroyed; how dare you dogs bark at us today!"

As the words fell, the Grand Tutor raised his battle saber and charged forward, followed by thirty death-defying soldiers. They led the charge, though several prisoners quietly retreated, turning to run back into the water.

The Great Halberd soldiers advanced their line, and the hundreds of archers in the personal guard battalion unleashed a volley. Arrows filled the sky. The three thousand elites were terrifyingly silent, their maneuvers disciplined and orderly.

Jiang He consumed one hundred energy points to activate Garuda Mode II. Pure cyan energy radiated from his body like a suit of armor. With every step, the stone slabs beneath his feet shattered like a spiderweb. His waist and legs surged as if he were riding a galloping horse. With a final, explosive stride, his figure—framed by firelight—suddenly vaulted upward, leaping over ten meters to smash directly into the battle formation.

Two great halberds were snapped clean by his pure cyan armor.

Jiang He gripped the end of his Long-Hatred Spear, extended his arm, and twisted his body. Ripples of energy surged across his clothes. He leaned back and swung the spear in a wide arc; it seemed as if a cyan moon had risen. Within a three-meter radius, corpses lay in heaps, and blood rained down.

Thirteen Great Halberd soldiers fell, their injuries as brutal as if they had been repeatedly severed by a tiger-headed guillotine.

Arrows rained down, striking his armor and continuously depleting his energy, shortening the duration of Garuda Mode.

After the charge, the gap was quickly filled by reinforcements. Jiang He stood as steady as a rock, the muscles in his chest and back tensing and releasing. Suddenly, he shook his body, thrusting his arm forward to propel the Long-Hatred Spear. It was like a mad dragon breaking its chains, erupting with terrifying force to pierce through the torsos of five men.

Halberds slashed at him incessantly, but Jiang He moved with lightning speed, flipping the spear in his hands, alternating between smashing and cleaving. For a moment, he forcibly halted the surging flow of troops, creating a small mountain of corpses.

On the other side, Chu Fuqiang swung his heavy axe, using his rare-grade armor to guard his flank. Grand Tutor Liu led over a hundred men, fighting in the gaps. Reason had been replaced by madness; the statesman now exuded a wild, savage courage.

The force of the army was like a tide, crashing repeatedly against the reef.

Jiang He swung his spear down in a heavy, close-quarters strike—the "Great Sage Cleave"—combined with an explosive internal force, hammering the Baturu before him into pulp. The man’s skull shattered, his spine was driven into his chest, and the momentum of the spear was unstoppable, crushing his pelvic bone and leaving only his legs to fly off into the distance.

The surrounding halberdiers retreated a dozen steps, horrified. The scene was too bloody and brutal; it didn't look like something a human could cause—the opponent might well be some kind of supernatural beast.

In the distance, on the Eight-Treasure Pagoda, dozens of archers appeared. They were few in number, but they were the elite sharpshooters of Tie Duo’s inner circle—each one precious, worth their weight in gold.

As the rain of arrows poured down, the cyan armor on Jiang He’s body shattered. Just then, the black-robed figure rushed out of the formation. His hands were red as blood, his knuckles thick, emitting a faint red glow as he struck fiercely toward Jiang He’s head.

Jiang He raised his hand, and a violent shockwave erupted from his palm, the thermal radiation making the broken armor at his feet scorching hot. With a thunderous boom, a scorching wave of energy engulfed the black-robed man’s terrified face.

It was like a bolt of heavenly lightning exploding on the ground.

Within a fan-shaped area of dozens of meters, over forty halberdiers died instantly. The number of those fallen or fleeing in the flank was countless; the ferocity of the enemy was completely extinguished. The two gas-blast effects, stacked and released in unison, had formidable power.

The black-robed man had absorbed most of the damage. His rare-grade robe, designed for stealth but also providing defense, was torn to shreds. His face was reduced to bare bone, his body charred, and his bones shattered.

Jiang He took the man’s life with a single thrust of his spear and looked up. If he could break through to within a mile of Tie Duo, he was confident he could tear the formation apart with the four remaining gas blasts.

Suddenly, every hair on Jiang He’s body stood on end.

The last time he felt this sense of impending death was when he was a child on the mountain and encountered a wild bear. If he hadn't been to Yuwang Valley, he would have remained puzzled as to why there were wild bears on the island.

With no time to ponder, Jiang He triggered Garuda Mode II, the cyan armor reappearing, and turned to thrust the Long-Hatred Spear.

The next second, a solid cannonball the size of a human head struck the spear shaft. The surging power shattered his resistance, driving the shaft into his chest and sending him flying back over ten meters.

The cyan armor shattered immediately; a single cannon shot had broken the defense of his Garuda Mode.

At the same time, on the opposite bank of Thin Lake, on both sides of the great tent, and even within the garden, thunderous roars erupted. Cannonballs rained down, causing heavy casualties among the hundreds of men—they were nearly wiped out. The one who gave the order did not care about the casualties of his own side.

A Baturu laughed maniacally, charging forward, the thrill of life and death pushing him to a frenzy. With a flick of his wrist, he severed Grand Tutor Liu’s head.

Chu Fuqiang had his left arm hacked off by a halberd strike, but he immediately retaliated with his heavy axe, smashing the attacker’s skull. Ignoring the pain, he roared, "Run!"

Chu Fuqiang didn’t need to say it twice. The moment Jiang He was hit by the cannon, he knew the operation had failed. They didn't know where they had slipped up. In Yangzhou, with thirty thousand elite troops and fifty thousand surrendered soldiers, Tie Duo held the absolute advantage, guarded by the Great Shaman. There were no flaws.

Jiang He endured the agony and fought his way to the lakeshore. Just before leaping into the water, a tiny arrow whistled through the night. He used a localized reinforcement of Garuda Mode I to cover his head and heart, but the hidden arrow changed its trajectory mid-air, striking his right shoulder.

Three miles away, the Great Shaman narrowed his eyes. One section of the nine-section drum whip in his right hand was missing.

The man in red praised, "What a magnificent land-faring dragon."

The Great Shaman replied, "Prince, of all these people, only his resolve to kill you is pure and intense. Do not risk yourself."

The man in red pondered for a moment and said, "Perhaps he is one of those 'death-defiers.' Investigate whose subordinate he is. The Southern Ming house is crumbling, but business can still be done. A thousand soldiers are easy to find, but a single general is hard to come by."

"As you command," the Great Shaman replied.