Fortunately, He Lingchuan had made the most of his resilience this time, fighting steadily and solidly until he finally caught an opening in his opponent's guard and won in a single blow.
As soon as He Lingchuan lifted the tent flap, he saw raindrops hanging like a dense curtain; he couldn't even make out men or horses thirty feet away.
This visibility was nearly as bad as thick fog.
Stretching a hand out for just a few seconds yielded a palmful of rainwater to wash one's face.
He splashed a bit of the cool water onto his face, pondering what spell he should redeem next once he saved up enough military merit. Every actual battle accumulated valuable experience, and now he felt he was lacking a martial skill with high burst damage.
Next time, he really should redeem the Mirror Image Art.
The Yuan army's main camp had pulled back another thousand feet, setting up camp directly on hard rock ground. This eliminated any risk of collapse and sat more than twenty feet above the river surface.
But the price was an influx of snakes, rats, and other small creatures, and men were frequently bitten.
Neither Zhao Pan nor He Chunhua let down their guard. In particular, both were wary of Hong Chenglüe's retaliation, making their requirements for camp defense stricter by the day.
The Yuan soldiers didn't understand the reason and grumbled under their breath.
Taking three to five breaths outside the tents was enough to get soaked through; the ground was awash in yellow muddy water, soiling either boots or crotches. At a time like this, the whole camp ought to be resting and recuperating, so why was General Zhao demanding everyone stand vigilant and guard every inch?
The enemy was across the river—could they actually cross in this cursed weather to launch a sneak attack?
Trapped by the relentless torrential rain, He Chunhua's contingent was also stuck in the camp, unable to head south. His stay on the front line had already exceeded what had been planned.
This was another source of his unease.
Delays always bred complications.
With heavy clouds blanketing the sky, darkness fell swiftly, well before sunset.
As the last trace of daylight vanished in a rush, the entire Yuan camp was swallowed into a massive web woven of rain and shadow.
Even in such foul weather, the sentries had to keep patrolling.
The torches they held had been soaked in a special oil, allowing them to burn and shed light even through the rain.
Though clad in rain cloaks, their clothes, armor, and footwear inside were still drenched—clammy and dripping wet. In particular, once their boots filled with water, they squelched with every step.
"Cursed weather!" swore a sentry who had just taken over the watch, muttering quietly under his breath as he patrolled the riverbank holding a torch, wiping away rainwater that ran into his eyes.
The original campsite was now submerged beneath the river. The riverbank had collapsed multiple times as well, shrinking the shoreline nearly a thousand feet south, yet they still walked with extreme caution.
Just the day before yesterday, an unlucky companion had the earth collapse under his feet, fell into the river, and was swept away in the blink of an eye.
So this sentry merely made a perfunctory lap along the bank, keeping thirty feet from the water.
In this weather, there was no way any enemy would be lurking along the shoreline. If General Zhao hadn't insisted, no one would have been willing to go near the river at all.
Seeing nothing unusual, he turned back.
It had been the same every night for days now.
An hour later, the sentry made his rounds again.
This was his second lap; as long as he completed three tonight, someone would relieve him.
He still looked around half-heartedly, but before heading back, he felt something wasn't quite right.
He had been too lazy to move, but after an inner struggle, he reluctantly walked back toward the bank and raised his torch.
The heavy rain was ceaseless, and the Han River had turned wild. Every time he reached this spot, he would hear waves crashing against the bank with thunderous thuds.
Yet why was there none tonight?
He heard only the rushing murmur of the rain.
The sentry cautiously edged closer to the bank and shone his torch downward—
Bizarre. Where was the water?
Ten feet below the riverbank, there was no water at all; he saw only the damp mud and silt below.
He reached the torch out further, yet within the radius of firelight, he still saw no river water.
What was going on? On his first patrol, the waves were still slapping against the shore.
Had the river flowed backward?
Then again, at the edge of the torchlight, in the darkness... was something moving?
Just as he poked his head out to squint, four or five arrows suddenly whistled up from below. Most missed, but one sank directly into his eye.
The sentry fell flat on his back.
The archers below lacked origin power and couldn't aim precisely, so they had fired a volley together to maximize their chances.
The sentry possessed origin power himself, so an ordinary arrow wound wouldn't have been severe, but his luck was truly foul—an arrow straight to the eye struck a fatal weak point.
The moment he collapsed, his torch dropped. The flickering light caught the attention of two nearby companions. Rushing over, they saw the glaring arrow sticking out of him and immediately blew sharp, urgent whistles.
Enemy attack!
Almost at the very same moment, earth-shattering battle cries erupted from below the riverbank, drowning out even the torrential rain in an instant:
"Charge—!"
"General Nian is victorious!"
Something in the darkness seemed to stir restlessly, surging toward the high ground.
Moments later, countless flickering sparks lit up below the riverbank, transforming in an instant into streaks of fire ripping across the sky—
Before raining down upon the tents, wagons, and barricades of the northern Yuan camp!
Although days of heavy rain had soaked their weapons, armor, and canvas tents, the arrowheads had been coated with special oils that could burn even in the rain. Aided by the northern wind fanning the flames, fires broke out all across the Yuan military camp.
Zhao Pan and He Chunhua both bolted awake from their sleep. Rushing out of their tents, they saw flaming arrows raining down blindly from above.
"Watch out, my lords!"
The personal guards crowded around to shield them.
Zhao Pan grabbed a heavy bow, casually plucked a flaming arrow lodged in a tent pole, and brushed past his guards' attempts to stop him. Charging a hundred paces forward, he drew the bow and shot high into the air, aiming for the river surface down ahead.
With his arm strength bolstered by origin power, he could loose an arrow more than three hundred paces even against a northerly wind.
The Yuan soldiers watched the arrow soar into the sky and plummet with trailing flames, illuminating the riverbank...
And a dense, teeming army!
The troops wore polished armor, covering nearly every inch of the river flats. Screaming battle cries that shook the heavens, they were charging straight toward them.
Xunzhou soldiers!
A chill ran down Zhao Pan's spine, yet cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
How had Nian Zanli's troops managed to cross the river unharmed and launch a surprise assault on the southern bank?
"Activate the formation! Beat the drums and raise the banners!" Whatever his thoughts, years of battlefield experience allowed Zhao Pan to issue crisp commands. "Enforcement squads, move up!"
When an army encamped, defensive tactical arrays were always buried, but maintaining them consumed large quantities of profound crystals, so they were kept dormant under normal circumstances. Zhao Pan had spellcasters specifically assigned to this task, who rushed to power the array upon hearing the order.
As for beating the war drums, it was deeply ingrained in the soldiers' minds. The rumble of drums signaled that high command was prepared and launching a counterattack; it dispelled panic, allowing men to gather their courage and turn to fight.
After all, caught off guard by the Xunzhou forces, once the ranks broke, no amount of individual prowess could reverse a rout that crashed down like a falling mountain.
The enforcement squads galloped back and forth, cutting down a dozen fleeing deserters in quick succession and barely arresting the spreading panic.
Yet right then, a volley of cannon thuds roared from below the riverbank, and seven or eight flaming shells came howling in, detonating all across the main camp.
The Xunzhou army had actually transported cannons across the river under oilcloth tarps—a full twelve pieces!
Such weaponry was finicky; once wet, it misfired easily and could injure one's own men. Yet Nian Zanli had affixed an expensive water-warding talisman to every single cannon—a painstaking investment.
Furthermore, he had ordered the cannons loaded with mother-and-son shot: upon hitting the ground, the primary shell would detonate again, spraying dozens of small lead balls from within.
Carrying immense velocity, each pellet was a lethal implement.
With every blast, dozens of men and horses collapsed nearby. Terrified horses went mad with fright, bursting out of their stables and bolting in every direction.
At this point, the Yuan forces also noticed that the Xunzhou soldiers had not fully made landfall. At least several thousand were still steering boats ashore, while the vanguard of the main force was already charging forward with all their might.
Strangely, the river water had receded; the water level had dropped dramatically. The water's edge was now over four hundred feet away from the current Yuan camp, and the river's surface was remarkably calm.
While it couldn't compare to autumn's placidity, anyone who knew how to swim could jump in and cross without much trouble.
One might say: all along the great river, the roaring torrents had vanished in an instant.
How had this happened?
The exposed riverbed had become the Xunzhou troops' landing ground.
He Lingchuan had not been idle either. He found his mount right away. The dappled roan carried monster bloodline and was not easily spooked like ordinary horses, trotting over to seek him out.
The medicine ape immediately huddled into He Lingchuan's chest, while the rock wolf scrambled up, shook its fur, and stuck close by his side.
Shan Youjun and seven or eight others also rushed over, shouting, "Boss! What do we do now?"
He Lingchuan faced two choices: either rush to He Chunhua's side under the noble banner of protecting his father, or hold this ground and batter the enemy.
He considered it for merely a second before telling Shan Youjun, "Archers, get into the trees! Send someone to scout a path of retreat for me as well."
"Yes, sir!" Shan Youjun understood that their squad was going to stay and fight; otherwise, they could just pull back toward the main camp now instead of bothering to find a retreat route. Even so, he had to offer a reminder: "Boss, what about your worst lot prophecy...?"
He had once heard from Maotao the story of how the boss drew the worst lot back in Xianling Village.
He Lingchuan felt a jolt.
The enemy had crossed quietly, fully prepared, while the Yuan forces were caught asleep in an ambush, struggling to react. As things stood, the enemy held the upper hand while their own side was weak.
Before such a tide of momentum, a group of fewer than ten men held negligible power; he had to be cautious in the extreme.
The old turtle demon's prophecy had never come to pass—could it be meant for this very moment?
He Lingchuan instantly remembered the character "Courage" that Wen Daolun had analyzed for him in the Panlong dreamscape, as well as the phrase he had spun out in jest:
Flee when encountering water.
Right before them flowed the Han River.
Perhaps this was an unmistakable sign. After all, during the earlier crises, there had been no "water" anywhere, and he had indeed emerged unscathed.
Should he retreat now?
He Lingchuan glanced back at the chaotic camp, then looked toward the enemy figures below the riverbank, drawing closer and closer. With his side facing imminent catastrophe, was he supposed to flee out of fear of battle?
He said decisively, "Never mind that. We fall back to the mid-slope and lay trip ropes."
The group immediately withdrew toward the flank of the high ground.
The enemy below was surging up like a tidal wave; if their handful of men stood rigidly in the front, their only fate would be to fall flat on their backs.
Small-unit combat required tactics.
Worse yet, the original southern bank of the Han River had been deliberately heightened and steepened by the Yuan army into a so-called "river wall," leaving only a few narrow paths up and down. That fortification could hold off enemies crossing from the opposite bank.
Yet the swollen river from days of deluge had long washed the river wall away, even forcing the Yuan army to fall back, so they were currently encamped on mere ordinary high ground. What natural defenses were left to hold?
Chapter 298