Chapter 25: Capture a Live Tongue!

"Whoosh... whoosh... whoosh... whoosh..."

Four arrows flew through the depths of the willow grove. The riders of the Third Squad, having just fired their three-eyed matchlocks, had no time to react.

"Ah... Mother..."

Following two cries of agony, two men were struck and tumbled to the ground. One was hit in the throat; he lay on his back, clutching the wound with both hands, his legs kicking feebly at the earth. The other was struck in the lower left abdomen. He let out a sharp cry, fell, and, enduring the searing pain, forced himself to lunge backward and hide behind a tree.

Beside them, another rider holding a three-eyed matchlock had just charged forward. Seeing the cold glint of light in the distance, he did not hesitate. With lightning reflexes, he raised his left arm, shielding his nose and mouth to protect his throat, while holding the matchlock in his right hand to guard his chest. He prepared to deflect the incoming arrows, turning his body sideways to minimize the target area.

"Clang!"

The third heavy arrow, aimed directly at his throat, struck his iron vambrace. The arrow was not fully deflected; instead, it followed the curve of the metal, changed direction, and grazed his face. The fletching sliced his cheek, leaving a bloody trail.

The force of the impact made him lose his footing, and he reeled backward. A fourth arrow whistled toward a rider behind him. Before falling, he swung his matchlock with all his might, attempting to knock the final arrow aside, but he only brushed the fletching, achieving little.

The rider behind him, holding a shield and a short spear, was charging forward. Through the lingering smoke, he saw the glint of steel, raised his shield to protect his chest, and pressed on.

"Clang!"

The arrow was blocked by the shield. The rider roared and continued to charge toward the position where the Qing soldier was hidden.

The other surviving members of the Third Squad shared his resolve. With shields in their left hands and various melee weapons in their right, they stormed the Qing soldier's hideout. Relying on their superior numbers and the brief pause in the Qing soldier's volley, they were nearly upon him.

A figure lunged from behind a willow tree. A long axe in his left hand struck the shoulder of the last rider, while a chain-mace in his right hand lashed out from a cunning angle, slamming into the rider’s right flank.

Without checking if the rider was dead, the attacker pulled back the axe, swung his left arm in a wide arc, and hurled the weapon at the leading cavalryman, who barely managed to dodge it.

A rider from the Second Squad nearby spotted an opening and fired a heavy arrow. The Qing soldier, a veteran of countless battles, heard the snap of the bowstring. Sensing danger, he ducked, curled into a ball, and rolled forward.

Suddenly, a red shadow flashed into view, swinging a gleaming saber down at the Qing soldier. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, slamming his left shoulder into the Ming rider’s chest while whipping the chain-mace upward from the right, striking the back of the rider’s head.

The Ming rider fell without a sound, his skull shattered.

***

In the distance, the riders of the First Squad had already followed their squad leader, Du Chun, into the grove, armed with matchlocks, bows, shields, long axes, and sabers.

The Qing soldier, having just killed one rider, saw Du Chun approaching. He bared his teeth, snarling as he charged toward him.

Seeing the ferocious Qing soldier rushing at him, Du Chun drew his bow and loosed an arrow. Three other riders from the First Squad fired as well.

The Qing soldier did not stop; he danced with a bizarre, erratic gait, weaving left and right while his chain-mace whirled wildly in front of him. Strangely, the four arrows were either dodged or deflected by the mace. Taking a momentary opening, he pulled a short dagger from his waist and charged straight at Du Chun.

Du Chun had no time to nock another arrow. He shifted the bow to his left hand, drew his steel saber with his right, and charged fearlessly to meet the Qing soldier.

"Whoosh... whoosh..."

Two throwing spears cut through the biting wind, whistling past Du Chun toward the fierce Qing soldier.

The soldier dodged the first spear by shifting to the right, then swung his chain-mace to knock the second spear aside. He raised his left hand and hurled the short dagger through the cold air toward Du Chun.

Du Chun could not dodge. He bent his knees, leaned backward, and planted his saber into the ground to support himself, barely managing to avoid the flying dagger.

"Thud... thud... thud..."

Three heavy arrows flew from behind Du Chun, aimed directly at the Qing soldier’s vitals.

The Qing soldier’s momentum was spent. Unable to dodge the three arrows, a savage look flashed in his eyes. He did not retreat; instead, he leaned his body and surged forward, narrowly avoiding the first arrow.

He raised his left hand to shield his throat. The second arrow pierced his wrist, but he used his arm to bear the blow, saving his throat from a fatal wound.

He swung the chain-mace in his right hand, aiming it directly at Du Chun’s groin.

"Pfft."

The third arrow struck the base of his left thigh. Losing his balance, his body tipped to the left, and the chain-mace changed trajectory, grazing the outer side of Du Chun’s right thigh and tearing away a large chunk of flesh.

"Ah..."

Du Chun, in agonizing pain from his wounded leg, collapsed to the ground, roaring to dull the sensation.

A rider behind him rushed up, gripping a sharpened iron rod with both hands, and thrust it downward. A bloody hole was instantly torn into the Qing soldier’s right leg, blood gushing out uncontrollably.

He lay on his back, howling, his face twisted in a terrifying, savage mask. He swung the chain-mace with his right hand, but it had lost its former lethality.

Realizing that the flailing mace would inflict no further harm on the Ming riders, he suddenly let out a cry and released the weapon, sending it flying toward the rider who had stabbed him.

The rider easily deflected the limp mace with his iron rod, preparing to smash the soldier’s ugly, bald head.

"Don't kill him! Capture him alive!"

Du Chun, enduring his own pain, shouted a warning. The rider performed a graceful rotation with his iron rod, striking the Qing soldier across the waist. Even as fierce as he was, the soldier shrieked in agony from the blow.

***

To the north of the willow grove, a chaotic sound of "crackle... crackle..." erupted. Dozens of red shadows moved rapidly through the trees. They were the saviors of the brave Ming riders and the grim reapers of the savage Qing soldiers.

Zhang Guangda, bringing up the rear, had hurried the main force forward upon hearing the gunfire and receiving word of the ambush from the Third Squad.

He led the reinforcements to the rescue. Since the willow grove was unsuitable for cavalry combat, more than fifty Ming riders dismounted and entered the woods. They were prepared, mostly armed with shields in their left hands and short blades, axes, or iron rods in their right. A few carried bows or three-eyed matchlocks, advancing in a large, fan-shaped formation.

To prevent the Qing soldiers from escaping and to guard against potential reinforcements, Zhang Guangda had sent another squad of cavalry to patrol the perimeter. He himself led fifty-six riders on foot into the grove to rescue the ambushed squad.

The remaining Qing soldiers were now surrounded by Zhang Guangda’s left guard. The tide was turning. The Ming soldiers had held their ground in the face of an ambush and successfully completed a pincer movement, a testament to the bravery of the First Squad.

Zhang Guangda, wielding a long cleaver, charged at the front of the formation, his four guards close behind, shields and blades at the ready.