Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 77: Tactics
Even among light cavalry, there are distinctions. Duan Changfeng led a thousand riders, reducing their burdens as much as possible, clad in light armor, each carrying a horn, a saber, and a lance. They attacked the Wei army from the rear, striking directly at the infantry.
The Wei cavalry faced a slope over a hundred yards long, growing narrower as it ascended, while the Jin army stood at the end of this pass, holding the advantageous terrain.
Many commanders, upon seriously studying the landscape, felt their scalps go numb. Such a place was ill-suited for a direct assault, especially disadvantageous for a cavalry charge; common wisdom dictated an infantry advance.
Duan Changfeng, that master of warfare, had forced the Wei army into a predicament—cavalry at the front, infantry at the rear, trapped in unfavorable ground. Yet, to neglect cavalry containment was impossible; if the Jin army fled, pursuit would be arduous.
The prudent course seemed to be dividing the cavalry—half to defend, half to reinforce and first eliminate the threat behind. But the commanding general insisted on destroying the Jin forces ahead, much to his subordinates’ distress, pinning hopes on the rear infantry to hold out a little longer.
Yet, worry grew as contact with the rear infantry was lost; several scouts returned with no news. Even personal guards sent to investigate brought back nothing. It seemed the Jin army was determined to sever all communication between the two forces.
With torrential rain sealing the mountain, the army risked losing its way, and both sides now isolated, an ill omen. The variety of troop types was meant for mutual support, for combined operations. Different terrains demanded different arms. Now, with only cavalry, the Jin army moved swiftly, driving their foes to the brink of madness.
Without cavalry support, Wei infantry were no match for Jin chariots.
“Why are the cavalry not coming? Have they abandoned us?” the infantry commanders sent messenger after messenger, but contact with the cavalry was lost.
Engaged now with the Jin army on flat ground, the enemy held overwhelming advantage; the infantry could not hold out much longer. The elite cavalry of Wei—those famed riders from Luocheng—were nowhere to be seen. Frustration and anger boiled.
“General, there’s movement to the north!”
A personal guard alerted him. The commander shuddered and gazed northward. The rain obscured sight and sound, but as figures drew nearer, he discerned riders galloping toward them.
Cavalry—at last!
“General!” Suddenly, the guard cried out, sensing something amiss.
Before the words faded, a sharp arrow pierced the curtain of rain, scattering droplets in every direction. The whirling arrows stirred the air like a dragon; the commander’s face contorted in shock. Before he could grasp the situation, an arrow struck a subordinate through the neck, sending him crashing to the ground.
Enemies—Jin troops here?
In the pouring rain, they had circled behind the infantry?
Despair threatened to seize him. Where were their cavalry—those elite riders from Luocheng? Once more, the Jin army had encircled them, trapping them in dire straits.
The Jin cavalry arrived swiftly, loosing volleys of arrows; many soldiers fell, the formation thrown into chaos, forced to respond hastily. Enemy arrows rained like serpents and locusts; the commander managed to deflect several.
He called out to the opposing camp, “Who are you?”
The rain blurred his vision, but he glimpsed a young face across the lines.
“Duan Changfeng!” came the reply.
It was Duan Changfeng himself, the Jin general who had harried them throughout; the Wei soldiers, hearing this, felt bitter disappointment.
But if Duan Changfeng was here, where were their cavalry—the renowned riders of Luocheng? Time pressed urgently.
Duan Changfeng waved his command flag, and the entire force charged forward.
...
The Wei cavalry did not realize they faced Yang Hao; they only saw the flag bearing the character “Duan” still flying high atop the mountain, standing firm amid the wind and rain.
Yet the formation seemed odd, somewhat clumsy. Though three captains aided in defense, the arrangement was unimpressive to the Wei general, lacking the spark of life—this cavalry seemed soulless.
Using the terrain, nearly a thousand Wei riders were blocked on the hill, the bodies of dead soldiers and horses tumbling down, piling up and hindering the rear troops.
Now, cavalry were being used as infantry, dropping stones and logs—an almost comical sight.
“General, let me lead a charge!”
A captain spoke up. The rain gradually eased, blood washed down the slope only to be stained anew, a shocking scene.
Blood trickled along with the rain. The clash was brutal; after only moments of desperate struggle, casualties on both sides exceeded half, but neither Wei’s iron armor nor Jin’s long lances could force a retreat.
Yang Hao had to admit, the Luocheng army was formidable—the famed elite cavalry, withstanding the Jin army in such adversity, fighting to a standstill.
Several captains fought on, wounded in many places, nearly bathed in blood.
“General, we can’t hold much longer!” the captain urged.
The general’s brows arched—if even his confidants said so, they truly were at the limit.
“One more charge!” he ordered. “Dismount all your men, join the cavalry assault, bring every bow and crossbow!”
Without infantry, let the cavalry dismount and fight!
The captain was invigorated, quickly accepting the order. A unit under a captain numbered a thousand—sufficient for the task.
He led his men forward again, riding skillfully, surmounting obstacles, advancing boldly.
Gripping his lance with both hands, right wrist straight, the spear vibrated, deflecting all arrows aimed at him.
Battle-hardened, he thought himself unstoppable.
As enemy cavalry approached, he met their charge head-on.
He thrust his lance with half his strength, only to find the Jin cavalier agile; struck but not killed, the enemy seized the shaft.
The captain drew his sword, squeezed his knees, and his mount lunged forward; using the horse’s momentum, he cut down the Jin rider.
“Duan Changfeng, face me in battle!”
He shouted toward the slope, his voice echoing through rain and sky, gripping his spear with pride.
On the summit, several glanced at Yang Hao.
“Why are you looking at me?” Yang Hao’s heart clenched—he wasn’t suited for mounted combat.
Both sides neared their limits, each change in formation leaving more casualties behind.
The captain, bearing the army flag, strode proudly before the Jin ranks.
The Wei banner fluttered in the storm.
“Master?”
When Yang Hao looked, Tian Xingzi feigned ignorance.
He could do nothing—at most, a strategist, hardly fit for combat.
The turning point lay among these fierce warriors.
“Charge again!”
The general ordered a mixed assault of infantry and cavalry, bows and horses interspersed.
The Jin army had no better option—cavalry were never meant for defensive battles.
They could only resist using the terrain, launching downhill counter-charges as the enemy advanced.
The Wei army attacked again.
...
But this time—why were there infantry?
Yang Hao trusted his instincts.
They exploited the open ground to accelerate, reaching their mounts’ maximum speed at the moment of contact; by simply leveling their lances, the energy of the charge was enough to pierce their foes.
The Wei army, attacking uphill, inevitably slowed to a crawl, their speed at its lowest.
They could not retreat, nor avoid the comrades behind.
It was like storming a city—lives thrown into the breach.
Facing swift opponents, the first wave was inevitably defeated.
But Wei’s bows and crossbows kept firing, felling Jin troops.
The rear army surged forth, pressing onward like a river.
Wei cavalry at the rear, stirred to fury, refused to retreat, trampling over their comrades’ corpses, crossing the stream, and launching a charge.
The pressure intensified—the defense was about to break.
“Duan Changfeng isn’t up there?”
The Wei captain suddenly noticed something strange.
The generals above did not include him.
How could this be?
“General, the rear is where Duan Changfeng is!” the captain reported as he rode back.
The rear? He was personally leading the attack on the infantry?
This unexpected turn caught them unprepared.
No warning had been given; such was the nature of surprise.
“Duan Changfeng is not the issue—the main Jin force is here, and he has abandoned his main force,” the general marveled. “Our rear infantry, though defeated, fought honorably. The Jin troops are exhausted; the decisive moment is here!”
He waved his hand. “All troops, charge!”
He had sensed something was amiss, but never imagined Duan Changfeng was absent.
Had he known, he would have launched a total assault after three charges!
Jin army—this is your final hour.
A personal guard suddenly exclaimed, “Enemy troops!”
From a mountain path on the flank emerged a troop of over a hundred riders, all Jin cavalry, banners flying.
Such a small force seemed insignificant to the generals, but they were Jin soldiers.
“You go!”
The general ordered another captain to destroy them.
“Report! General, our army has been routed!”
The rain eased, but a chill gripped their bodies and souls.
Hearing the report from the rear, all the generals tensed.
Their rear troops had been defeated, and so quickly.
Duan Changfeng’s reputation was well-deserved—he led them personally.
“No matter the cost, do not let a single Jin soldier escape!”
The Wei general had worn them down with revolving attacks; now, at last, the entire army pressed forward—fifty, sixty thousand strong, sweeping onward.
No more mistakes could be allowed.
Listening to the scouts’ reports, he learned the rear’s plight.
The Jin army had circled around, enveloping them front and rear, then split into several columns.
Attacking the front lines, they struck from three directions—seemingly chaotic, but actually divided then united, tightly coordinated.
The ferocity of the cavalry broke the Wei army, splitting them into fragments.
Despair spread—messengers disappeared, fugitives fled, and rout became inevitable.
Duan Changfeng—brilliant, godlike in his command.
Yet this time, his absence condemned the Jin army; he could not save them.