At a beacon tower far beyond Zhenbei Pass, seven columns of urgent warning smoke rose into the sky.
The thick smoke piled up like mud squeezed from cracks in the earth, smearing the clear sky beyond the Great Wall and splitting the daylight in two.
The blue bricks of the city wall bore centuries of wind and frost, their crevices filled with dark red bloodstains.
Garrison soldiers paused in their work of hauling logs and looked up toward the horizon.
The wind carried sand and dust, rattling against their iron armor.
Seven smoke columns signified the highest level of enemy assault under the Great Dry military code.
It meant the main enemy force had crossed the border line and was charging straight for the pass.
The last time seven smoke columns rose over Zhenbei Pass was during the bloody battle of White Wolf River sixty years ago.
Outside the barbican, the sound of hooves was chaotic and urgent.
Three horses, foaming at the mouth, collapsed one after another at the city gates.
Their flanks heaved violently twice, then blood foam gushed from their mouths and noses, and they fell still.
Their horseshoes were worn flat, their leg bones broken and piercing through flesh and hide.
A scout, caked in sand and dried blood, rolled off a dead horse and staggered into the White Tiger Hall of the General’s Mansion.
He raised a rolled sheepskin military dispatch with both hands.
“Report—!” the scout shouted, his voice hoarse, blood foam in his throat. “The Helian army is bearing down! No raiding cavalry or scattered skirmishers! On the horizon, only black heavy cavalry appears! The banner of the Left Luli King has advanced to within less than thirty li of the pass at Red Willow Shoal!”
The dispatch was presented and spread open beside the massive sand table.
Tie Lanshan lowered his head, scanning the text on the report.
The Left Luli King’s elite force, the “Iron Golems,” had deployed in full strength, leaving no rear guard for supply or divergence.
This was a desperate gamble, staking the entire wealth of the royal court.
Silence fell in the hall, so still one could hear a pin drop.
A surge of strange excitement ran through Zhao Heng and the other commanders.
The Iron Golems were the sharpest blade of the Helian court—horses and riders alike clad in heavy armor, forming a moving iron wall as they charged.
In the past, dispatching three thousand could already spark rivers of blood along the border.
Now ten thousand heavy cavalry had emptied their lair, leaving not even provisions behind—clearly they intended to fill the moat of Zhenbei Pass with men’s lives.
Zhao Heng clenched his teeth. He had fought all his life, yet had never seen a formation so utterly heedless of retreat.
Xu Chengguang stepped forward, brushing away the loose sand at the edge of the sand table, his fingertip landing on Red Willow Shoal.
He wore the light armor of the Northwest Army, but his every gesture bore the calm grace of an aristocratic heir.
“The art of war teaches that in desert combat, one must always leave three ways of retreat,” said Xu Chengguang, his voice steady, his reasoning clear.
“The Helians have emptied their forces, left no rear line, and abandoned even grain and baggage. Such a tactic completely defies all logic.”
“Ten thousand men and horses, all heavily armored, consume rations like a bottomless pit. Without a rear force, if they cannot take the city in three days, they will starve to death outside the pass. The Left Luli King is no reckless fool. If he dares to fight like this, there must be a hidden reason.”
On the other side of the sand table, Xu Qinghuan paid no heed to the approaching Iron Golems.
She held a vermilion brush in hand, standing before a large map of the northern frontier. The brush was dipped in red ink, soaked full.
Far away from the Yin Mountains, she heavily circled a spot.
That position was marked with the words “White Sound Grassland.”
The vermilion ink was vibrant, completely sealing off that entire area.
A drop of red ink trickled down the paper, resembling a drying bead of blood.
Xu Chengguang followed the blood-red trail of the vermilion brush and his gaze settled.
The enemy had committed all troops, leaving no road back.
Xu Qinghuan had encircled the enemy’s home nest.
Two originally unrelated threads of thought suddenly connected in Xu Chengguang's mind.
He pushed aside the grand armchair blocking his way and stared at the red circle on the map.
White Sound Grassland?
That was the supply line for the Left Branch of the He Lian King's camp, and also the location of their grain depot.
"This isn't about the He Lian people's bravery," Xu Chengguang said in a low, rapid voice. "This is their fatal strike! Something has happened at their home base! Their retreat is cut off, their grain and fodder burned. They have no other choice but to press forward, flatten Zhenbei Pass, and seize any chance to survive!"
Xu Chengguang looked at Xu Qinghuan's back, and in his thoughts rose a message his grandfather had once written to him...
Though he prided himself on having thoroughly studied the art of war, Xu Chengguang now felt a chill at the current situation.
He finally understood why his grandfather, Xu Jie, had sent him to Zhenbei Pass.
The hand behind this chess game was not any of those powerful military commanders wielding heavy armies—it was the woman before him, holding the vermillion brush.
Xu Qinghuan set down the vermillion brush, turned around, and looked toward Tie Lanshan, seated in the main position.
"Marshal Tie," Xu Qinghuan began, her tone calm. "From this moment on, order the four gates of Zhenbei Pass to be shut tight and abandon any thought of sallying out. Adopt a purely defensive posture and absorb the initial three days' assault from the heavy cavalry's full momentum."
She walked over to the sand table and pointed at it: "They are hungry. They won't last three days."
"After three days, this cavalry of ten thousand iron tanks will be nothing but scrap metal."
Tie Lanshan hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, taking the marshal's seal from the table, and drawing five command arrows in rapid succession.
"Zhao Heng!"
"Present!"
"Take three thousand archers and crossbowmen to the fortress walls! Without my order, if even a single fly gets through, you'll answer with your head!" He threw a command arrow.
"I obey!" Zhao Heng accepted the arrow with both hands, turned, and strode out of the hall with heavy steps.
"Commandant Li!"
"Present!"
"Mobilize all laborers in the city. Immediately carry piles of rolling logs, boulders, and hot oil to the walls! Stack sandbags behind the gates and seal them tight!" He threw the second command arrow.
"I obey!"
Tie Lanshan threw all five command arrows in succession. Within the General's Command Hall, the officers accepted their orders and scattered, their footsteps echoing in unison.
The entire isolated city transformed into the grinding jaws of a meat grinder.
From the ramparts above to the streets below, layered horn calls rang without respite. The sound of bowstrings being drawn, sealing the fortress like an impenetrable net.
Half a day passed. Ten li outside the pass.
The wind and sand gradually subsided.
The first wave of black, iron tide rolled over the highest dune.
Ten thousand armored cavalry—both men and horses clad in heavy plate—stretched across the horizon in an oppressive mass of black.
Their hooves shattered the dead, withered tamarisk bushes, sending deep rumbling echoes into the air.
The banner of the Left Luli King snapped in the wind, pointing straight toward Zhenbei Pass.
A lone fortress against heavy armor—the bloody battle was imminent.
