A scream rang out as a soldier was cut down from the city wall.
Luo Lan, who had just struck down one man, went dark before his eyes and nearly toppled off the wall.
He shook his head and steadied himself.
Clang.
A soldier of Qu’s army seized the moment when Luo Lan was off guard to slash at his shoulder.
His armor groaned with the clash of metal and the sound of flesh tearing.
The Qu soldier, standing on the siege ladder, tried to draw his blade for another strike but found he could not pull it free.
Looking down, he saw a blood-covered hand gripping the edge of his sword tightly. Blood dripped onto the snow piled on the parapet, splattering into crimson blossoms.
The hand seemed immune to pain; no matter how hard he pulled, the sword would not budge.
Startled, the soldier looked up into a pair of bloodthirsty, beast-like eyes.
Before he could recover from their gaze, a shove sent him tumbling off the siege ladder. He crashed onto a heap of corpses, becoming one of them.
Luo Lan still held the blade in his hand, not yet letting go. He hurled it straight at a Qu soldier climbing up.
The sword struck a Qu soldier square in the head. A scream tore through the air.
Only then did Luo Lan withdraw his hand, bloodied anew. But he felt no pain—only cold.
An extreme cold, and yet his heart burned with fire.
As Luo Lan struck down his first enemy, hundreds of soldiers rose on the city wall, bows in hand, and rained arrows down on the Qu soldiers outside.
Swish, swish, swish. Dozens of Qu soldiers fell instantly.
On this side of the moat, Qu shield-bearers quickly formed tight ranks to block the volley, while archers behind them raised their bows. Arrows flew like rain, heedless of the fact that many of their own men were now on the walls as well.
They attacked without mercy.
Neither side—Qu army nor Han defenders—showed restraint. They had eyes only for this city.
Qu was willing to pay any price to take it.
The Han were willing to pay any price to hold it.
In an instant, hundreds on the wall—both Han and Qu—fell. And still, the arrows kept coming…
Ye Shang gripped his saber with both hands. Bang, bang, bang—he deflected several arrows with blinding speed.
Ptoo.
One arrow flew straight at his throat. His eyes narrowed. There was no time to counter. He twisted slightly to evade, but the arrow was too fast. It grazed his neck, peeling away a strip of flesh.
He grunted in pain, ignoring the wound, and swung his saber even faster until his hands grew numb. The enemy’s arrow volley finally ceased.
But the wall was covered in dead and dying. Only a handful of soldiers still breathed.
From a distance, Qu Shilang let out a sigh of relief. His scouts had been right: Lin County had far too few defenders, and their supplies of arrows and equipment were scarce enough to have forced them into close combat.
He broke into a grin. “The other gates must be at their weakest by now! Send word—attack all four gates at once. Lin County must fall today!”
“Yes, my lord!”
The drums rumbled again, a heavier, gloomier beat.
The roar of battle pierced the clouds, adding a deeper chill to the freezing winter day.
At the north gate, Ji Xin—broken saber in hand—kicked out. A Qu soldier clambering onto the parapet went flying backward.
But Ji Xin’s foot slipped. He crashed hard onto the wall.
Another Qu soldier leaped onto the ramparts, swinging his blade down at Ji Xin.
Ji Xin rolled sideways, dodging the blow.
The sword slammed into the stone, sending up a spray of snow.
Missing on his first strike, the Qu soldier raised his blade to try again.
In a flash, the half-length saber thrust toward the soldier’s belly.
Clang. The broken blade was too dull to pierce the armor, but it halted the Qu soldier in his tracks.
Ji Xin kicked him square in the chest. The man stumbled back several paces.
Springing up with a swift move, Ji Xin chased after him. Before the Qu soldier could regain his footing, Ji Xin’s broken saber slashed at his neck.
Blood gushed.
Ji Xin’s face was sprayed with red, but he paid it no mind. He snatched the soldier’s blade for himself.
Perhaps due to the bitter cold, perhaps something else—his own sword had snapped after only a few kills.
A sound hissed from behind him. His heart turned to ice. He knew it was over.
A spray of warm blood landed on his face—but he felt no wound.
Turning around, he found a Qu corpse crumpled at his feet, revealing Wen Ping behind it, his saber still dripping with blood.
“Watch out!” Ji Xin shouted, hurling his own blade forward. It flew past Wen Ping’s cheek.
Thud.
Behind Wen Ping stood another Qu soldier, sword raised high—with Ji Xin’s sword buried in his throat.
“We can’t hold here—fall back to the south gate!” Wen Ping yelled.
Only a few Han soldiers were left standing along this stretch of wall, while the Qu forces kept swarming up ladders and siege towers.
Ji Xin clenched his teeth with bitter rage. “Then what now? We just let them breach the city?”
“We can’t defend the west gate alone,” said Wen Ping, blocking another Qu soldier’s attack. “Better to retreat.”
Burning with frustration, Ji Xin had no choice. Fighting alongside Wen Ping, they dragged themselves back toward the south gate, exchanging blows as they went.
Qu Shilang watched his soldiers steadily swarm over the walls. The Han defenders grew fewer and more desperate. At last, his face softened with relief.
Lin County was within reach!
Just as he was about to speak, his expression froze. He jerked his head around, eyes wide. “Impossible!”
Ptoo.
A knife sank into Luo Lan’s shoulder. The Qu soldier gave a vicious grin.
This general of Lin County was truly a demon. He was riddled with arrows and cut to pieces, yet he had cut down countless of their men.
But now—this kill would the soldier’s ticket to glory.
Suddenly, a blood-soaked hand clamped onto the blade, stopping it cold.
Luo Lan lifted his eyes, a grim smile pulling at his lips. He shoved the blade deeper into his own shoulder, using the momentum to knock the soldier back a few steps.
The blade cut deeper into him.
But Luo Lan’s smile widened. It was nearly manic.
Before the stunned soldier could react, Luo Lan swung his right arm—another sword, and struck.
A cry of agony. The soldier’s neck was now opened, warm blood gushing. Behind Luo Lan, a heavy blow smashed into his back.
He stumbled forward two steps, spinning as he plunged his sword behind him.
Strange—in that moment, he felt eerily clear-headed. A warmth spread through him, lending him strength beyond reason.
His sword thrust buried itself in the gut of his attacker. The Qu soldier looked down at his midsection in stunned horror.
Blood dripped.
His sword slid out.
And as it did, all strength drained from him. Luo Lan fell hard to his knees. He jammed the sword into the ground to keep himself upright.
He couldn’t fall.
He refused to.
Looking down from the wall, he saw an endless stream of Qu soldiers scaling up like ants—an unending, relentless tide.
He lifted his eyes to the distant horizon, to where he knew the Qu general sat, watching the battle, maybe even watching him—watching him die.
“Ha,” he laughed. A mouthful of blood welled up and trickled from his lips.
In the distance, he saw a dark mass. The shadows moved.
He laughed again. Hallucinations, now—the last vision before death?
But the shadowy mass only grew bigger. Closer.
His eyes shot wide.
It wasn’t a hallucination.
It was cavalry!
A wave of pitch-black riders thundered straight toward Lin County.
Closer, closer—he saw the blood-red banners.
Ptoo.
Ye Shang decapitated a Qu soldier in a single, vicious swing. In the swell of blood and carnage, he caught sight of that familiar flag. His laughter burst forth, but tears were streaming down his face.
Lord, you have finally arrived!
