The wind rises at the end of the Ming Dynasty

Akdun gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force.

His face was hidden in the shadow of the helmet's brim, and his eyes were filled with fear.

There was no longer any greed for merit or contempt for the cowardice of the southerners.

In his heart, he no longer firmly believed that the Eight Banners' iron hooves would be invincible.

Eight Wax Shops...

Just thinking about those three words was enough to send a spasm through his stomach and send a chill down his spine.

That wasn't a fight at all.

It was... a massacre...

It was a massacre carried out amidst mud and fire.

Fragments of memories uncontrollably flooded into Aktun's mind...

Shells whistled out one after another, and deadly bullets rained down in bursts.

No matter how many times they charged, they could not shake the steel defense line that constantly spewed flames of death.

Familiar comrades around him fell one by one like wheat cut down by a sickle, their blood and flesh staining the muddy ground a terrifying dark brown.

They strained with all their might to climb over the slope and jump over the low wall.

But what awaited them was not the Jingnan Army scattering and fleeing.

Instead, they were Jingnan Army soldiers armed with long spears, ready for battle, and Jingnan Army musketeers lined up behind them, armed with muskets.

There was no rout, no panic.

There was only a machine-like calmness, a death that had been prepared for them in advance, an efficient one.

In a daze, he could almost smell the mixture of gunpowder smoke, blood, and the stench of entrails.

Acton shook his head violently, trying to dispel the nauseating hallucination.

He knew he couldn't keep thinking like that.

"Ugh——"

The deep sound of the conch shell rang out again.

Finally, Aktun's wandering thoughts were brought back to reality.

Akdun's body swayed up and down with the rise and fall of his warhorse.

At that moment, the sound of the charging conch shell rang in my ears once again.

The low wall of Balapu was no longer before him, but Akdun felt no joy whatsoever.

The jungle of bayonets gleamed in the sunlight with the same chilling deathly light as in the Eight Wax Shop, and countless dark gun muzzles could be vaguely seen, already leveled.

A chilling coldness crept up Akdun's spine.

Akdun instinctively tightened the reins, causing his warhorse to lag slightly behind its companion.

Fear had already taken hold of him.

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Another tremendous roar resounded, and Akdun's entire body suddenly stiffened.

The whistling sound of iron bullets piercing the air joined the thunderous roar of hooves, echoing in Akdun's ears.

Akdun watched helplessly as, not far to his left, a cavalryman from the same unit was struck directly by a cannonball that came hurtling towards him.

The warhorse's head shattered and deformed in an instant, and then a cloud of blood mist suddenly exploded.

The knight on his back was slammed into the mud before he could even react.

Immediately.

Then they were overwhelmed by the iron hooves that couldn't stop in time.

Akdun's hands trembled even more violently, and he could barely hold onto the reins.

The pitiful neighing of horses and the sound of bones breaking briefly rang out, only to be quickly swallowed up by the deafening roar of thousands of horses galloping.

Acton noticed that his companions around him also had expressions of fear on their faces.

The bloody battle at Balashu greatly affected their morale.

Fear had already spread like a plague in the hearts of all of them.

Whether it was the Mongol cavalry of various tribes or the banner soldiers of various banners.

The arrogance that once filled them when they marched south has long since vanished from their faces.

Instead, he was filled with the same fear as he had.

Fear filled the depths of everyone's eyes, and even clenching their teeth could not hide their panic.

Their battle cries became dry and mechanical, more like screams to dispel their own fear than battle cries filled with murderous intent.

Now, let's drive this massive war machine.

More than anything, it was inertia, military orders, and the cold, sharp blades of the armored cavalry guarding the rear.

They continued to charge, but an unspeakable fear permeated the torrent of their charge.

Everyone is like someone swept up in a wave crashing against the reef, knowing full well that they will be smashed to pieces, yet unable to stop.

The sound of bugles echoed through the cavalry formation.

Akdun felt a little relieved.

Following the call of the bugle and the officer's orders, he slowed his horse down again.

His unit was not among the first wave of attacks.

Akdun saw the Mongol light cavalry from the various tribes of Southern Mongolia ahead, who, driven by their respective leaders, had to gradually increase their horse speed.

Use the lives of your allied troops to expend, to test, and to create an opening.

A cold, numb feeling washed over Akdun, and a trace of relief, a shameful relief, surfaced in his mind...

I'm glad I didn't have to face the most intense flames of death in the first wave.

He used to despise those who were cowardly and timid on the battlefield.

but……

nowadays.

He himself became one of those people he once despised the most.

Akdun gripped the reins tightly, his eyes fixed on the area where the battle was about to begin, awaiting the inevitable roar of death.

The Mongol light cavalry at the front were equally fearful.

But they dared not turn their horses around.

Because behind them were the cold, sharp blades of two red flags.

All they could do was grip their bows and arrows tightly, either shouting to vent their fear or clenching their teeth and waiting for their fate to arrive.

As the warhorses galloped, the earth receded rapidly like a tide.

When they were about a hundred paces away.

Suddenly, a thick plume of white smoke rose from the Jingnan Army's musketeer formation, instantly obscuring the entire line, while flashes of orange-red fire stretched out in a continuous line.

Followed by.

The sound that signified death finally arrived. "Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang!"

A deafening barrage of gunfire, like popping beans, exploded in Akdun's ears.

A death storm of lead bullets howled through the smoke and crashed head-on into the surging tide of cavalry.

The Mongol light cavalry charging ahead were smashed to pieces as if they had crashed into an invisible wall.

Large numbers of men and horses rolled and fell to the ground, the muffled sounds of bodies being torn apart and the shrill screams of agony mingling together, even briefly drowning out the roar of the muskets.

The heavy casualties caused the charging Mongol cavalry to fall into brief chaos, but the momentum of the charge was already unstoppable.

These demoralized Mongol light cavalry, driven by battlefield inertia, could only surge forward relentlessly.

The hooves of warhorses trampled over the corpses and cries of agony, and the cavalry, with no rear to rely on, surged forward rapidly, quickly sweeping across the battlefield littered with carnage.

The Mongol cavalry at the front were mostly light cavalry, so they naturally wouldn't directly charge the well-prepared Jingnan Army formation.

In fact, even heavy cavalry, unless in a critical moment, would not risk suffering heavy losses by charging directly at an infantry square with an intact and well-organized formation.

The Mongolian riders on horseback had no intention of using their flesh and blood to crash into the steel barrier.

Not to mention that they didn't have many decent melee weapons, even if they did, they wouldn't be willing to throw their lives away for nothing.

The distance is getting closer and closer.

Another deafening volley of gunfire erupted, thick smoke billowed out once more, and more lead bullets whistled through the air, felling another group of Mongol cavalrymen charging ahead, horse and rider alike.

The Mongol cavalry formation had already fallen into disarray, but being swept forward, they had no way to turn back.

The warhorse instinctively resisted charging towards the dense, sharp muskets; these intelligent animals would not willingly seek their own death.

The black torrent of Mongol cavalry naturally split and poured into the left and right flanks before the Jingnan Army's porcupine-like hollow square formation.

Six Mongol squads of a thousand men each sped through the gaps between the hollow square formations of the Jingnan Army.

These riders from various tribes in southern Mongolia also demonstrated their superb horsemanship and archery skills.

They galloped away on horseback thirty paces from the hollow square formation of the Jingnan Army. They gripped the horses' bellies tightly with their legs, stood in the stirrups, and fired their arrows while half-standing.

“Swish, swish, swish—”

A large number of arrows shot out rapidly, heading straight for the Jingnan Army's musketeer formation.

A dense barrage of sharp-pointed light arrows, like a sudden downpour, whistled through the air and swept across a very short distance, raining down on the Jingnan Army's formation.

The arrows clanged as they struck the armor, searching for gaps in the armor and slipping into the unprotected face.

The Jingnan Army's line infantry all wore red-tasseled helmets, cloth-faced iron armor, and even their hands were covered with iron arm guards.

Their armor provided them with excellent protection.

Most of the arrows were deflected by the hard armor and fell helplessly to the ground, while others hit but failed to penetrate their armor.

Thirty paces is a short distance, but their iron armor is not something that the weak horsebows of the Mongol light cavalry can easily penetrate.

Numerous arrows flew from the Mongol cavalry formation, but with little effect.

A suppressed groan and scream suddenly rang out from within the formation, as people fell to the ground, wounded by arrows.

Another deafening volley of musket fire suddenly retaliated.

At the same time, the sound of muskets exploding was mixed with the sound of light three-pound and five-pound cannons firing their shot.

The metallic storm created by the lead bullets once again swept away a large number of Mongol cavalrymen who were galloping past the edge of the square formation in an instant.

In the Mongol cavalry formation, another wave of men and horses fell over. Riders who fell from their horses at high speed were thrown off by the enormous inertia and then trampled by their comrades' warhorses that surged forward. The cries of agony were incessant.

After two volleys, the Jingnan Army musketeers in each formation began firing freely.

Mongol light cavalry had already poured in from the periphery, weaving through the various formations of the Jingnan Army with mounted archery.

In this situation, free firing is undoubtedly the best option.

The bursts of musket fire, initially orderly, became chaotic, then intertwined and continuous.

The smoke of battle continued to spread around the perimeter of each battle formation.

Lead bullets flew and arrows flew back and forth, mercilessly tearing the flesh and blood of soldiers on both sides.

The rock standing firm in the black tide still spewed flames in all directions, and with each shot, passing Mongol riders fell from their horses.

The Mongol light cavalry that poured into the various military formations of the Jingnan Army fell one by one like crops being harvested by a sickle in autumn.

Meanwhile, casualties began to appear in various Jingnan Army formations.

Although the Jingnan Army's musketeers were well-protected, there were still some areas that were not covered by their armor.

To ensure the firing efficiency of the muskets, the armor worn by the Jingnan Army's musketeers was not the all-covering armor worn by the infantry, but a simplified version.

The Mongol light cavalry that surged into the battle line still managed to inflict some damage on them with their bows and arrows.

In the center of each hollow square formation of the Jingnan Army, medics with white cloth strips tied to their arms moved back and forth, dragging soldiers wounded by arrows from the front lines into the simple central shelters for temporary treatment.

……

Jirhalang wore a single-sided Qing helmet, with a tall helmet flag fluttering in the wind, and his blue and gold armor gleamed with a chilling light under the cold sun.

He reined in his horse and stood on the slightly higher earthen slope, his cold gaze piercing through the pervasive smoke of gunpowder.

His expression was so gloomy, it was almost as if he were about to burst into tears.

He had a complete view of the battlefield situation.

These herders from various tribes in southern Mongolia possessed superb horsemanship, appearing as if they were born to ride horses, but they were only light cavalry.

The muskets of the Jingnan Army were all equipped with bayonets, making them both offensive and defensive, and it was extremely difficult to break through their defenses.

On the plains, lightly armed cavalry have little advantage when facing infantry formations that are arrayed in large groups and supported by long-range firepower.

Once the infantry formation is not intimidated by the ferocity of the cavalry charge and is able to maintain its integrity and discipline, the cavalry will gain almost no advantage in a head-on confrontation.

The Jingnan Army's musketeers were arranged in a large number of hollow square formations, with gaps between them.

The cavalry of the outer Mongol vassals dared not charge head-on into the Jingnan Army's musketeer formation, and could only advance along the gaps.

This also gave the Jingnan Army's musketeers the best firing angle.

They didn't need to aim at all; they could simply point the muzzle at the light cavalry galloping past them and fire easily.

The six thousand Mongol light cavalry who had entered the battle were still struggling to hold on.

but.

For them, collapse was only a matter of time.

Jirhalang lowered his head slightly, his cold gaze following the lower edge of his helmet to look into the distance.

He had anticipated this scenario, and he knew that the Jingnan Army's formation would never be defeated by the Mongol light cavalry he had dispatched.

However, what Jirgalang did not expect was that the Mongol light cavalry at the front did not achieve any effective results, nor did they cause much chaos in the various formations of the Jingnan Army. They splattered countless bloodstains but could hardly make any progress.

Jirhalang gripped his riding whip tightly. He glanced at the battlefield where gunfire was blaring not far away, then turned and looked north.

In the north, the brocade dragon banner had already pressed forward, reaching a point no more than two miles from the Jingnan army's main formation.

The emperor's will was already as sharp as a knife to his throat.

In the middle formation, their vanguard cavalry was already engaged in a fierce battle with the Jingnan army's supporting cavalry.

Jirhalang clenched his teeth, his cheek muscles twitching, and he squeezed out two cold and heavy words almost from between his teeth.

"Dismount!" (End of Chapter)