Tang Dynasty: Starting with 3,000 elite cavalry, a bloody battle to retake the city.

"Li Shimin... your empire will ultimately belong to my Turks."

Standing atop the high slope, Jieli Khan smiled coldly, his voice low and arrogant, as if he could already see the gates of Chang'an opening for him.

But before the smile could fully bloom, it suddenly froze!

His pupils constricted sharply, and his face instantly turned ashen—

At the edge of the battlefield, on a desolate wasteland that should have been deserted, a massive, dark mass of people suddenly surged forth!

They weren't reinforcements, nor cavalry, but refugees!

A group of people, dressed in rags and emaciated, with their children in tow, fled their homes from Yunzhou, Andong, Pingzhou, and Yingzhou.

They came to escape the war, but fate had pushed them to the brink of disaster.

At first, when the artillery fire started, they instinctively turned and ran—who wasn't afraid of death? Who didn't want to live?

But as he ran, his steps stopped one after another.

Someone turned around and saw that figure, clad in gleaming armor, still shining brightly in the blood mist.

"That's...His Majesty?"

"And those soldiers who fought to the death... they are our people of the Great Tang!"

"That guy with the full beard... isn't that the Great Demon King Cheng? I've seen him patrolling the border!"

"They're fighting to the death for us... risking their lives to stop these beasts!"

Whispers began, then erupted into a clamor.

Some people had red eyes, some were trembling all over, and some suddenly laughed, but their laughter was more painful than crying.

"We've been on the run for so long... do we even think we can escape?"

"If we lose this battle, there will be no more Han territory left in the world!"

"We are Han Chinese too! We are men! How can we stand idly by!"

After a soft sigh, the 100,000 refugees all stopped.

They had no armor, no weapons, and even their shoes were so worn that their toes were showing.

But they straightened their backs, dusted themselves off, and straightened their tattered clothes, as if they were going to a solemn ceremony.

Then, step by step, they walked towards the mountain of corpses and the sea of ​​blood.

"His Majesty--"

An elderly man with white hair suddenly looked up and roared hoarsely, "Citizens of Yunzhou, come and fight!"

The sound was like a thunderclap!

Li Shimin suddenly turned around and saw that the people all over the mountains and plains were going against the current, facing the rain of arrows and iron hooves without fear!

He was stunned.

Not only him, but Li Jing's hand holding the sword trembled slightly, Fang Xuanling was in tears, and Cheng Yaojin's eyes widened. The man who had not frowned even when cutting down three Mo Dao swords was now choked with sobs.

Immediately afterwards—

"People of Andong, come and fight!" A burly man with a missing arm roared as he charged out of the crowd, his only remaining hand clenched into a fist.

"People of Pingzhou, come and fight!" A little girl wiped the dirt off her face, bit her lip, and skipped forward.

"People of Yingzhou, come and fight!" The boy shouted with his last breath, his face flushed red.

One person calls, and ten thousand respond!

The shouts of 100,000 people merged into a deafening roar that echoed endlessly along both banks of the Wei River:

"Han warriors, come forth and fight—!!"

"Your Majesty! Though we are not soldiers, we are willing to offer our blood to Xuanyuan!"

"I've been running away my whole life, but today, I don't want to run anymore!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty... for granting us the opportunity to die a righteous death in battle!"

This is not an army, yet it is more terrifying than a thousand troops!

The Turkic cavalrymen paled, and their commander roared, "Stop them! Anyone who dares to approach will be killed without mercy!"

Arrows rained down like locusts, and blades cleaved down, splattering blood everywhere.

But for every one that falls, ten more rise up.

They lunged at warhorses with their bare hands, clung to enemies and rolled into the mud; they tore at leather armor with their teeth and rammed shields with their heads; mothers carried their children to the front lines, and old men, leaning on their canes, charged into the enemy ranks...

No weapons? Then use your own body as the final spear!

No armor? Then forge the strongest shield with your blood!

"How can we say we have no clothes? We share the same robes with you!"

"The king is raising an army; let us prepare our spears and shields!"

The song began, its melody filled with poignant sorrow.

At this moment, the Tang Dynasty was not defeated.

Because its people have never knelt!

At the end of that fiery inferno, Jieli Khan, his face deathly pale, staggered back a step, muttering as if he had seen a ghost:

"This...this isn't human...this is insane...they're all insane!"

"People of Yingzhou, I've come to join you—"

A series of roars tore through the sky, like moths drawn to a flame, rushing one after another into the blood-soaked hell.

They could only struggle on the edge of the battlefield.

because--

Ahead, the Turkic cavalry pressed down like dark clouds over the city, their ranks imposing and deadly; wherever their blades pointed, death was certain!

The refugees were not an army, nor were they armored or armed.

But what's most terrifying about them is never their fighting strength, but the endless crowds.

One falls, another surges forward; ten perish, a hundred follow closely behind... Countless, inexhaustible, inexhaustible!

Too much!

The Turkic army's real target was the main force and elite troops of the Tang Dynasty; they had no spare strength to deal with these reckless civilians!

But right now, there's no time to worry about that.

Khagan Jieli's eyes widened in fury as he roared, "Slaughter! Leave no one alive!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill—"

Swords flashed, and blood rained down.

"Pfft!" "Pfft!" "Pfft!"

The sounds of flesh and blood exploding echoed everywhere, and severed limbs flew everywhere.

With every breath, someone collapsed to the ground, turning into a corpse in the mud.

Those refugees who rushed forward—

An old man walks with a cane, a little girl runs barefoot, and a woman carrying an infant charges into the enemy lines...

They used their hands, their teeth, and their heads to drag a warhorse along, even if it meant being split in two!

Then, he died.

"Run—!"

"Run! All of you, run for your lives! I command you, flee immediately!!!"

In the center of the battlefield, Li Shimin roared to the sky, his voice booming like thunder.

His eyes were bloodshot, and his longsword danced wildly, each strike carrying a desperate force as he charged towards the refugees, wanting only to shout out: "Live on!"

But he couldn't get out!

The layers of Turkic cavalry surrounded him like an iron barrel, locking him firmly in the heart of the battle.

And his people, one by one, fell before his eyes into pools of blood, silent and still.

"puff--"

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from behind.

Li Shimin suddenly turned around, his pupils shrinking sharply!

It's Qin Shubao!

The old general who had fought for him for more than 30 years was now pierced through the abdomen by a Turkic spear, and blood gushed out like a spring, staining his battle robe and the sand red!

"Shubao—!!!"

Li Shimin's eyes bulged, tears of blood streaming down his face, and he roared as he lunged forward.

The sword light surged, and the heads of three Turkic cavalrymen flew off, their blood shooting into the sky!

But Qin Shubao couldn't hold on any longer.

Already suffering from chronic illnesses, he was now critically injured and his body went limp, crashing heavily to the ground. His spear slipped from his hand, leaving only his trembling hand tightly gripping the hem of Li Shimin's robe.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty..." He coughed up blood, his voice weak yet stubborn, "This old minister... I'm sorry..."

"I'm getting old... and in the end... I can't protect you until the very end..."

Li Shimin knelt down and hugged him tightly, letting out a wild howl, his whole body trembling like a withered leaf in the wind.

Qin Shubao looked up at the gray sky, a slow smile spreading across his lips, his eyes shining like starlight:

"Your Majesty... I saw it..."

"I saw the head of Khagan Jieli fall to the ground... I saw the banners of the Great Tang Dynasty once again unfurled at the border... I saw all nations come to pay tribute, and the land was united as one... Hahaha..."

He suddenly sat bolt upright, his face turning purple, as if his last breath had been burned away, and roared hoarsely:

"Kill the enemy! Kill the enemy! Kill the enemy!!!"

The roar shook the heavens and echoed across the battlefield.

The next instant, the long sword slipped from his hand, and his arm fell limply to his side.

The light in his eyes went out.

A legendary war god has fallen!

"Shubao—!!!"

Li Shimin went mad.

He grabbed Qin Shubao's blood-stained longsword and, like a dying lone wolf, charged into the enemy ranks, each strike drawing blood and each step treading on corpses!

Before long, his body was riddled with holes, his armor was shattered, and his flesh was mangled, yet he continued to slash and kill!

Looking at the entire battlefield—

Who isn't like that?

Li Jing, despite losing an arm, still commanded with composure while wielding his sword; Cheng Yaojin, covered in knife wounds, laughed as he swung his axe to chop people down; Yuchi Gong, with a spear piercing his shoulder, pulled it out and stabbed the enemy general with his backhand!

Fang Xuanling, his abdomen ruptured and intestines spilling out, leaned against a pile of corpses, panting, still reciting military strategies between his lips.

Changsun Wuji was knocked off his horse, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, yet he still sneered.

The wounded were numerous, and cries of sorrow filled the air.

Almost every soldier of the Tang Dynasty was wounded and covered in blood.

Even the emperor was covered in blood; the outcome of this battle was already decided.

A crushing defeat, a defeat from which there is no turning back.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, at the closest point to Khagan Jieli—

Li Yingge's thousand-strong raiding force has now dwindled to less than ten men.

"Pfft!" "Pfft!" "Pfft!"

The sound of blades piercing flesh rang out one after another, and the surviving warriors fell one after another, their corpses lying in front of them.

Li Yingge stood amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, her face ashen white as paper, her silver teeth biting her red lips, the taste of blood filling her mouth.

She gazed at the overwhelming Turkic army charging towards her and murmured softly:

"So... my death is really coming."

But at this very moment—

What comes to mind is not war drums, nor slaughter.

It was that figure wearing a ghost mask, cold and aloof.

It was Han Ye, the gentle and refined man who stood under the lamplight in the Li residence, playing chess with a faint smile.

The blade flashed and struck again.

Li Yingge was surrounded, her battle robe stained with blood, and a bitter whisper escaped her lips: "Unfortunately... I still couldn't see clearly who you really are..."

The wind whipped up the tattered flags. She looked up into the distance, her voice almost a whisper: "When I die, will you, even for a moment, feel any heartache for me?"

On the opposite platform, Khagan Jieli's eyes grew cold, and a hint of impatience appeared between his brows.

Especially those refugees—who could have been left to fend for themselves, they rushed into the battle like fire, ready to die!

"You lowly wretch!" he roared suddenly, his voice tearing through the air, "Why didn't you kill me? You chose to come to my doorstep! You're asking for death!"

He sneered, his eyes burning with a bestial light: "Just two-legged sheep, not even worthy of living on their knees, yet they dare to hold their heads high?"

"Stubborn and unrepentant, their entire family should be executed!"

As soon as he finished speaking, his eyes turned bloodshot, and his jaw clenched so tightly that he almost chewed the air to pieces.

But he will never understand.

And will never be understood—

This is not about survival, it's about sacrificing oneself!

This is the blood and pride in the bones of the Han people, and the inscription of loyalty and bravery engraved in their souls!

Barbarians, who spend their entire lives crawling in the dust, how can they be worthy of looking up at this backbone?