Late Ming Dynasty: Summoning players from Liaodong to support the Ming Dynasty

Chapter 174 If the door isn't opened within ten breaths, not a single chicken or dog will be spared!

"stop."

These two words are not repeated, and can even be described as plain.

Yet this utterly calm sound pierced the howling north wind, the cracking sound of ice breaking, and the hysterical roar of General Zhang atop the city wall. It penetrated clearly and without omission into the ears of everyone present, and was nailed deep into the minds of everyone present.

Wang Han, who was sprinting across the ice, suddenly stopped. The force of the sudden stop ripped a spiderweb of white cracks into the ice beneath his military boots. He froze in place, clutching the explosive charge, his arms still tightly wrapped around the heavy oiled paper package, his head mechanically, inch by inch, turning toward the source of the sound. A soft cracking sound came from his neck joints.

Shi Dali froze, his hand still on the rusty giant sword. The heavy iron weapon, weighing dozens of kilograms, hung above his right shoulder, his thick arm muscles taut and veins bulging, yet he remained completely still.

Zhou Keke's arm, holding the entrenching tool, hung in mid-air, and the shards of ice clinging to the blade slowly dripped water droplets in the cold wind.

The actions of all one hundred players were paused at the same instant.

Those who had stepped onto the ice withdrew their feet. Those who had drawn their daggers sheathed them. Those who had taken out the gas canisters put them back in their pockets.

It's not because of fear.

These madmen, who dared to confront even 20,000 elite Jurchen troops head-on, had no fear etched into their very bones.

It's because of the owner of that voice—Chu Ze.

In the minds of these Fourth Calamities, there is only one ironclad rule in this game: when the leader says stop, you have to stop. It's not because of any military discipline or obedience; it's purely because the actions that follow after the leader calls a stop are always a million times more exciting than anything they could do on their own.

This is true in Wild Wolf Gully. This is true in Yanjiao. It's always the same.

So they stopped. They stopped cleanly and neatly. A hundred pairs of eyes, glowing green, turned sharply to the back of the group, their gazes fixed on the figure on horseback.

wait.

Waiting for the boss's next move.

Chu Ze spurred his horse forward.

The pure black warhorse strode forward, its forehooves stepping onto the frozen surface of the moat. The moment the first hoof landed, the ice emitted a dull cracking sound. Cracks burst forth directly beneath the horse's hoof, spreading wildly in all directions, tearing horrifying black lines into the pale ice. These lines rapidly expanded deeper into the ice, producing a series of rapid, cracking sounds.

The second hoof landed. The cracks became deeper and denser.

The third one. The fourth one.

With each step the warhorse took forward, a new ring of radiating cracks appeared on the ice beneath its feet. These cracks layered upon each other, weaving into a giant spider web that stretched from one end of the moat all the way to the base of the city gate.

His dark fox fur coat billowed behind him, torn by the cold wind into a fluttering banner. The edges of the fur coat were ripped straight by the wind, drawing a sharp black arc in the grayish-white light of the sky.

Chu Ze didn't look at the city wall. He didn't look at the massive bronze muzzles of the three Hongyi cannons. He didn't look at the hundreds of muskets and crossbows aimed at his chest. He didn't look at the torches leaping violently in the cold wind.

He simply rode his horse slowly across the frozen moat, gradually approaching the city gate.

His back was ramrod straight. He stared straight ahead. His face was expressionless.

That attitude wasn't one of indifference. Indifference is deliberate; it requires effort. Chu Ze's attitude was that the three thousand men on the city wall, the three cannons, and the hundreds of crossbows simply didn't exist in his eyes. They didn't exist from beginning to end.

The sound of horses' hooves was exceptionally clear in the deathly silence.

despair.

The iron hooves crushed a piece of ice, sending shards of ice flying half a foot high before landing on the surrounding frozen ice, making a soft, rustling sound.

despair.

The warhorse took another step forward. Thirty paces remained between them and the city gate. A north wind swept in from the gatehouse, carrying the smells of cooking fires from within the city, crashing against Chu Ze's chest and whipping the front of his fox fur coat backward.

despair.

Twenty zhang. The faces of the gunners on the city wall were now clearly visible. Young, old, terrified, bewildered. Their hands holding the guns trembled, the muzzles swayed, and large and small circles were drawn on the dark muzzles.

Each hoofbeat struck the hearts of everyone atop the city walls. It wasn't loud; quite the opposite, the sound was very soft, as soft as the cracking of ice. Yet, it was precisely this unhurried, step-by-step, absolutely composed rhythm that was more breathtaking than the charge of a thousand troops.

General Zhang's hand, gripping the sword, began to tremble.

The sharkskin wrapped around the hilt of the sword slipped in his palm, and cold sweat seeped through his fingers, dripping down the guard onto the city bricks.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his lips opened and closed several times, but he couldn't make a sound.

He couldn't explain why.

There were clearly three thousand men on the city wall. There were clearly three large cannons. There were clearly hundreds of crossbows with their strings cocked and their cartridges loaded. He clearly had the advantage of terrain, the advantage of manpower, and the advantage of everything.

But as the person on horseback walked over step by step, a voice deep inside him screamed wildly, "Run!"

run.

That voice was unreasonable, it didn't analyze the situation, and it didn't calculate the troop strength. It just shot up from the very bottom of General Zhang's spine, climbing up his spine vertebra by vertebra, past his lower back, past his shoulder blades, to the back of his head, and finally wrapped tightly around the top of his head.

That's ingrained in their bones, the instinct of prey when facing a top predator.

General Zhang served in the army for twenty years. In Liaodong, he witnessed the Mongol cavalry charging with thousands of horses, the bloodthirsty eyes of the Jurchen white-armored soldiers, and the mountains of corpses on the battlefield. Those scenes terrified him and made him tremble, but they never made him consider running away.

Because no matter how strong those enemies are, they are still human. Humans die, retreat, and are afraid.

But the person in front of me—

Chu Ze rode his horse forward step by step. Behind him, a hundred monsters, whose chests had been pierced by crossbow bolts but who were still cursing and running, stood quietly on the ice, a hundred pairs of green eyes staring at the city wall.

There was no anger or murderous intent in those eyes.

All we can do is wait.

A patient, excited, and eager wait.

We're always waiting for that signal to be released.

Chu Ze reined in his horse thirty paces from the city gate.

The warhorse snorted and pawed at the ice with its front hooves, sending shards of ice flying.

Then, Chu Ze raised his right hand.

His slender fingers gripped the handle, his thumb pressed against the blade, and he gave it a gentle push.

A fine steel longsword was drawn three inches from its sheath.

It's only three inches long.

The moment the blade emerged from its sheath, an immense chill exploded from the city gate. It wasn't the cold brought by the north wind, nor the chill of frozen snow. It was a killing intent refined to its absolute limit.

Deep in his mind, the map of mountains and rivers trembled violently.

A massive amount of spiritual energy surged and churned within his meridians, pouring out along Chu Ze's right arm as he gripped the sword, transforming into a terrifying pressure that everyone could instinctively sense.

The wind stopped.

The snowflakes that were dancing in the air froze in mid-air, suspended motionless.

On the city wall, the first few musketeers' knees buckled, and they collapsed behind the parapet. Their fingers were stiff on the triggers, but they lacked the strength to pull them. It wasn't that they didn't want to move; their bodies wouldn't obey them. The fear that surged from the depths of their bones froze their limbs completely.

Chu Ze slowly drew his long sword completely from its sheath.

The three-foot-long steel blade reflected a cold, white light under the pale sunlight. Dark red bloodstains remained on the blade—the blood of the Jurchens, the blood of Turgh, the blood of twenty thousand elite Manchu soldiers.

The blade moved upwards, pointing directly at the city wall.

Pointing to General Zhang.

"I took several breaths."

Chu Ze spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it traveled extremely far in the stagnant air, clearly reaching the ears of everyone on the city wall.

"Do not open the city gates within ten breaths."

"7

He paused.

There was no smile, no anger, no superfluous expression on his lips. Only a calm that sent chills down your spine.

"Not a single chicken or dog was spared at Guangqumen."

Eight characters.

Eight words that seem light and airy.

The impact on the city wall was even more shocking than the simultaneous firing of three Hongyi cannons.

The city walls erupted in chaos.

"presumptuous!"

Inside the corner tower, Wen Tiren suddenly sprang up from under the windowsill. His face swirled wildly between deathly pale and ashen, his withered fingers gripping the window frame so tightly that his knuckles cracked.

"Arrogant! Utterly arrogant!" Wen Tiren's voice sharpened, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. "This is treason! This is blatant treason! How dare Chu Ze utter such rebellious words right under the Emperor's nose! General Zhang! What are you standing there for! Open fire! Blast this traitor into mincemeat!"

The Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate collapsed to the ground, the urine stain in his crotch still wet, yet he roared, "Fire!"

"Fire! He only has one hundred men! One hundred unarmored men!" A volley from the three cannons reduced them all to dust.

On the city wall, General Zhang's sword trembled violently in his hand.

He heard Wen Tiren's order. He also knew he should order the cannons to fire. Three thousand men on the city wall, three cannons, and only a hundred unarmored men on the other side. In terms of troop strength, this was not a battle, but a crushing defeat.

But his lips opened and closed repeatedly, yet he couldn't utter the command.

Because he was looking at Chu Ze's knife.

The bloodstains on that knife were the blood of 20,000 elite Manchu soldiers.

Huang Taiji's 100,000-strong army was torn to shreds by this man and the monsters under his command.

If even 100,000 Jurchens couldn't stop him, what makes General Zhang think that his 3,000-strong Beijing Garrison can hold him off?

"General Zhang! Are you deaf?!" Wen Tiren shouted angrily from the corner tower.

General Zhang clenched his teeth tightly. He clenched them so hard that blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He was a military officer in the Beijing Garrison. Behind him stood the Emperor of the Ming Dynasty. Beneath his feet lay the capital city of the Ming Dynasty.

He can't retreat.

To resign would be a capital offense.

"Chu Ze!" General Zhang roared, forcing out a powerful scream from deep within his throat. "You dare to use force under the Emperor's nose! This is treason! A crime punishable by the extermination of your entire family!"

He turned sharply and roared hysterically at the artillery position.

"Men! Light the fuses! Aim the cannons at the city walls! If they dare take another step, blast them!"

The gunners frantically brought their torches close to the fuse. The flames danced in the cold wind, less than an inch from the grayish-white fuse.

Under the city.

Chu Ze didn't even blink.

"ten."

The first number came out of his mouth.

Calm. Cold. devoid of any emotion.

Behind them, a hundred players simultaneously revealed the weapons hidden in their clothes.

Shi Dali drew his rusty greatsword from his cotton-padded coat, the heavy iron weapon tracing an arc in the air. Zhou Keke gripped her entrenching tool tightly, the blade still stained with the dried blood of the Jurchens. Qin Jue had somehow already reached the base of the city wall, his steel dagger flashing in his sleeve.

"Nine."

The commotion on the city wall intensified. The rear ranks of the Beijing garrison soldiers began to retreat uncontrollably. Their footsteps were chaotic, and the plates of their armor clanged and rattled.

"eight."

Wen Tiren's face was completely contorted. He clung tightly to the windowsill, his body trembling violently. He was still cursing, but his voice had completely changed, from anger to fear, and from fear to pleading.

"Fire! What are you waiting for! Fire now!"

"seven."

Large beads of sweat on General Zhang's forehead evaporated into white mist in the frigid air. He stared intently at the figure on horseback below the city walls, and at the long, finely crafted steel sword gleaming with a white light.

The knife didn't move.

But it is this calmness, this composure, this absolute confidence that I can kill you all without even lifting a finger, that is a thousand times more terrifying than any roar or threat.

"six.

""

The chat in the guild channel has gone completely crazy.

[Cultivation Party Member - Qian Lele: Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! What kind of move is this, boss?! He's single-handedly knocking on the door! This is even more exciting than a siege battle!]

[Civil Engineering Bro - Zhou Keke: Quiet down! Everyone shut up! Let the boss finish showing off! We'll edit this video into the promotional video later, and it'll definitely bring in another 100,000 new players!]

[PVP Assassination - Qin Jue: I'm in position. Three guards at the northeast corner drainage outlet of the city wall, ready to act at any time.]

"five."

The arquebusiers at the very front of the city wall began to break down. A young soldier threw down his arquebus and turned to run. His action triggered those around him, two, three, five—panic spread rapidly through the crowd.

"Halt! Anyone who dares to retreat a single step will be dealt with according to military law!" Lieutenant General Zhang drew his sword, pointing the blade at his soldiers.

But his voice was trembling. The tip of the sword was trembling. His whole body was trembling.

"Four.

"

Wen Tiren finally couldn't hold on any longer. He shrank back out of the corner tower window, his legs went weak, and he collapsed onto the floor. The Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate and the Vice Minister of Rites were already huddled together, their faces deathly pale.

"It's over—it's over—" Wen Tiren muttered to himself, his withered fingers gripping his beard tightly, pulling it down strand by strand, wincing in pain but oblivious to it. "That madman—he really will do it—he really dares—"

"three.

""

When Chu Ze uttered that word, Zhang, the military officer, made the most regrettable decision of his life.

"fire!"

He roared, his vocal cords almost tearing apart.

"Fire! Bomb him to death!"

The order was relayed to the artillery positions.

The three gunners simultaneously pressed their torches toward the fuse.

However-

The artillery position was eerily silent.

There was no hissing sound of a burning fuse. No booming sound of gunpowder igniting. No piercing whistle of a cannonball tearing through the air as it left the barrel.

There was nothing there.