A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

Wouldn't that be tantamount to handing over Yumen Pass? How could we not take it?

"Pass on the order—"

He raised the bone staff in his hand, his voice booming in the night wind.

"Abandon the night raid! Everyone stay put and surround these charging cavalry!"

Tuoba Ye had a very good plan; he felt he had won.

With nearly 300,000 men surrounding 50,000 cavalry, how could they possibly lose?

They blocked the cavalry in the Gobi Desert, closing in from all sides, squeezing them to death.

Cavalrymen outside the city are like turtles without shells; if they can't break out, they're doomed.

The problem is—he underestimated one thing.

These 50,000 cavalrymen were not some ragtag army.

The vanguard of 10,000 men were Wei Zhao's personal guards, the elite of the elite cavalry, ruthless warriors who had fought against the Northern Rong cavalry at Yanmen Pass.

The remaining 40,000 men were veterans whom Liu Jingshuang had trained for a month.

Each soldier was equipped with a standard crossbow and saber, and their warhorses were all endurance-type warhorses stolen from the Northern Rong.

Finally, there's the combat strength of Wei Zhao, the main general!

The Wei family army's cavalry charged forward with howls, their eyes bloodshot, as if they wanted to cleave everything in their path in two.

The 300,000 Western Qiang soldiers opposite them—the infantry in the front row almost instinctively took a half step back.

Nobody knows why. My legs just feel weak.

It's hard to describe the feeling—it's like walking alone on a mountain path late at night, and suddenly something is staring at you from behind.

My scalp tingled, my hair stood on end, and my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of my throat.

This isn't fear of a particular person; it's a fear etched into my very bones.

Tuoba Ye stood on the low hill, watching his soldiers begin to fall into disarray, his brows furrowing deeply.

"What happened?"

His head guard, who was standing next to him, also saw it and turned pale.

"Your Highness, brothers...it seems like the morale isn't quite right."

Tuoba Ye stared intently at the battlefield.

He saw a scene that sent chills down his spine.

Wei Zhao's ten thousand personal guards, like a red-hot knife, plunged straight into the belly of the Western Qiang army.

There was no slowdown. No probing. No detours.

Ten thousand cavalrymen formed a wedge formation, with Wei Zhao as the arrowhead, and with unstoppable momentum tore through the Western Qiang infantry's lines.

In the darkness, the white wax spear's trajectory was almost invisible, with only the blood mist kicked up by its tip.

Wei Zhao used his spear to knock away a Western Qiang soldier wielding a stone axe, and with a sweep of his spear, he also swung it at two foot soldiers who rushed at him.

He rode tirelessly, thrusting his spear relentlessly, so fast that even his personal guards could barely keep up.

The martial prowess of a first-grade cultivator is just that outrageous on a battlefield composed of mortals.

He doesn't need any fancy moves.

He even felt that he was being a little too relaxed.

This feeling reminded him of the battle at Yanmen Pass—the moment when his spear pierced through the enemy's stronghold, it was also this absurd feeling of "the opponent being too weak".

But he didn't relax.

Just then, Tuoba Ye issued an order.

A fatal order.

"Tighten the encirclement! Charge forward with the entire army and crush them!"

From a tactical perspective, this order is not wrong.

With nearly 300,000 men surrounding 50,000, the biggest fear was having their formation broken by cavalry.

Tightening the encirclement and overwhelming the cavalry with sheer numbers is a textbook approach.

But the problem lies in the word "shrinkage".

The Western Qiang soldiers were already in a very low mood, and now they were being forced to move closer to that white killing god.

The soldiers in the front row didn't want to move forward.

The soldiers in the back row received orders to push forward.

A sudden squeeze from front to back—the formation was thrown into disarray.

This was the moment Wei Zhao had been waiting for.

"Disperse!"

He uttered a single word, not loudly, but the ten thousand well-trained guards understood instantly.

The arrowhead formation dispersed, transforming into ten small teams that, like ten nimble snakes, burrowed into the gaps in the Western Qiang army.

Immediately following, Liu Jingshuang led 40,000 cavalrymen to charge forward.

Fifty thousand cavalry, fifty thousand swords.

He moved freely through an army of nearly 300,000 men.

This scene is utterly unbelievable.

In a normal cavalry charge, once inside the advancing infantry ranks, the cavalry should slow down, become entangled, and be dragged off their horses.

Wei Zhao charged through the chaotic army on horseback, his spear tip scattering men and horses wherever it passed.

He finally understood the true meaning of the First-Rank Realm on the battlefield.

He's not invincible in one-on-one combat.

The entire battlefield was making way for him.

When the Western Qiang soldiers saw him charging towards them, their first reaction was not to raise their shields to block, but to run to the sides.

If you can't run away, crouch down and cover your head.

Wei Zhao's gun swept over their heads, ignoring them.

There are too many targets to kill them all.

His mind automatically filtered out the incapacitated stragglers and focused his attention on the Western Qiang officers who were still trying to organize resistance.

One shot, and a centurion's head flew off.

Another shot, and a tribal war flag was knocked to the ground, the flag bearer and the flag trampled into the sand by the horses' hooves.

His personal guards followed behind him like a pack of hungry wolves following their alpha.

Wherever Wei Zhao rushed, chaos followed.

On the low hills of Eagle Beak Gorge, Tuoba Ye's face had turned pale.

He fought against the nomadic tribes of the north, the barbarians of the south, and the Zhenxi Army of the Great Wei.

I've never seen a battle like this before.

Fifty thousand people fought their way in and out of a crowd of three hundred thousand as if it were their own backyard.

Why...?

His voice was hoarse.

Why did we lose?

He saw the Western Qiang soldiers at the front line collapsing.

They weren't scattered by being killed; they scattered on their own.

Wherever the white-clad cavalry general went, the Western Qiang soldiers within a hundred paces radius scattered and fled like a flock of sheep being driven away.

Tuoba Ye couldn't understand it.

His soldiers were all tough guys who had fought their way up from the mountains, daredevils who had tasted blood. How could they be so afraid of one person?

He only saw the result.

The result was that his nearly 300,000-strong army was being slaughtered by 50,000 cavalry.

Time passed hour by hour.

The Wei family army's cavalry, like a tireless dragon, weaved in and out of the Western Qiang army.

Each time they passed through, hundreds more corpses appeared on the ground.

Wei Zhao was always at the forefront.

His white clothes were stained dark red with blood, and bits of flesh and strips of cloth hung from the tip of his spear.

But his hands didn't tremble at all, and his breathing was as steady as if he were taking a walk.

But the cavalry behind him were no good. Neither were the horses.

The warhorses' breathing grew heavier, and some began to stumble—a sign of exhaustion.

The cavalrymen's sword speed also slowed down, and their movements changed from the initial sharpness to mechanical repetition.

The sky began to lighten.

A sliver of gray-blue light shone through the eastern horizon, illuminating the pools of blood on the Gobi Desert with exceptional clarity.

Wei Zhao reined in the horse, poked the tip of his spear into the ground, and looked around.

The ground was littered with corpses and abandoned weapons. In the distance, large groups of Western Qiang soldiers squatted on the ground, heads in their hands, motionless.

Further away, scattered figures were still running into the mountains, a chaotic mess like an overturned anthill.

That's enough. If we keep chasing, the horse will be ruined, and so will the rider.

The white wax spear was raised into the sky.

"Sound the retreat! Withdraw!"

Wei Zhao ordered his troops to return to the pass, sparing the Western Qiang soldiers who were like lambs to the slaughter!