Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

Wu Yan, along with two capable subordinates, held their ground at the front, hacking away with each strike.

He was incredibly strong, and each of his strikes made a whooshing sound.

A bandit charged at him wielding a broadsword. Wu Yan neither dodged nor evaded, but instead gripped the longsword tightly with both hands and met the attack head-on.

With a loud clang, the connection between the broadsword and the long pole was snapped off, the tip of the machete flew far away, the man's hand was split open, and he was forced to kneel on the ground by the shock.

Wu Yan was already in a killing frenzy. With a backhand slash, he cut across the man's neck, splattering his own blood all over himself. Before the man had even completely fallen, Wu Yan's longsword was already aimed at the next one.

Seeing Wu Yan's bravery, the bandits roared and began to fight desperately. If they couldn't break through here, they would all perish in this small village today.

The key is that most of the bandits who can come here are soldiers from the Xiang Army who escaped last year. Their names are on the military register, and each prefecture and county has the obligation to arrest them.

Once discovered by the authorities, they were immediately arrested and sent back to their original units or dealt with nearby. They dared not return to their hometowns, dared not enter the city, and dared not take the official roads; they could only hide in the mountains, forests, and lakes.

They had no legal status, no land, no livelihood, and desertion was a serious crime, incurable by any means. They had no choice but to become outlaws.

Everyone was enduring despair. Finally, Master Wang arrived and promised to give them legal status after the uprising next year. Many people who had suffered so much naturally wanted to grasp this lifeline tightly.

They won't let us live?

Then none of us should live!

The bandits, filled with a desperate will, charged forward fearlessly. Some armored men, with three or five arrows stuck in their bodies, still roared and attacked fiercely.

Wu Yan gradually felt exhausted, especially when he caught a glimpse of those ferocious faces amidst his busy work. For the first time in his life, a sense of fear rose in his heart.

Nine corpses lay piled at his feet, the ground blackened by blood. General Wang Kui, severely wounded, was dragged back to his camp by the volunteers. General Liu, his longsword wielded much slower, his face etched with exhaustion.

Wu Yan couldn't help but look back at Sun Jizu, which was the only source of his confidence to keep going.

Brother Sun is watching him!

Sun Jizu stood behind Wu Yan, his gun never leaving his hand, but he didn't rush to make a move.

His gaze swept across the chaotic crowd; he had been waiting.

Waiting for the most opportune moment to act, waiting for the most valuable target.

A burly man, shirtless, squeezed out of the crowd, carrying an iron fork in his hand. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, and looked like a leader.

He seemed to see that Wu Yan was exhausted, and his eyes lit up with joy. He roared and took the opportunity to rush towards him.

Wu Yan was entangled in a fight with two people and couldn't turn around for a moment. He watched helplessly as the large iron fork came straight for his chest.

Sun Jizu made a move.

The short gun spun only half a circle around his arm before being thrown from his side, tracing a straight line through the air. The sound of the gun tip piercing the air was extremely short, faster than an arrow.

The burly man's iron fork was about to pierce Wu Yan with another half step, and he was just showing a half-smile when the tip of the fork pierced into Wu Yan's chest.

The burly man looked down and suddenly saw a gun barrel growing out of his chest, causing his mind to go blank for a moment.

Before he could figure out what was happening, he was knocked back five steps by the immense force of the pistol, crashing to the ground and knocking down two of his accomplices who were unable to get out of the way.

Sun Jizu strode forward, kicked four bandits away in succession, grabbed the gun barrel with one hand and pulled it off the strong man's corpse. The blood droplets from the gun tip spun in the air before falling back to the ground.

He slowly retreated, his gaze continuing to sweep across the crowd, searching for the next opportunity to strike. Throughout the entire process, his breathing remained steady.

Zhao Xie stayed within five steps of Sun Jizu, his eyes constantly darting around. A tall, thin man slipped through the crowd, crouching against the wall, a boning knife held in reverse, his steps light, his eyes fixed on Sun Jizu's lower back.

When Zhao Xie was still seven steps away from Sun Jizu, he slapped the tall, thin man's wrist with his sword sheath. The sound of bones breaking was still clear amidst the chaotic fighting; the dagger flew out of his hand, hit the wall, and bounced to the ground.

The tall, thin man clutched his wrist, trying to retreat, but Zhao Xie tapped his knee with his longsword, causing him to fall to his knees. Two volunteers quickly subdued him and tied him up. Zhao Xie sheathed his sword, stood firm, and resumed his vigilance.

The bandits' desperate charge finally began to falter.

Those behind saw rows of people falling down, while Wu Yan, Sun Jizu, Zhao Xie, and others remained steadfastly blocking the front lines. The fierce determination they felt, like that of trapped beasts, gradually began to dissipate.

Their fearlessness lies in their skin, not their bones; otherwise, they wouldn't have deserted last year.

Some people started backing away, while others slipped into the courtyards on either side.

Seeing his opportunity, Sun Jizu knew the bandits' last fighting spirit had crumbled. He slammed his gun on the ground and shouted, "Send the signal! Order the archers at the rear of the village to advance!"

Zhao Xie took a whistling arrow from his quiver, nocked it on his bow, and drew it taut.

The arrow flew from the bowstring, its sharp whistling piercing the sky above Wangjiazhuang.

Before the whistling had subsided, the drums behind the village suddenly began to beat.

The drumbeats were steady and powerful, rolling in from behind the woods. The routed soldiers looked back and saw two rows of archers emerging from the earthen slope behind the village, forming a horizontal line and steadily advancing in their direction.

Behind these archers, there was a noisy clanging sound, as two groups of militia, bluffing and banging pots and pans as they advanced.

The archers crouching on the courtyard wall, with the help of the brave men, picked up many broken arrows, nocked them on their bows with feigned bravado but did not release them, while the archers in front and behind simultaneously tightened the openings of their quivers.

The bandits were trapped in the middle of the alley, with Wu Yan in front of them, exuding arrogance and seemingly capable of fighting another three hundred rounds. Behind them, archers with ample arrows had completely blocked their retreat.

The last thirty or so bandits, with their leaders all dead, finally threw down their sickles, machetes, and wooden clubs, and knelt down to surrender.

Sun Jizu remained expressionless and ordered the volunteers behind the cover to move the roadblocks and tie up the men one by one.

Fifteen minutes later, the small but fierce battle in Wangjiazhuang came to a complete end.

The village was littered with corpses, piled up haphazardly, covering the road. The stench of blood was so strong it was almost unbearable; the morning breeze only intensified the smell.

The crowd, including not only the volunteers but also many archers, collapsed limply by the roadside, panting heavily and looking completely bewildered.

A young archer squatted beside a large millstone, his waist knife resting at his feet, his hands supporting his knees, his shoulders hunching as he dry heaved.

He had already vomited once, emptying his stomach, and now he could only vomit bile. The old archer next to him glanced at him, took a water pouch from his waist, and handed it to him.

The young archer took the bag and gulped it down, then choked on it all, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Uncle Qi, I...I shot three...three people...and also hacked them to death...ugh..."

A brave, forty-something farmer sat by the wall, a hoe still clutched in his hand. The blade was covered in a black grime. He glanced down at it, then suddenly threw the hoe far away.