Tome of Troubled Times-Chapter 782 (2): The Fall of the Fox Spirit

Batu, hacking his way through the battlefield, saw the chaos ahead and likewise bellowed, “The Golden Wolf Army is broken! Brothers, charge!”

Clang!

Wu Weiyang parried a tribal chief’s scimitar and roared, “The Golden Wolf Army has fallen! Will you still resist?”

The retreat of the Vulture Tribe had triggered a complete chain reaction. The battlefield was collapsing in a bloody disaster.

Batu and Wu Weiyang’s forces thrust like daggers straight into the rear lines. Huangfu Yongxian’s forces advanced with relentless force. The vast expanse of northern barbarian cavalry, once an overwhelming presence, had devolved into a scattered mess. Tribes abandoned the fight, seeking their own escape routes, galloping away in all directions.

The Vulture Tribe, having been the first to prepare for retreat, was now fully mounted and charging rearward, further disrupting the retreating forces. To an outsider, they even looked like the vanguard of the Han army itself...

The routing was instantaneous!

Timur, locked in combat with Ying Five and Lady Three, had only taken his eyes off the battlefield for a moment. He could not even tell whether Vulture Beak’s retreat was a genuine defeat or a calculated betrayal, yet in that brief span of time, his entire army had collapsed. What remained was nothing but slaughter and pursuit.

Wolf banners fell, bodies piled into mountains, and the wails of the dying echoed endlessly across the plains, reaching toward the very sky.

But the blue sky[1] remained indifferent. Tngri did not grant his favor.

“Preserve our strength! All forces, retreat!” Timur finally roared his last command, no longer caring about the fate of the other tribes. His only thought now was to salvage what remained of his Golden Wolf Army.

Unfortunately for him, Batu, Wu Weiyang, and Huangfu Yongxian all had the same priority target—the Golden Wolf Army.

Swish!

Lady Three’s snake whip lashed out, blocking Timur’s escape. She smiled, her tone playful yet firm. “Patience, dear Khagan. Our fight isn’t over yet...”

Timur was furious, his rage erupting like a volcano. His spear swept out in a wild arc. “Out of my way!”

But his attack was as though it had struck water—utterly ineffective. And before he could react, another heavy strike came crashing down from behind.

Fatigue was creeping into Timur’s very bones. If there was any kind of opponent a warrior like him dreaded most, it was undoubtedly one like Black Tortoise, someone who was not the most aggressive but utterly relentless. She was a fighter that could entangle him to the point where he had no room to breathe, and then wear him down. And right now, he was entangled and was being worn down.

Boom!

Timur instinctively lashed out with a heavy punch, ready to collide with Lady Three’s fist as he had countless times before. But just as his strike was about to land, his hand was suddenly pulled off course, dragged into what felt like an eerie spatial distortion.

“Khagan, you’re getting impatient... A warrior as seasoned as you shouldn’t be making such mistakes.”

It was Ying Five making use of the power of space!

That minuscule deviation was enough. Timur’s fist missed its mark, cutting through empty air, while Lady Three’s strike landed viciously against his ribs.

Timur erupted with vigorous qi, attempting to deflect Lady Three’s blow while twisting his body in an effort to evade. But just as he moved, another unseen force clung to him like a quagmire, slowing him by just a fraction.

Bang!

Black Tortoise’s Fist slammed heavily into Timur’s ribs. A mouthful of blood spewed from his mouth as he swept his spear to blast away Ying Five and stumbled backward, retreating north in a blur.

Both Lady Three and Ying Five had blood seeping from the corners of their lips. Timur’s cultivation still outclassed theirs, and the backlash from their attacks was no trivial matter. But neither spoke a word. Lady Three’s two bodies merged into one, and without hesitation, the two of them pursued Timur in silence.

Killing him was not necessary. They had only one objective: to prevent him from regrouping his forces, to keep him from rejoining the battle on the ground.

Because the real battle was happening on Zhao Changhe’s side. It relied on the collapse of faith, the shift of human destiny itself. That had always been the strategy. From the very beginning, the plan had been clear.

* * *

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Amid the surging Han army, one formation remained unmoved, and that was the left flank of the rear army where Chi Li led his charge.

Cui Yuanyong’s boasts had proven hollow. He had believed that since Chi Li had abandoned his strength in favor of a direct assault, it would yield no results, but reality proved otherwise. When a man fought with the desperation of one who had abandoned life itself, his power could exceed all expectations.

Chi Li had driven Cui Yuanyong backward, carving open a gap in the formation. His light cavalry force of 3,000 poured through the breach like a blade, already slicing deeper into enemy lines.

Given a little more time, he might have actually managed a breakthrough.

But unfortunately, the gamble of blood and steel had come too late.

The frontlines had collapsed before his attack could take effect.

Had his forces been the first to shatter enemy lines, the Han army might have fallen into chaos instead. If that had happened, Vulture Beak would not have retreated, and without his withdrawal, the entire battle might not have deteriorated into disaster. There would have been a foundation left to regroup and counterattack.

But they had been just a step too slow, and Vulture Beak’s retreat had doomed Chi Li. He was now an isolated force, deep in enemy territory, with no way out.

“Young master, we must go!” his deputy urged in a sharp whisper. “Cui Yuanyong’s forces can’t stop us. We can still turn around and break out! The Han have a saying: while the green hills last, there will be wood to burn. As long as we live, there’s hope. We must live to fight another day!”

Chi Li’s scimitar clashed against Cui Yuanyong’s long sword, forcing the latter back. He pulled at his reins, about to turn his horse.

But then, he stopped.

Beyond the gap he had carved into the enemy ranks, a group of bare-chested martial artists stood silently, blocking his path. At their head stood Situ Xiao.

Neither side moved. Cui Yuanyong stood behind him. Situ Xiao stood ahead. Chi Li turned his gaze around. His elite cavalry, which originally numbered 3,000, had already been reduced to less than half. Every last one of them was drenched in blood. Their faces, caked in dirt, sweat, and sand, had long since become indistinguishable.

Yet, in the eyes of every one of his men, there was an unmistakable sorrow.

They had fought with everything they had, believing they had carved out a sliver of hope, a chance to disrupt the enemy lines. But in the end, it felt like nothing more than the antics of a fool. It was as if they were nothing more than clowns dancing on a stage, working so hard only to be silenced before the final act.

Chi Li suddenly asked, “Do you think we’ve been reduced to mere clowns on the battlefield?”

“No.” Situ Xiao, for once, abandoned his usual nonchalance and clasped his hands in salute. “You were once at the top of the Ranking of Hidden Dragons. Back then, we didn’t want to accept it. We refused to acknowledge it. But now... I do.”

A faint smile flickered across Chi Li’s lips as he turned toward Cui Yuanyong. “A few days ago, you told me that, excluding those two lunatics, this war was one between mortals. So tell me, in this war between us mortals, who won?”

Cui Yuanyong let out a long sigh. “I lost. I failed to stop you just now. If you’d had a little more time, I fear I would have had to take my own life in shame.”

Chi Li nodded slightly. “Then tell me, if I take my own life now, will you let my men go?”

Cui Yuanyong fell into a long silence before finally speaking in a low voice. “No. You are all heroes, but the greater the hero, the greater the threat. To let a tiger roam free would be to invite disaster.”

Chi Li lifted his gaze to the sky, as if awaiting some response from the tngri.

But none came.

His gods were absent. Tngri had turned his back on him.

He murmured, almost to himself, “Surrender... Cui Yuanyong can say what he likes, but the Han army pride themselves as a civilized force. They will not kill prisoners.”

Cui Yuanyong could not help but reply, “You could surrender too.”

“I know.” Chi Li chuckled. “You surround me but do not attack. You hesitate because you respect warriors. You hope that I will surrender, yet you also fear it.”

Cui Yuanyong and Situ Xiao exchanged glances but said nothing. Of course, they respected Chi Li. But could they trust him if he surrendered? Who would take responsibility if something went wrong?

“Forget it,” Chi Li said lightly. “In the pursuit of the peak of martial arts, I could never catch up to Zhao Change or Yue Hongling. In the realm of faith, I no longer have our gods’ favor. I do not see the point of struggling on. If my existence proves anything, it is that the Grasslands are not just Batu and Vulture Beak.”

He paused, then spoke to Cui Yuanyong with an almost casual tone. “If, within three years, I do not see Vulture Beak’s soul brought before the tngri for judgment, don’t blame me for looking down on you from the heavens.”

Without waiting for a response, without giving anyone a chance to say “your gods will soon be no more,” Chi Li drew his blade across his throat.

A single, decisive stroke.

Cui Yuanyong’s only reply was, “It won’t take three years.”

Chi Li’s lips curled into a faint smile as blood sprayed from his throat. His body swayed, and then he fell heavily from his horse.

The battlefield fell silent.

Both armies stood still, watching as the once-glorious prodigy of the Grasslands lay lifeless on the earth. The spring wind swept across the field, lifting grains of sand and dust, carrying them over his fallen body.

This was the most brilliant star of the younger generation of the Grasslands, the one who once dominated the youth of the Central Plains, second only to Yue Hongling. His fall seemed to mark the inevitable decline of the tngri, and of Tngri himself.

Yet, in the distance, the battlefield still raged. The screams of slaughter and the thunder of hooves stretched beyond the Gobi Desert, echoing northward, toward the heart of the Grasslands’ royal court in Mobei... toward its final reckoning.

1. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but the Eternal Blue Sky/Heaven is Tngri, the supreme deity of the Mongols. ☜