Mythical Qin: I, Gao Yao, will never be a eunuch!

"I regret not heeding General Murong's advice..." He sighed deeply, drew his sword, and commanded, "All troops, listen to my order! Disperse and break out! Every one who can escape is one more!"

But the order came too late. The canyon was blocked by artillery fire at both ends, and the mountain ridges on both sides were densely packed with muskets, making it a dead end.

An hour later, the gunfire gradually subsided.

Cao Shen stepped down from the battlefield and into the canyon. The strong stench of blood hit him, causing even a seasoned warrior like him to frown. The canyon was littered with corpses, layers upon layers of human and horse carcasses, and in many places, one had to step on the corpses to pass through.

"Take stock of the battle results," he instructed his deputy.

"Reporting to the general," the deputy general reported half an hour later, "In this battle, we annihilated more than 28,400 enemy soldiers, captured 1,200, and fewer than 300 escaped. Our army suffered 321 casualties, mostly losses of the decoy troops."

Cao Can remained silent for a long time before finally saying, "Give the fallen soldiers a proper burial. Treat the wounded prisoners. Has Yuwen Lie been found?"

"Found him. He was hit by seventeen bullets and died at the western entrance of the canyon."

"He was a brave warrior," Cao Can sighed softly. "Give him a proper burial."

As the sun set, it dyed the canyon a blood-red hue. Engineers began clearing the battlefield and burying the bodies. Perhaps next spring, the vegetation here will be exceptionally lush.

On a distant hill, Han Xin stood on his horse, gazing at the scene in the canyon, his face expressionless, neither happy nor sad.

"General," the bodyguard asked in a low voice, "why do you show no joy after such a great victory?"

Han Xin said slowly, "That's how war is: to achieve the greatest victory with the least cost. But every life is still a life." He turned his horse around. "Order the entire army to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we should go and meet Murong Zheng."

News of the disastrous defeat at Luoying Gorge reached the state army camp the following morning.

The teacup in Murong Zheng's hand fell to the ground and shattered. He stared at the surviving soldiers kneeling before the tent, his voice trembling: "You... what did you say? Thirty thousand cavalry... wiped out?"

"Yes...yes, General." The fleeing captain, covered in blood and hoarse, stammered, "The bandits had iron pipes that could breathe fire, the sound like thunder, the projectiles like a rain of bullets. They also had exploding iron balls...Brothers, our brothers died so tragically..."

The generals in the tent exchanged bewildered glances, all showing expressions of horror. The deputy general trembled and said, "General, if the enemy truly possesses such a weapon, our army..."

"Shut up!" Murong Zheng shouted sharply, but his trembling hands betrayed his inner fear. He forced himself to calm down and walked to the sand table. "Where is the enemy army now?"

"They have already left Luoying Gorge and set up camp on the west side of Qinghe Plain, forty li away from our army."

Murong Zheng stared at the sand table, his mind racing. The cavalry was annihilated, their mobility advantage gone. The rebel army was fresh from its victory, their morale soaring. Even more terrifying was that unknown weapon...

"Issue the order," he finally spoke, "that the entire army fortify its camps, dig deeper trenches, and set up more barricades. No one is to engage in battle without my order."

"General!" a young general exclaimed urgently, "Our army still has 120,000 men. How can we cower and not come out? This humble general is willing to lead 30,000 troops to fight the enemy to the death!"

"Are you going to your death?" Murong Zheng said coldly. "Yuwen Lie's 30,000 cavalrymen were wiped out in less than two hours. How do you compare to Yuwen Lie?"

The young general was speechless.

"Execute the order." Murong Zheng waved wearily.

The military order was given, and the state army camp immediately sprang into action. But along with this came a growing sense of panic—why go to such lengths to defend? Were the enemy troops really that terrifying?

This panic reached its peak on the third day.

At dawn, the sentries in the watchtower were horrified to discover a strange army on the western side of the plain. The front rank consisted of approximately ten thousand heavily armored cavalry. Behind them were infantrymen armed with iron pipes, arranged in neat square formations. Further away, dozens of dark iron pipes were mounted on wagons.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The state army hastily formed ranks. But the rebel army did not attack; instead, they halted and arrayed themselves a mile from the camp. A black-armored knight rode out from the ranks alone, came to within a hundred paces of the camp, and shouted, "Where is General Murong? My commander has a letter to present!"

Murong Zheng climbed the stockade wall. The knight drew his bow and shot an arrow that struck the letter against the wall.

The letter was written by Han Xin, and its words were concise and sharp: "General Murong: In the Battle of Luoying Gorge, your army of 30,000 iron cavalry has been annihilated by me. Now my army is pressing on our borders. If you are wise enough to know what is good for you, you should open your camp and surrender. If you remain obstinate, do not blame me for being ruthless. You have one day to reply."

"Outrageous!" the lieutenant roared.

Murong Zheng silently tore the letter to shreds. He gazed at the distant army, his ominous premonition growing stronger.

That afternoon, the Huaxia Army began psychological warfare.

Three thousand black-armored cavalrymen divided into three groups, taking turns attacking the east, west, and north gates of the state army camp. They did not launch a direct assault, but instead used arrows from a hundred paces away to specifically target the archers on the arrow towers. The state army's crossbows and bows could not keep up with the attack and could only passively endure the onslaught.

What terrified the state army even more was the performance of the musketeers. Han Xin specially selected five hundred sharpshooters to fire a concentrated barrage of fire at the flags on the stockade walls from two hundred paces away. In one volley, dozens of flags fell to the ground. In another volley, the sentries on the watchtowers were accurately identified.

Murong Zheng witnessed firsthand from the stockade wall that a captain standing beside him had just peeked out when he was struck in the face by a lead bullet and fell to the ground without uttering a sound. The lead bullet pierced through the iron helmet and blew a fist-sized hole in the back of his head.

"General, be careful!" His personal guard tackled him to the ground.

Murong Zheng lay on the ground, listening to the thuds of lead bullets hitting the wooden wall, his face as pale as paper. He finally understood why Yuwen Lie had suffered such a crushing defeat—this kind of weapon was simply beyond the capabilities of cold weapons.

"General, this can't go on!" The adjutant crawled over. "The enemy's long-range weapons are too powerful; our army is completely suppressed!"

Murong Zheng was well aware of this, but what could he do? Go out into the open for battle? The enemy's black-armored cavalry were waiting. Hold out and wait for reinforcements? Judging by the situation, it was questionable whether the camp could even hold out until reinforcements arrived.

As night fell, Murong Zheng made a decision: a night raid.

At midnight, five thousand elite soldiers from the state army quietly left the camp.

This unit was carefully selected by Murong Zheng, with each member rewarded with one hundred taels of silver, and their families would receive compensation if any died in battle. Leading the unit was Murong Zheng's nephew, Murong Jie, a sixth-rank martial artist skilled in wielding dual swords. Accompanying them were twenty martial artists of the fifth rank or higher, specifically tasked with dealing with the fire-breathing iron pipes.

The plan was meticulous: three routes would be used to infiltrate the enemy camp, with the central route focusing on the musketeers' garrison, while the left and right routes would contain the Black-Armored Cavalry. Once successful, fires would be set as a signal, allowing the main force of the camp to break out and provide support.

Unbeknownst to them, the Huaxia Army's scouts had already spotted their gathering with binoculars.

"They've come as expected." Han Xin stood on the makeshift watchtower, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Proceed with the second plan."