Eastern Han Dynasty, not the Three Kingdoms

The morning mist of Micang Mountain was ripped to shreds by the flames of war. Zhang Lu clung to the blood-stained battlements, his knuckles white from the strain. The moat beneath his feet had become a dark red stream, and floating corpses and broken spears snaked down the mountainside like a bleeding wound. The Yizhou army's war drums shook the mountain walls, causing rocks to fall. Yan Yan's command of the siege ladders rose like a forest, each one a sharp blade piercing his throat.

"Report! The arrow tower on the west wall has been hit by a catapult!" The messenger's roar echoed with the sound of burning wooden beams collapsing. Zhang Lu watched as the infantry led by Yang Chou used their flesh and blood to fill the gap in the wall, and a chill ran through his heart. While the 20,000 reinforcements temporarily stabilized the defense line, they also exhausted Hanzhong's last remaining mobile forces. At this moment, Mi Cang Mountain was like a moth trapped in a spider's web, its every struggle only tightening the thread.

"Where the hell did that kid Zhang Wei go?!" Zhang Lu suddenly shouted, shocking the soldiers around him to stagger back. He pulled off his helmet and threw it on the ground, the silk ribbons that bound his hair fell apart, revealing his bloodshot eyes between the messy hair. "The infantry can cross mountains and rivers to rush here, can the cavalry just fly with wings?" Before he finished speaking, a dull thud was heard in the distance - Yan Yan's battering ram began to hit the north gate again.

The battle report handed to him by his deputy was soaked with sweat. Zhang Lu unfolded it tremblingly, the dense casualty figures stinging his eyes. He recalled the letter he had sent three days earlier, a secret letter sealed with "Urgent" and sealed with wax, but now it had fallen like a stone. The mountain wind carried the shouts and curses of the Yizhou army, and each word of "Zhang Lu, little brat" struck like a hammer in his heart.

"General! Smoke and dust have been detected in the southeast corner!" a sharp cry came from the watchtower. Zhang Lu looked up suddenly, seeing a cloud of yellow dust rising from the end of the northern mountain road, like a dormant dragon under the overcast sky. He stared at the dust cloud, his throat constricting, unable to tell whether it was an enemy ambush or the longed-for savior. Cold sweat streamed down his back, gathering in icy streams through his armor. As the dust cloud approached, the fate of Mi Cang Mountain hung in the balance between life and death.

The smoke from Micang Mountain hadn't yet cleared, and Zhang Lu's palms, gripping the battlements, were already bleeding. As the smoke and dust from the northern sky rolled in like a surging tide, his pupils constricted violently, his Adam's apple rolled up and down, and he nearly swallowed back a cry of surprise. Only when he caught sight of the fluttering battle flag with the Chinese character "Zhang" on it did his tense nerves suddenly relax. He slid down the wall and sat on the ground, his heavy breathing startling the crows perched on the eaves.

"Finally, I'm here..." He trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, nearly falling from the numbness of his legs. Gazing at the gradually clearing cavalry formation, his cracked lips moved as he muttered to himself, "Even if it delays military action, as long as I can..." His words trailed off, and memories flooded back like a tide—the disorganized appearance of the five thousand cavalry before the expedition, their formations uneven. Though the rising dust was a spectacle, he couldn't hide the disappointment and worry in his eyes.

Zhang Lu wiped the blood and dust from his face, clutching the tiger talisman at his waist with a wry smile. He knew these cavalrymen were often neglected in training, and after two days of trekking through the mountain paths, they must be exhausted. But now the defenses were riddled with holes, and even a rotten piece of wood had to be grasped as a pillar of support. "I hope we can catch them by surprise..." He gazed at the swirling dark clouds, his voice shattered by the howling mountain wind. Only the deep indentations of his pale knuckles on the tiger talisman betrayed his anxiety and hope.

The siege raged, the beating of the Yizhou army's drums shaking the walls of Micang Mountain. Yan Yan, clad in black armor and holding a spear, stood at the rear of the battle formation, his gaze fixed like a hawk on the city walls. Kerosene flowed down the parapet, turning soldiers climbing the ladders into falling balls of fire, but a steady stream of reinforcements from the rear quickly filled the gap.

"General, there's smoke in the northwest!" The deputy general's urgent report shattered the tense calm. Yan Yan raised an eyebrow, one hand resting on the sword at his waist. He glanced at the faint gray-yellow smoke on the horizon and sneered, "It's just Hanzhong's last-ditch effort." He swung his spear towards the top of the city wall, the tassel rustling in the wind. "Pass the order to intensify the siege. Once the walls are breached, any reinforcements will be utterly useless!"

Before he could finish his words, another scout stumbled over. "Report! Cavalry flags spotted in the smoke!" Yan Yan's pupils shrank slightly, and then he sneered, slamming his spear into the ground, sending sparks flying. "Zhang Lu's cavalry is so weak they can barely even form their formations. What kind of trouble can they possibly cause?" He stared at the soldiers on the ladders about to scale the battlements, a hint of contempt on his lips. "Send the archers to hold the line. We must take Micang Mountain today!"

Yan Yan, clad in black armor, stood beneath the central army's banner, his scarlet cape rustling in the mountain breeze. He gazed at the cries of battle rising from the city walls, slamming his spear down onto the ground, sending rubble flying beneath his feet. "Zhang Yi!" His voice, shrouded in undeniable pressure, nearly made the messengers drop their gongs. "Immediately lead three battalions of spearmen back to the north slope and pin Zhang Lu's cavalry down the mountain path!"

The veteran general's sharp gaze swept over Zhang Yi's bloodstained visor and the slightly trembling barrel of his spear. He snorted coldly, "Don't let these mere cavalry disrupt General Wu Yi's plan to capture the city!" After Zhang Yi clasped his fists and left, he no longer glanced toward the swirling smoke and dust in the northwest. Instead, he returned his attention to the city walls. At that moment, the arrow tower on Mi Cang Mountain was ablaze with kerosene. Crimson flames snaked along the wooden beams, casting distorted shadows on the soldiers climbing the ladders.

"In mountain warfare, cavalry are nothing but meaty targets." Yan Yan sneered at his lieutenant, casually picking up a battle report with the tip of his spear, letting the cowhide scroll fall into the dust. "Zhang Yi's spear formation is enough to crush these tin cans." He raised his hand and pointed at the crumbling city gate, his bronze wristband clattering against the flagpole. "Once the battering ram breaks open the city gate, that old bastard Zhang Lu won't be able to escape even if he has wings!"

As the setting sun dyed Micang Mountain blood-red, Zhang Yi's third battalion of spearmen had just established themselves on the northern slope when suddenly a thunderous roar emanated from behind the mountain. Five thousand cavalrymen poured down the mountain ridge like a black tide. The crisp sound of horses' hooves crushing rocks mixed with heavy breathing, transforming into a suffocating war song.

"Form a shield wall!" Zhang Yi had barely finished his words when the cavalry at the forefront fanned out. The black-armored knights clamped their legs against their horses' bellies, their left hands controlling the reins, their right hands gripping their scimitars. They took advantage of the mountain's slope and dived with speed as swift as an arrow from a bow. The moment the spearmen raised their shields, a cold flash pierced the twilight—the scimitars slashed down diagonally, the sound of shield wood shattering and bones breaking echoing simultaneously.

Without waiting for the spear formation to regroup, the cavalry on both wings suddenly accelerated. They didn't engage in close combat, but instead galloped alongside the edge of the formation, their spears piercing the spearmen's throats and ribs like venomous snakes emerging from their lair. Just as the front-line spearmen tried to turn and defend, the central cavalry formed a wedge and charged directly into the center. The rubble kicked up by the horses' hooves obscured their view, and as their scimitars flew, blood splattered like blooming red plums.

Zhang Yi roared, brandishing his spear, knocking over two cavalrymen, only to see the enemy suddenly shift their tactics. The charging cavalry reined in their horses and turned, their steeds rearing up, their fore hooves crushing the shield wall. Then, the cavalry dispersed again, moving in a circle with astonishing coordination, alternating attacks with scimitars and lances, shredding the spear formation inch by inch like a meat grinder.

When the first cavalry unit completed its detour and crashed into the spear formation from behind, Zhang Yi finally saw their tactics clearly: no lingering battle, no entanglement, relying solely on speed and impact to tear through the defenses, and then the following cavalry would expand the gap. The spearmen were distracted and their formation completely collapsed. Screams and the sound of horses' hooves intertwined, and the north slope instantly turned into a battlefield.

Zhang Yi's knuckles turned white as he gripped his spear tightly. He watched the "Zhang" banner fluttering before the formation, his heart aching with fear. The equipment and banners of the black-armored cavalry clearly belonged to Zhang Lu's old subordinates, but now they seemed to have been completely transformed. What frightened him most was the snow-white warhorse in the formation, its rider seated upright. Wherever the silver spear pointed, the cavalry surged and joined like a tide, tearing the spear formation to pieces.

"Something must have gone wrong!" Zhang Yi growled, suddenly remembering Yan Yan's words about the "pampered old soldiers." The cavalry's charge and accuracy clearly showed they were elite troops who had experienced countless bloody battles! The white-horse warrior once again rode past the battle formation, his silver armor gleaming coldly in the setting sun.

"Don't run!" Zhang Yi shouted angrily, kicking his horse and lashing out with his spear like a venomous snake. He was a famous and fierce general in the Yizhou army.

Zhang Yi's mount crushed the limbs scattered across the ground, sending up a cloud of blood and mud that splattered his black iron kneepads. He watched the silver-armored figure darting through the cavalry formation like a ghost, a surge of rage rising in his chest—this was clearly Zhang Lu's banner; how could such a fierce cavalry exist? "Die, scoundrel!" As his spear ripped through the air, he urged his horse forward, charging the white-horse warrior. Blood beads clotted on the tassel of his spear shattered as it shook violently.

Ma Chao's grip on the spear trembled slightly, his long-abused body nearly collapsing under the jolting ride. He forced down the sweet, fishy taste rising in his throat, the arc of his silver spear trailing back a fraction slower than usual. As Zhang Yi's spear thrust forward with a gust of wind, he dodged with a swift movement, the spear shaft brushing past his shoulder, sending a trail of sparks through his mail.

"So that's all!" Zhang Yi, delighted at his opponent's awkward evasion, intensified his attack. His spear tip, like a venomous snake spitting its tongue, targeted vital points like the throat and heart. However, Ma Chao found a gap in this impenetrable hail of spears and gently thrust his silver spear, striking the inside of Zhang Yi's spear shaft with perfect precision. By leveraging the opponent's force, he managed to deflect the powerful blow.

The moment their horses collided, Ma Chao's wrist twisted, the butt of his spear sweeping across. Zhang Yi hastily raised his spear to block, his knuckles numb from the shock. Only then did he realize with astonishment that even though the opponent's moves seemed weak, the trajectory of the spear tip revealed the subtlety of the Western Liang Ma family spear—a play of false and real, always able to neutralize an attack with minimal movement, then find an opportunity to counterattack.

"Impossible... Who the hell are you?" Zhang Yi roared, his breaths heavy. He wielded his spear with gusto, yet was constantly outmatched by his opponent's seemingly casual moves. Ma Chao's pale face was hidden by the shadow of his helmet. Suddenly, like a spirit snake, the silver spear shot out of a hole, aiming for his face. Zhang Yi leaned back to avoid it, the wind from the spear piercing his neck, and cold sweat streamed down his spine. This seemingly weak opponent, every move aimed directly at his vital points, left him powerless to fight back.

Yan Yan frowned slightly, but he continued to stare at the top of the city wall, directing the adjustment of the catapult's angle. Suddenly, the deputy general grabbed his cloak, his voice changing tone: "General! Those cavalrymen..." The old general turned his head impatiently, only to see smoke and dust surging like a tide in the northwest. The cavalrymen charged back and forth as if they were in an empty space, and Zhang Yi's spearmen were retreating step by step.