Crown Prince of the Empire, I quit!

A young Qiang centurion's warhorse tripped over a corpse, throwing him violently from the spot. He struggled to his feet, glancing around at the twisted corpses of his companions and the wailing steeds. He looked up in horror, just in time to see a new cloud of arrows whistling towards him! Desperately raising his scimitar to block, it was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot. A crossbow bolt instantly pierced his wrist, knocking the scimitar out of his grasp; another pierced his leather armor and lodged in a lung; a third pierced his gaping mouth... He stumbled a few steps, his eyes reflecting the gray sky and the rain of arrows for the last time, before collapsing heavily to the ground.

Rain began to fall, washing the crossbowmen's cold visors and mixing with the faint blue smoke produced by the friction of the bowstrings, but it could not dispel the thick and suffocating smell of blood.

Li Gan's heavy infantry spear formation held the exit like a rock. The spear shafts had long been soaked in blood, becoming slippery and greasy, forcing the soldiers to bind their hands to the spear shafts with cloth strips. Beneath their feet lay a muddy swamp of flesh and blood, a tangle of broken limbs, torn viscera, dying horses, and soldiers. Every step felt like treading through the mire of hell.

"Hold on! Stab!" Li Gan's voice had grown hoarse. He stood on the front lines, his spear thrust unleashing a shower of blood. A fierce Qiang general roared and charged at him. Li Gan didn't dodge, his spear precisely deflecting the incoming scimitar. He then charged forward, thrusting the spear's tip beneath the horse's neck and emerging from its back, sending the general flying and slamming into the crowd behind him.

In front of the spear array, the Qiang charge had become frantic and desperate. They knew charging forward would lead to death, but retreating would also be fatal: they would be cut down by the supervising troops or trampled to death by their own people. Some Qiang soldiers tried to dismount and fight on foot, hacking at the spear array with scimitars, but were pierced by spears thrust from behind. Some tried to drag the spearmen with lassoes, but were instantly pinned to the ground by multiple spears.

The spear array was like a massive flesh-grinding mill, relentlessly devouring the lives and courage of the Qiang soldiers. Every spearman who fell was immediately replaced by a backup, keeping the line as steady as a rock. Like red-hot irons, Meng Zhi's eight thousand black-armored cavalry charged and crushed the Qiang army's chaotic "waist." Their tactics were simple yet effective: cut through, turn, and cut through again! Each charge, like a hot knife through butter, completely shattered the Qiang army's organization.

Meng Zhi himself was reduced to a bloody mess, the edge of his massive blade already swirling, yet he continued to wield it tirelessly. Each blow carried the force of thunder, cleaving the enemy before him, horse and foot alike! The black-armored cavalry behind him formed small cones, like a black vortex of death, charging through the Qiang army, leaving a trail of broken limbs in their wake.

The Qiang army's resistance was rapidly crumbling. Many soldiers, without command, fled in panic like headless flies. Some tried to flee up the hillsides, only to be shot down by the well-prepared archers of the Qian army. Some knelt in surrender, only to be mercilessly trampled over by the bloodthirsty black-armored cavalry. Many more, in despair, crushed and trampled upon one another, more often dying under the hooves of their own men than at the hands of the Qian army's swords!

The main force of the central army led by Qin Ming himself was like the last irresistible wave of death, completely overwhelming the remaining resistance of the Qiang army from the front.

His Majesty charged forward, his massive black iron sword like the Grim Reaper's scythe, each swing unleashing a bloody hail. No Qiang soldier could withstand a single blow from him. Whether attempting to block with a scimitar or thrusting with a hastily thrust spear, they shattered like rotten wood under the terrifying might of his great sword! He even cleaved a Qiang cavalryman attempting a sneak attack in two, horse and man, with one blow, sending viscera and blood splattering all over the ground!

"Your Majesty, may you win forever!" Seeing the emperor so brave, the morale of the Qian army soldiers soared to the peak, and they pounced on the frightened enemy like mad tigers.

The battle completely turned into a one-sided massacre.

The rain intensified, washing away the blood on the battlefield but making the ground even more muddy and slippery, further limiting the Qiang cavalry's already limited mobility. The blood formed a stream, gurgling into the low-lying areas and staining the entire Falling Eagle Gorge a shocking dark red.

Under the desperate protection of his personal guards, Wu Dun charged left and right, trying to fight his way out. He watched helplessly as his bravest warriors were slaughtered like grass, and as the 50,000-strong army collapsed, his heart was filled with endless anger, despair, and unbelievable fear.

"Qin Ming——!!!" He let out a heart-wrenching roar, his eyes fixed on the devil-like figure in the chaotic army. He wished he could rush up and die with him, but the guards around him held his horse's reins tightly and forced a breakout towards the scattered rear army.

The defeat was crushing. When fear completely crushed courage, the last remaining structures of the Qiang army crumbled. The survivors abandoned their weapons and armor, desperate to escape this hell on earth, only to be mercilessly hunted and cut down by the Qian army, which surrounded them from all sides.

In Falling Eagle Gorge, corpses piled like mountains, blood flowed like rivers. Tattered flags were soaked in blood, and horsemen, bereaved by their masters, wailed and wandered among the corpses. The groans of the wounded and the cries of the dying sounded particularly mournful in the rain.

Qin Ming reined in his horse, standing amidst a sea of ​​corpses and blood. Rainwater trickled down the dragon pattern on his black iron armor, diluting the bloodstains but unable to dispel the thick, bloody, death-filled aura that permeated the world. He surveyed the Shura field he had personally created with a cold gaze. His eyes held no trace of triumphant joy, only an icy calm and... a subtle hint of fatigue.

The black-armored cavalry were still chasing the fleeing soldiers, the archers began to clean up the battlefield and finish off the surviving Qiang soldiers, and the spearmen began to reorganize their formation and gather the wounded.

A decisive battle that would determine the fate of the empire's western frontier was slowly drawing a bloody conclusion with the annihilation of the main Qiang army.

The sounds of fighting within Falling Eagle Stream gradually faded, replaced by the patter of rain washing over pools of blood, the intermittent groans of wounded soldiers, and the occasional whine of warhorses. Qin Ming halted his horse high above the pile of corpses, the dragon pattern on his black armor glinting coldly in the rain. His gaze swept across the land, thoroughly plowed by blood and fire. The Qiang army's defeat was inevitable. Of its fifty thousand cavalry, only one in ten remained. The remnants, like frightened beasts, were being divided, driven, and slaughtered by the Black Armor Army. Meng Zhi had already begun his pursuit westward with his elite cavalry. The clatter of their hooves rolled like thunder across the damp earth, unwilling to spare a single fish.

Rainwater mixed with blood dripped from the edge of Qin Ming's sword, forming a light red stream at his feet.