The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

"Captain Wang!" Zhao Xuan's roar pierced the chaos. He grabbed the reins of a personal guard beside him. "Take three hundred men and defend the camp gate to the death! Under no circumstances can you let the men in black break into the central camp! Remember, leave them alive!"

"Your subordinate obeys!" A hint of fear flashed in the soldier's eyes, but he still gritted his teeth, drew his long sword, and roared as he charged toward the firelight. Three hundred guards followed closely behind, the clashing of armor creating a torrent that crashed into the black-clad figures beneath the stockade walls, leaving a trail of blood.

Zhao Xuanle turned his horse around, his sword drawing a cold arc in the morning mist: "The rest of you, follow me! Northwest, pursue!"

"Treading Snow" darted off like an arrow, its hooves clattering loudly on the frosty ground. Zhao Xuan lay prone on the horse, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead, but a heavy weight pressed on his heart—something was wrong, something very wrong. The Northern Di people were known for their ferocity; they would never use such a feint to launch a sneak attack, especially not with the men in black in the camp… They were clearly trying to tie down his main force, leaving the "bait" in the northwest completely unguarded.

As they galloped, the morning mist was parted by the horses' hooves, revealing the crushed withered grass on the wasteland. Zhao Xuan's gaze swept across the ground, and his pupils suddenly contracted—the hoofprints left by the Northern Di cavalry were chaotic and disorderly, as if they had fled in panic, but the tips of the hooves always pointed towards the canyon in the northwest. Even more strangely, there were some dark red powder mixed in with the ink, which gleamed with a metallic luster in the morning light.

"Stop!" Zhao Xuan suddenly raised his hand, and "Treading Snow" came to an abrupt halt. The personal guards behind him reined in their horses, and more than thirty warhorses reared up at the same time, creating a chaotic neighing sound on the wasteland.

"General?" Zhang Meng looked at him in confusion, following his gaze to the hoof prints.

“This is cinnabar mixed with horse blood.” Zhao Xuan dismounted, squatted down, picked up a bit of powder, and felt a cool, sticky sensation on his fingertips. “The Northern Di people never believe in these unorthodox methods. This is… a mark that only the sorcerers in the capital would use.” He suddenly looked up at the deep canyon, where the wind howled from the valley entrance, as if countless eyes were spying in the darkness.

Just then, a thunderous sound of hooves suddenly came from behind, not from the direction of the military camp, but from the depths of the wasteland on the flank! Zhao Xuan turned around sharply and saw a gray-yellow cloud of dust rising on the horizon. Within the dust, he could vaguely see dense black shadows, each holding a curved sword that reflected a chilling light in the morning sun—it was the cavalry of the Northern Barbarians! At least five hundred of them!

"General! They've flanked us from the flank!" Zhang Meng's voice trembled, and his knuckles turned white from the force of drawing his sword.

Before Zhao Xuan could give the order, a deafening horn sound suddenly came from the direction of Wolf Mountain in the distance. The sound was powerful and desolate, a signal that the Northern Di were gathering their main force! Immediately afterwards, a large cloud of dust rose from the wasteland at the foot of Wolf Mountain, connecting with the sky, as if a giant yellow dragon was awakening—it was definitely not a small force, but at least five thousand people!

"So that's how it is..." Zhao Xuan gripped the hilt of his sword, his fingertips touching the two characters "Zhenbei" carved on the scabbard. A chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He finally understood the enemy's plan: use the men in black in the camp to entangle the reinforcements, use fifty cavalrymen as bait to lure him into a trap, then use five hundred cavalrymen on the flank to cut off the retreat, and finally let the main force of Wolf Mountain catch him like a turtle in a jar.

But that's not the worst part.

Zhao Xuan's gaze swept over the Northern Di cavalry flanking him and he suddenly noticed that their formation was somewhat strange. The Northern Di people were known for their reckless and impulsive fighting style, but this cavalry maintained a neat echelon formation and even knew how to use the terrain to cover their flanks. This was clearly a tactic of the Central Plains army!

“Those aren’t ordinary Northern Di cavalry…” Zhang Meng also noticed something amiss, his voice filled with disbelief, “Their helmets… are made of black iron, something the Northern Di people could never forge!”

Zhao Xuan remained silent, only gazing towards the capital. The morning mist had dissipated, and the rising sun illuminated his sharply defined profile with golden rays, but none penetrated the chilling glint in his eyes. He knew these black iron helmets were not something the Northern Barbarians could possess; they were standard issue for the Capital Garrison—and the one in the court who could deliver the Capital Garrison's equipment to the Northern Barbarians, and who could mobilize the former subordinates of the Prince of Chang to disguise themselves as men in black… was far more ruthless than he had imagined.

"General, what should we do?" The guards all looked at Zhao Xuan, their faces filled with solemnity. They were trapped in this wasteland, with a feint attack from the canyon in front, the camp gates engulfed in battle behind, five hundred elite cavalry on their flanks, and five thousand main force menacingly watching from afar. It was clearly a dead end.

Zhao Xuan took a deep breath and slowly drew his longsword from its sheath. With a soft "whoosh," the blade reflected the morning sun, gleaming brightly before his eyes. He recalled His Majesty patting his shoulder in the Golden Palace before his departure, saying, "The Zhenbei Army is the nation's sharpest weapon," and he also remembered Li Su's aged voice last night, "General, be careful in everything."

"Form ranks!" Zhao Xuan's voice suddenly rose, carrying an unquestionable authority. "Zhang Meng, you take ten men to guard the left flank and suppress them with crossbows! The rest of you, come with me. We'll charge out and return to camp!"

"Back to camp?" Someone was stunned. "But the camp gate..."

"The men in black at the camp gate are feinting!" Zhao Xuan's gaze swept over everyone, his eyes as firm as iron. "Their target is me, not the camp! As long as we get back alive, we can break through this trap!" He turned his horse around, and "Ta Xue" seemed to sense its master's determination, pawing the ground restlessly, its nostrils emitting heavy white breaths.

The Northern Di cavalry on the flanks were closing in, their scimitars gleaming bloodthirstyly in the sunlight. The dust rising from the direction of Wolf Mountain grew ever closer, and their shouts could be faintly heard. Flames still shot into the sky at the camp gate, and the sounds of battle carried on the wind, as if urging something on.

Zhao Xuan gripped his longsword tightly, his fingertips turning white from the force. He knew that this fierce battle was only the beginning; the real conspiracy lay hidden in the shadows of the court, in the camps of the Northern Barbarians, and perhaps even... right beside him.

As the sun fully rose, its golden rays bathed the wasteland, casting long shadows of Zhao Xuan and his thirty-odd guards. Ahead of them lay enemy troops several times their number; behind them lay the crumbling camp gate; and above them stretched a seemingly clear sky, yet one fraught with turbulent undercurrents.

"Kill!" Zhao Xuan gave the order, and "Treading Snow" rushed out like an arrow, his long sword cutting through the air and leaving a dazzling arc of light.

A fierce battle destined to be recorded in history erupted on this wasteland, along with the rising sun.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed the wasteland a deep ochre. Zhao Xuan tightened the reins, and his warhorse, "Ta Xue," pawed restlessly, its nostrils emitting heavy white breaths. He gripped the "Qing Feng" sword at his waist, the seven pearls inlaid on its scabbard gleaming coldly in the twilight. "There's an opening on the left flank! Charge with me!" A roar shattered the silence. Zhao Xuan's toes struck the stirrups sharply, and Ta Xue shot forward like an arrow, its black cloak fluttering in the wind, charging first into the Northern Di cavalry on the flank.

The shrieks of the Northern Di cavalry rose and fell, their scimitars reflecting the setting sun like a pack of hungry wolves pouncing. Zhao Xuan's Qingfeng sword flashed from its sheath, a cold light streaking across the sky like a bolt of lightning, leaving a trail of fine beads of blood. His swordsmanship was incredibly fast, so fast that his moves were impossible to discern—sometimes like a serpent's tongue, the tip of his sword precisely deflecting the enemy's scimitar; sometimes like a tiger's tail, the blade arcing through the air, forcing back the cavalry attacking from both sides; occasionally, a scimitar slipped through the net and came close, he flicked his wrist, the spine of the sword slamming heavily against the opponent's wrist, a clang rang out, and as the scimitar fell to the ground, the Qingfeng sword had already pierced the enemy's throat.

Blood splattered on Zhao Xuan's face, warm and sticky. He licked the blood from the corner of his lips, his eyes burning with rage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zhang Meng on the left flank, leading ten guards in an arrow formation. Zhang Meng was a renowned archer in the army. At this moment, he was kneeling on the ground, his left hand steadily holding the repeating crossbow, his right hand pulling the trigger with lightning speed. "Fire!" With a low shout, ten crossbow bolts were fired simultaneously with a sharp whistling sound. The arrowheads formed a line in the twilight, raining down on the Northern Di cavalry like a sudden storm.

A chorus of screams erupted from the Northern Di cavalry. The three leading riders fell from their horses, crossbow bolts piercing their leather armor and embedding themselves deep in their chests, the fletching still trembling slightly. The riders behind them hastily reined in their horses, their formation instantly crumbling. A Northern Di centurion, brandishing a spiked club, roared as he tried to regroup. Zhang Meng's eyes flashed with a sharp light; he switched to a crossbow bolt coated with poison and fired. The bolt accurately pierced the centurion's left eye. He groaned and fell from his horse, his body trampled into a bloody pulp by the horses behind him.

"That was exhilarating!" Zhang Meng wiped the sweat from his face and was about to call his guards to change the quiver when a mournful horn suddenly sounded from the Northern Di cavalry formation. The scattered cavalrymen seemed to be pulled by invisible threads, quickly regrouping—the front-line cavalrymen dismounted, raised their heavy yak-hide shields to form a shield wall, and the archers in the rear nocked barbed wolf-tooth arrows, the arrowheads pointing directly at Zhao Xuan and the others.

Zhao Xuan's heart sank. He held his Qingfeng sword horizontally in front of his chest, deflecting a flying wolf-tooth arrow. He noticed that the Northern Di cavalry's formation was much more disciplined than that of ordinary barbarian armies. The gaps between the shield walls allowed archers to fire with ease, clearly indicating that they were highly trained elites. "Not good, it's the Northern Di's 'Black Wind Cavalry'!" He recognized their standard equipment. This unit was the personal guard of the Northern Di royal court, usually only used in siege battles. Their appearance on the flank of the wasteland today was clearly premeditated.

The Black Wind Cavalry's shield wall slowly advanced, while the archers' rain of arrows grew increasingly dense. The guards raised their round shields to parry, the clanging of the arrows echoing incessantly. Occasionally, an arrow would pierce a gap in the shield, accompanied by a muffled groan. Zhao Xuan spurred his horse through the ranks, his Qingfeng sword dancing like a ball of light, protecting his guards. But the enemies were simply too numerous; they surged in from all directions like a tide, quickly surrounding Zhao Xuan and his men.

Swords clashed and flashed within the encirclement, the shouts of the guards gradually subsiding. A young guard named Afu was pinned to the ground by three wolf-tooth arrows; he struggled to his feet, but the hooves of the Northern Di cavalry had already crushed his chest. Veteran Li Zhong, to cover Zhao Xuan, shielded him with his body from a scimitar, the wound on his back so deep that bone was visible. As he fell to the ground, he still tightly clutched half of a broken spear shaft. Blood flowed through the gaps in the shield wall, forming small streams on the wasteland. A heavy stench of blood filled the air, even the wind seemed thick and sticky.

Just as Zhao Xuan felt his arm growing heavier and the speed of his Qingfeng sword slowing down slightly, a deafening battle cry suddenly erupted from the direction of the camp gate. He forcefully cleaved aside the curved blade in front of him and looked up to see a familiar group of figures appearing in the twilight—the leading captain, Wang Yong, was wielding a long-handled broadsword, and wherever the blade flashed, Northern Di cavalrymen fell from their horses. Wang Yong's armor was stained with blood, and his left arm was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, clearly indicating that he had just been through a fierce battle. His personal guards behind him were also all wounded, but they gritted their teeth and charged fiercely towards the encirclement.

"It's Captain Wang!" a guard exclaimed in surprise. Zhao Xuan felt a surge of warmth in his heart, recalling the battle at the camp gate—those men in black wore ordinary civilian clothes, yet possessed the skills of soldiers. Their goal wasn't to kill, but to buy time. If it weren't for Wang Yong leading his guards in a desperate fight, managing to cut down more than thirty men in black, he would probably already be a victim of the Northern Di's blade.

"Brothers, reinforcements have arrived! Charge out!" Zhao Xuan shouted, his voice hoarse from days of fighting, yet carrying a power that pierced the heart. His Qingfeng sword flashed coldly once more as he turned his horse and charged towards Wang Yong's direction. The guards inside the encirclement roared in unison, as if instantly empowered, their weapons wielding with even greater force; Wang Yong and his men on the outer edge also quickened their pace, broadswords, spears, and short swords weaving a dense web of killing intent in the twilight.

The combined impact from both inside and outside caused the Black Wind Cavalry's encirclement to teeter on the brink of collapse. Zhao Xuan and Wang Yong met at the center of the encirclement, their weapons simultaneously striking the same shield bearer. With a crack, the yak-hide shield was cleaved open, and the Northern Di soldier behind it, about to cry out in alarm, was pierced through the body by the two weapons thrusting at him at the same time. The guards surged out through this gap, tearing a hole in the Black Wind Cavalry's formation.

"Retreat! Back to camp!" Zhao Xuan grabbed Wang Yong's arm, and the two rode side by side, leading the remaining guards in a fighting retreat. Behind them, the roars of the Black Wind Riders were deafening, but they were temporarily forced back by the guards' volley of arrows covering their retreat. On the wasteland, the footprints of the group were deeply embedded in the bloody mud, stretching towards the camp gate.

Just as they were an arrow's throw from the camp gate, a muffled thud of hooves suddenly came from the direction of Wolf Mountain, causing the ground to tremble slightly. Zhao Xuan looked back and saw a dark mass appearing on the horizon—the main force of the Northern Di—at least five thousand cavalrymen, raising their black wolf-head banners high, pressing down like a dark cloud. "Quick! Speed ​​up!" Zhao Xuan urged, his Qingfeng sword flashing backhand, piercing the heart of the pursuing Black Wind Cavalry centurion.

Suddenly, the sound of a clapper rang out from the gate tower, followed by a dense vibration of bowstrings.