Chapter Thirty-Four: Is This Really How Battles Can Be Fought?

In the era in which the Yan Dynasty found itself, people’s understanding of warfare was strikingly shallow, as though history had taken a divergent path at some crucial juncture.

On his journey to Yonggu City, Zhao Hengyi had whiled away the hours with Song Ying’an in the cabin, using military exercises as a game. It was during these sessions that Zhao Hengyi discovered that the so-called young prodigy Song Ying’an was in fact woefully inexperienced. Many tactics and implements of war that Zhao Hengyi considered to be common knowledge were entirely foreign to Song Ying’an.

This was not due to Song Ying’an’s lack of learning, but rather a reflection of the era itself: the generals of the time were all of this ilk. Song Ying’an’s sharp mind and quick thinking had earned him renown among the frontier troops and even a noble title won through military merit.

Within Yonggu City, the person the barbarian tribes hated most was surely the veteran Zhang Chaoyang, with Song Ying’an a close second. Normally, battles in this world were fought in the most direct way: both sides arrayed their troops and clashed head-on.

It was precisely because of this that, before slipping into a coma from his wounds, Song Ying’an appointed Zhao Hengyi—the one who had brought him so many surprises—as the acting commander of the Xuan Battalion.

There was precedent for such things in the Yan Dynasty, and the rules allowed for it. Otherwise, a mere commoner like Zhao Hengyi would never have been able to take command of the Xuan Battalion.

Through Song Ying’an, Zhao Hengyi had gained a direct and practical understanding of the period’s methods of warfare, which gave him confidence when facing the barbarian horde.

Yet Zhao Hengyi never underestimated anyone. Clear-headed, he knew that any new tactic or weapon, once used on the battlefield, would inevitably be studied and countered by someone. The reason his caltrops and horse traps had achieved such dazzling results previously was simply that the barbarians were unfamiliar with these new weapons.

In the battle where Song Ying’an was wounded, it was in fact the devastating barbed wire that left a lasting impression on the enemy, causing them to suffer heavy losses in their first encounter with Zhao Hengyi.

But now, as the barbarians grew wary of these new weapons, even though Zhao Hengyi had ordered a great number of chevaux-de-frise to be made, it was unlikely that he would secure such an easy victory again.

The Yan commoners being driven before the barbarian soldiers were the enemy’s answer to his new weapons!

As they watched the helpless civilians being herded through the valley, forced in terror ever closer to the Xuan Battalion’s defensive line, everyone fell silent.

How was the battle to be fought now?

These vicious and ruthless barbarians were using ordinary people as their shields. The moment the Xuan Battalion opened fire, the first to die would be those poor wretches!

“Don’t shoot! We are people of Yan!”
“Officers, save us!”

Cries and wails filled the air. Herded ahead by the barbarians were the old and the young, men and women alike. It appeared these heartless beasts had sacked an entire village.

“Commander, those people driven by the barbarians are not our Yan subjects,” whispered a deputy general assigned by the veteran Zhang Chaoyang to serve as adviser to the Xuan Battalion. He leaned close to Zhao Hengyi and lowered his voice. “They are all fugitives who fled to avoid taxes and corvée. From the moment they left our territory, they ceased to be our people.”

Only yesterday had Zhang Chaoyang arranged a formal position for Zhao Hengyi, making him a recording officer—an appointment that could be granted or rescinded at any time—thus alleviating the awkwardness of commanding the Xuan Battalion without proper title.

Zhao Hengyi was well aware of the situation the deputy described, but he did not accept the notion of “abandoned people.” For a nation to force its own people into fleeing, seeking refuge under the rule of ruthless enemies, living every moment at the mercy of slaughter and pillage—should it be those desperate folk who are blamed?

But now was not the time to argue. Ignoring the deputy’s words, Zhao Hengyi turned to Zhang Can and ordered, “Pass the word to every unit: no one is to attack the innocent civilians being driven by the barbarians.”

“Yes, sir!” Zhang Can, already torn with compassion, quickly relayed the command. Yet as a seasoned captain who had followed Song Ying’an through countless campaigns, he was filled with anxiety.

If the barbarians were allowed to use the people as shields to cross the defensive lines unscathed, the fighting would soon devolve into brutal hand-to-hand combat. Zhang Can took pride in being a member of the Xuan Battalion, but he knew all too well that, faced with the savage barbarian horde, they stood little chance of victory.

“Commander, you must not let pity cloud your judgment!” the deputy urged anxiously. “Once the barbarians drive those people to our lines, and the armies clash, those civilians will be doomed anyway! I know you do not wish to bear the infamy of slaughtering your own, so let me give the order—let the blame fall on me!”

“There is no need for concern, General. I, Zhao Hengyi, am but a humble commoner, untroubled by reputation.” Zhao Hengyi understood that the deputy was not a wicked man—his concern was only to save as many soldiers and civilians behind the lines as possible. “The barbarians’ vile tactic—I have my own countermeasure.”

Seeing Zhao Hengyi’s resolve, the deputy let out a long, dejected sigh. This youth is not to be reasoned with!

The barbarian soldiers cowered behind the civilians, making it nearly impossible for the archers to harm them even with indirect fire. Moreover, the barbarians each carried small round shields of cowhide. Their bows had greater range and power; nearly every one of them was a skilled archer. If they were allowed to advance any further, the rain of barbarian arrows would fall upon the defenders before the Yan archers could even draw blood.

Such a desperate situation—if one set aside all ethics or mercy and simply killed everyone before the lines, friend and foe alike, that would be the only way out. The deputy’s hand slid to his saber. In his heart, he had already prepared for the worst.

If Zhao Hengyi’s hesitance doomed the Xuan Battalion and the entire line of defense, then, after thirty years serving under Zhang Chaoyang, this deputy would have no choice but to cut off Zhao Hengyi’s head himself.

Better to execute a commander on the eve of battle than allow the barbarians to break through the lines.

And his own life could atone for that of the recording officer.

Sensing the deputy’s intent, the one-armed Wang Dahu stepped forward, disregarding rank to place himself between Zhao Hengyi and the deputy, while Wang Erhu’s eyes gleamed coldly as he tightened his grip on the loaded crossbow.

Zhao Hengyi remained calm, offering the deputy a faint smile and issuing a series of unhurried commands to his bodyguards.

The deputy listened, his expression shifting from grim determination to confusion, then to astonishment, and finally to utter disbelief.

Could war truly be fought this way?