Chapter Forty-Six: Mere Clay and Straw

The figure that leapt from the stone wall was, shockingly, a naked human—a woman. She was clearly one of the innocent women abducted by the bandits and brought to their lair, now choosing death over dishonor. The group, who had just reached the base of the wall, froze in astonishment; none could have expected to witness such a scene during their covert assault.

A bandit guard on the wall, cursing under his breath, leaned out with a torch to investigate, but the squad leader wasted no time—he raised his bow and let an arrow fly. With a sharp twang, the arrow pierced the bandit's throat. Another heavy thud followed as the stricken man fell, torch and all, from the wall without so much as a scream.

"Du Lao Liu, you coward! I told you to check if that woman was dead, and you end up falling yourself. Looks like you'll be keeping her company in the afterlife!" More heads poked over the parapet, hurling insults, but the ten-man squad waiting below was ready. Their crossbows loosed with a chorus of angry clicks, turning the peering heads into smashed gourds.

The ruse was up. Amid the bandits’ shouts, the warning gong clanged frantically, and lights flared in dozens of rooms throughout the fortress.

"Over the wall!" the squad leader roared. He was the first to fling the grappling hook over the parapet and scramble up the rope. Six men scaled the wall while the other four, paired up, used their crossbows to suppress the two flanking arrow towers.

Ten breaths—that was all they needed. If they could keep the towers’ garrison from loosing a single arrow for ten breaths, their brothers behind would be able to surge in. Their new master had drilled this into them, again and again: hold those ten breaths at all costs.

The remaining seven squads, ten strong each, abandoned stealth and charged the stone wall with a howl.

The bandits in the arrow towers were no strangers to drawing a bow, but they stood no chance under the relentless hail of crossbow bolts. They couldn’t even raise their heads, let alone return fire; any attempt to rise was met with a deadly shaft.

Cries of battle rang atop the wall. The six veterans unleashed another close-range volley, cutting down five more bandits before discarding their crossbows and drawing their long blades. They cut a bloody swath, moving with the cold efficiency of executioners.

More than twenty bandits had been posted on the wall, but after the surprise attack and the ensuing carnage, their ranks were halved. Caught off guard in the dead of night, they had no hope of mounting an effective resistance. The six veterans seemed like harbingers of death, their blades flashing as they slaughtered every foe atop the ramparts.

A heavy gate stood in the center of the wall, but perhaps due to their own guilty consciences, the bandits had made it especially formidable—so massive that it took two or three men to lift the crossbeam. The first soldiers over the wall wisely pressed their backs against the gate, holding it until reinforcements arrived.

Another squad joined them, using crossbows to keep the bandits at bay, and finally the gate was opened from within. But before they could storm the arrow towers, a whistling sound cut through the air above.

With a thunderous crash, both towers erupted in flame. The firebombs, prepared by Zhao Hengyi himself, had been hurled with precision by hastily assembled catapults. After the vanguard had eliminated the hidden sentries, Zhao Hengyi led the hunting and guard parties in assembling two crude catapults. Once the towers were ablaze, the men hoisted the catapults, despite lacking wheels, and rushed up the main road toward the fortress of Broken Cliff Mountain.

With the gate opened, the outcome was no longer in doubt. The crossbows, nearly miraculous in their power, could punch through a man at fifty paces with ease. In the hands of the veterans and household guards, they were as accurate as magic, scarcely inferior to the famed marksman Wang Dahu.

For the bandits, roused from sleep, many barely clothed and clutching rusty blades, the rain of bolts was like the iron chains of a death god come to claim their souls. The seasoned veterans did not let excitement cloud their judgment. Following Zhao Hengyi’s prior instructions, they held the wall and cut down any bandit who dared approach.

Their new master’s words still echoed in their ears: “Brothers, you are all men who have survived the slaughter of battlefields. Now that you follow me, your lives are more precious than any other’s. Do not take needless risks!”

The wooden arrow towers crackled with fire, the dying howls of the trapped bandits rising within, but the attackers remained unmoved, their hearts as hard as iron.

Given the evil deeds these inhuman beasts had committed, burning was a mercy they scarcely deserved.

Yet the rising flames lit up the stone wall, and as the bandits regained their wits, Zhao Hengyi’s men found themselves at a disadvantage. But what did that matter? More whistling sounds followed, then the shattering of clay pots on the ground. Balls of fire erupted among the bandits, sticky oil clinging fiercely to flesh, burning with relentless fury.

Watching their comrades become living torches, writhing and collapsing into blackened husks, the bandits’ resolve broke. As panic spread, Zhao Hengyi led his men through the gate of Broken Cliff Mountain. Each squad replenished their bolts and, following their pre-arranged plan, swept out to secure their assigned positions.

Meanwhile, under the protection of Wang Dahu, Wang Erhu, and the hunting party, Zhao Hengyi craftily ordered the main gate shut once more, the heavy crossbeam slammed into place.

The battle-cries and dying screams faded within half an hour. The notorious chief, the one-eyed Golden Eagle Fang Dayong, might have known how to command bandits, but bandits, no matter how fierce, were no match for the battle-hardened veterans of the Black Battalion—especially now, armed with Zhao Hengyi’s improved crossbows.

There had been over three hundred bandits in the fortress; nearly two hundred lay dead, either fighting or confused in the chaos. The rest surrendered, dropping to their knees in terror.

Within the stronghold were numerous slaves attending to the bandits’ daily needs, and many women and children held captive.

When Zhao Hengyi, surrounded by his men, approached the Hall of Brotherhood, the dawn broke over the mountains, casting its light across the land and illuminating Broken Cliff Mountain.

Bound tightly with rawhide, the one-eyed Golden Eagle Fang Dayong, his hair disheveled and body covered in blood, was dragged before Zhao Hengyi. Before his captors could use force, the infamous bandit leader prostrated himself and begged for mercy: “Master, noble sirs, spare my wretched life! I am willing to trade a monumental secret for my pitiful existence!”