Madam, don't do this!

Chapter 290 Extermination of the Clan (6,000 words)

The bright moon hangs in the sky.

Moonlight bathed the earth, enveloping one tent after another.

The cell block was quiet on a winter night. There were no birdsong, no insect chirps, no wild animal growls, and not even the sound of people talking.

it's too cold.

Living in such an environment, you can feel your body temperature dropping even when you open your mouth to speak. For the Jurchens living here, gathering in groups of three or five to chat and boast is far less appealing than lying in bed to sleep.

Once I fell asleep, I wasn't so cold or hungry anymore.

They previously plundered Ningguo Pingyang Prefecture, seizing a considerable amount of grain and other supplies. Coupled with that spineless good-for-nothing Qian Yaozu's constant tributes, life at the royal court must be incredibly luxurious; at least they don't have to worry about food. Even in the freezing cold, they can warm themselves with a sip of strong liquor.

Inside the largest tent in the tribe, an oil lamp burned, its tiny flame, no bigger than a soybean, casting a dim, yellowish light over the tent. Wisps of black ash rose from the flame, eventually settling on the tent's roof, plunging the area into darkness. Ulun held a wine jug in his hand, sipping it slowly. This strong liquor from the Central Plains was an extremely precious commodity in the tribe, and only he, the fiercest warrior, was entitled to enjoy it.

Looking across the entire Jurchen territory, the Haoshi tribe was the most peripheral and poorest.

This was largely because when the Ning Kingdom was first established, its founding emperor was a man of great martial prowess, and ruthless conquest was commonplace. The Jurchens at that time almost always lived in Ning Kingdom's shadow, afraid to even close their eyes at night, lest they wake up to the arrival of heavenly troops. So what if they took advantage of the chaos in the Central Plains to plunder a few times and kill tens of thousands? Was it really necessary to hold such a grudge? They didn't know how to farm; if they wanted food, if they wanted to fill their stomachs, how could they do it without robbing?
It is said that the Central Plains countries are a land of etiquette, but such a small matter made Emperor Ningguo hold a grudge for decades. During the reigns of Emperor Taizu and Emperor Taizong, the entire Jurchen territory was almost never peaceful. If it weren't for the fact that the Jurchens were familiar with the terrain and would immediately hide in the deep mountains and forests when they saw something was wrong, they might have been wiped out.

That's really stingy.

He took another sip of wine, and in the lamplight, an unnatural flush rose on Ulun's face. Even his cloudy eyes became somewhat unfocused, perhaps from drunkenness. He didn't know what was wrong with him today, why he was thinking about things from a hundred years ago, and even felt a strange, ominous premonition... He hadn't experienced those things himself, but he had heard about them from his grandfather. Back then, the Jurchens were like lambs being watched by wild beasts, living in constant fear.

This is why, in the vast Haixi Grassland, the closer one gets to Ningguo, the more dangerous the area becomes. Powerful tribes occupy the northern grasslands, and compared to the heavy snowfall, they feel the Ningguo army is far more deadly. Small tribes like the Haoshi tribe, however, can only remain in the southern part of the Haixi Grassland, near Ningguo…

In Ulun's opinion, this is actually a good choice.

Ningguo's siege of the Jurchens stopped after Emperor Taizong. Even near the border of Ningguo, there was not much danger. Moreover, the temperature was higher there, and fewer people froze or starved to death each year. Occasionally, they could even do some small business with Ningguo merchants outside the border and exchange some extremely valuable resources.

However, robbery is an instinct ingrained in one's very being...

When Ningguo was powerful, they suppressed their anger; when Ningguo was weak, they erupted.

Even after a century of suppression, when this nature erupts, it is more fiery and frenzied than ever before.

This year, they launched a war against Ningguo. Although he was over fifty years old, Ulun still mounted his warhorse, wielding the sharpest scimitar from the No. 1 detachment, and personally beheaded dozens of Han people. In his drunken stupor, Ulun looked up and saw dozens of exquisitely polished skulls hanging in mid-air in the tent—all his spoils of war.

The sound of the scimitar slowly slicing through my neck still seemed to echo in my mind.

He even personally bound three Han Chinese women. The soft, delicate bodies of the Central Plains women captivated Ulun, far surpassing the hairy bodies of the Jurchen women. Unfortunately, his sword had grown old, and the constant dull pain in his waist reminded Ulun not to indulge too much. Since his eldest son was also interested in the three Han women, he gave them to him. However, within three days, all three women were boiled alive.

Ask him.

The answer was: I want to experience the differences between Han Chinese women and Jurchen women.

Although Ulun himself wasn't a good person, he still felt that his eldest son was really too abnormal.

The No. 100th Division could not be handed over to the eldest son, otherwise the entire tribe might be wiped out, a thought that terrified me.

Although they lost three spoils of war, they did receive some other food and cloth. In addition, they had gone to the royal court to plead with the Great Khan Wanyan Guangzhi and even brought back two cartloads of millet. At least six or seven out of ten of their people would survive this winter. Ulun was already very satisfied with this. After all, if they had suddenly encountered such severe weather in previous years, it would have been a miracle if half of them had survived.

The only thing that saddened Ulun was that while the Great Khan had generously given him two cartloads of millet, rumors had somehow spread that Wanyan Guangzhi had whipped him, even nearly killing him. Worse still… his foolish youngest son, Ugucha, actually believed it and led over a hundred cavalrymen to Ningguo to plunder another batch of grain for the winter. However, they disappeared for over two months; they were probably dead.

It's a bit sad, but it's not a big deal. After all, he has eighteen sons, so even if one dies, he still has seventeen.

Thinking this, Ulun felt a little smug. He poured himself another glass of wine and was about to drink it all when suddenly his brows furrowed and his eyes stared intently at the glass, where ripples were spreading across the surface of the wine.

His previously cloudy eyes cleared almost instantly. Ulun stood up abruptly and walked straight outside. As soon as he lifted the curtain, he felt a gust of cold wind hit his face, and his body shivered involuntarily.

Nearly a hundred tents stood there, without the slightest movement.

Dozens of tall, strong warriors were keeping watch around the tribe.

Bonfires burned in front of them, thick smoke billowing into the sky, and occasionally the crackling sound of firewood soaked in snow water could be heard.

Looking further into the distance, everything appeared pure white under the moonlight, with nothing unusual about it.

Perhaps I just misread it?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Ulun's eyelids suddenly twitched. Under the silvery moonlight, a black line appeared out of nowhere on a snow-white hillside in the distance.

The black line turned into dark clouds.

The sudden sound of horses' hooves was like thunder rolling in the sky.

In an instant, Ulun felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn't some dark cloud; it was cavalrymen clad in black armor. With the naked eye, a torrent of armor swept down the distant hillside, at least several thousand iron cavalrymen launching a fierce charge, like an overwhelming cloud, swooping down on the camp at the foot of the mountain.

The unstoppable momentum made Ulun's mouth dry, and his heart pounded faster and faster with the dull sound of the horses' hooves, as if it were about to break free from the restraints in his chest at any moment.

The next instant, a piercing scream rang out throughout the tribe.

"Enemy attack!"

Although he was already over fifty years old, his scream sounded like a woman's, as if his throat had been torn apart.

Inside the tent, the sleeping Jurchen people were startled awake from their sweet dreams. At this time, the Jurchen people lacked warm clothing, so they would not take off their clothes when they slept and would mostly sleep fully clothed. As soon as they got out of bed, they quickly pushed open the door curtain. Under the hazy moonlight, the clattering hooves of horses kicked up swirling snow.

The distance is getting closer.

These cavalrymen were not particularly skilled.

However, due to the dive, the speed was incredibly fast.

Especially the black armor he wore; for some reason, just one glance at it sent chills down your spine.

They could even see the design of the armor clearly.

Are they Han Chinese?
How can it be?

When did the Han people have cavalry? When did the Han people have the courage to attack the Jurchen tribe's camp?
Are they out of their minds?
The previous raid and massacre in Ningguo had instilled a deep contempt for the Han people in most of them. Although they witnessed the fierce momentum of the Han cavalry charge, they did not crumble under its weight. On the contrary, their faces showed a humiliated rage. Like maddened beasts, their bloodshot eyes fixed on the approaching enemy, they vowed to teach these Han people a painful lesson, to make these foolish Han people understand that even if they formed a cavalry, they were no match for the Jurchen warriors!

Some tribal warriors had already turned and headed towards the stables.

Some even drew their curved knives from their waists with a whoosh.

Even children and women were no exception; they all displayed an extremely ferocious side at this time, and one could even faintly hear sounds such as "kill them" and "cook them for food." When such words came from the mouth of a seven- or eight-year-old child, it was all the more chilling.

Rumble!
The sound of horses' hooves came from behind.

However, they were cavalrymen from the No. 1 unit.

Ultimately, it was just a small tribe, with a total of no more than 1,500 cavalrymen. A portion of them had been conscripted by the royal court, leaving only 800 cavalrymen in the tribe. The leader was none other than Wu Fu, the eldest son of Ulun, who had cooked three Han women alive. In his thirties, he possessed the energy of a man in his twenties. His body was robust, even somewhat bloated, and only such a physique could sustain him through prolonged battles on the battlefield.

Although their numbers were less than half of their opponents', there was not a trace of fear in Wu Fu's eyes, only a deep mockery:

“Father, watch me cut off the heads of those Han slaves.”

With a loud shout, Wufu took the lead, leading the warriors of the Haoshi tribe, charging towards the dark clouds sweeping up the hillside. Compared to the opposing side, the Jurchen cavalry's horsemanship was clearly superior. Their warhorses reached their maximum speed in a very short distance, and the cavalrymen's bodies seemed to be born on the horse's back. Even at high speed, their upper bodies remained as still as mountains.

Their horsemanship was so superb that it was breathtaking.

The cavalrymen were never more than fifty centimeters apart. Even when charging through the snow, they maintained a tight formation. Their excellent horsemanship easily negated the advantage of the Pingyang Prefecture cavalry's dive charge.

With each exchange, the distance between the two sides quickly narrowed.

Gradually, Wu Fu could even see clearly that the person charging at the very front was a burly man, his body like an iron tower. Even though Wu Fu was already quite strong, he seemed a size smaller next to that man. And that wasn't all; the burly man had his weapon on his back and was carrying a huge wheel in his hand.

You have to understand that in those days, carriage wheels were made of solid wood, extremely thick and heavy, each wheel weighing at least several dozen kilograms, but in this strong man's hands, they seemed to be non-existent.

This posture even made Wu Fu feel a sense of absurdity and strangeness, and a thought involuntarily came to mind... What is this guy doing with that wheel?
Could wheels possibly be used as weapons?
At that moment, the distance between the two sides had narrowed to within a hundred paces.

Instinctively, the Jurchen cavalrymen bent down, pressing themselves against their horses' backs to avoid the arrows from the opposite side... This was the most common way for the Han Chinese in the Central Plains to fight against the Jurchen cavalry. Once the Jurchen cavalrymen entered the firing range of the crossbows, they would unleash a volley of arrows, using the dense rain of arrows to reap the lives of the Jurchen warriors.

If the formation is too dense, the opponent can easily rack up a lot of kills.

The solution was to lower one's body, or even hang from the side of the warhorse, using the horse's body to block the arrows.

Moreover, thanks to the speed of the warhorses, they could reach the enemy in a maximum of three volleys of arrows.

Once they lost their advantage in distance, those archers were lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

Their experience from long battles made them act instinctively, but no arrow rain appeared; only the cavalry continued to approach.

These idiots, do they actually want to engage in a cavalry duel?
Straightening up, the Jurchen cavalrymen had strange expressions on their faces. Where did these Han Chinese, who couldn't even ride warhorses properly, get their confidence? Had they really gone mad?

In a short time, the distance between the two sides had closed to fifty paces.

One after another, curved swords were drawn, their gleaming blades flashing with a chilling light under the moonlight.

Just then, a loud shout came from the burly man at the forefront of the Han Chinese on the other side. With a sudden, powerful swing of his thick arm, the wheel flew out of his hand. With a whoosh, the huge wheel spun rapidly in mid-air, heading straight for Wufu's face.

Wu Fu's expression changed drastically. Damn it, where did this brute get his strength? The thrown wheel was almost as fast as an arrow. There was no way to dodge it at this distance. He gritted his teeth and slashed at the wheel with his curved blade.

boom!
Click.

The moment they made contact, the scimitar was no match for the violent impact and snapped in two.

That wasn't all. The wheel continued forward, slamming heavily into Wu Fu's chest. Wu Fu felt a tremendous force surge through him, his body detached from his warhorse, and he was sent flying uncontrollably backward.

Faintly, one could even hear cracking sounds; several ribs in the chest had been broken.

A surge of stagnant blood rushed to his throat.

With a whoosh, it sprayed out.

Blood stained the sky.

His massive body slammed heavily into the cavalryman behind him. Even the warhorse beneath him couldn't withstand the impact, its four hooves snapping instantly with a crack. He fell to the ground, the wheel even running over his face before he lay flat on the earth.

At the same time, a loud shout exploded from Luo Tianyang's mouth:

"Everyone... listen to my command!"

Anyone taller than a car wheel... kill.

In excruciating pain, Ulun's pupils constricted as he stared at the wheel lying flat on the ground... Anyone taller than the wheel should be killed?

That would be genocide, wouldn't it?
When did Han Chinese become so brutal?
Aren't they supposed to be the most righteous and moral? How come they don't even spare children?
The sound had barely faded when the words were spoken.

The cavalry on both sides had already clashed violently.

boom!
It was like a raging tsunami crashing against the rocks on the shore.

In an instant, people and horses were thrown about, bones were broken and tendons were snapped!
Even though these Jurchen cavalrymen had an absolute advantage in horsemanship, they were no match for heavy armor and would crumble at the slightest touch.

The rusty scimitars in the hands of the Jurchen barbarians could only make sizzling and clanging sounds when they slashed at the infantry armor. They were completely unable to cut through the armor of the hundred-times-forged steel. On the contrary, the steel blades in the hands of the black-armored warriors could easily tear open the necks of their opponents, split open their shoulders, and pierce their hearts.

Some Han Chinese cavalrymen even stood frozen in place, staring blankly at their blood-stained weapons, their wide eyes filled with disbelief.

It seems unbelievable that I have become so powerful?

The Jurchen cavalry didn't seem so terrifying after all.

Thinking of the fear they had felt before, their faces turned bright red with embarrassment beneath the black visors.

Seemingly to cover up their inner shame, they pounced like wild beasts, howling, and with a thud, another life was lost.

And this is exactly what Song Yan wanted to see.

Only by personally slaughtering the Jurchen cavalry under steel blades can their fear of the barbarians be dispelled, allowing them to fight with unrestrained ferocity. Throughout history, there has been a saying about foreign tribes—whether the Xiongnu, Turks, or Jurchens—that a barbarian tribe is invincible if it numbers less than ten thousand.

However, Song Yan also knew of another saying... The Han people do not know shame, but if they know shame, they are invincible!

The power that shame can generate is even greater than that of fear.

Just like the Jingkang Incident of the Song Dynasty... what a humiliation! But after the humiliation, famous generals like Yue Fei and Han Shizhong emerged.

Seeing that the black-armored warriors had been thoroughly aroused and their inherent ferocity was fully unleashed, Song Yan finally broke into an excited smile under his mask. His gaze swept over Luo Tianyang, whose tall figure was exceptionally prominent, and whose weapon had been changed from an axe to a long-handled broadsword.

In Luo Tianyang's words, the axe looks a bit silly, and the cold and stern Mo Dao suits his cool temperament better.

The three-meter-long weapon felt weightless in Luo Tianyang's hands. He wielded it with great force, and with a single sweep, a Jurchen cavalryman was cut in half at the waist with a hiss. His legs were still gripping the horse's back, and his upper body was already airborne, his internal organs mixed with blood splattering everywhere.

It's a pity that there are too few people who can wield the Mo Dao (陌刀).

If a Mo Dao formation could be assembled, even if it were just infantry, it would still be able to annihilate the cavalry of the foreign tribes.

Thinking this, Song Yan took a deep breath. The heavy smell of blood was stimulating the savageness in Song Yan's mind. The next second, Song Yan roared and charged forward. He swung his spear, the gleaming tip pointing directly at the chest of a Jurchen cavalryman. The Jurchen cavalryman reacted very quickly. With a hiss, his scimitar slashed at the spear from the side, trying to cut the spear in half or at least deflect it.

Ding.

To the Jurchen cavalryman's surprise, the scimitar produced a crisp sound as it slashed.

The spear shaft was actually made of cast iron. With the Jurchen's tattered scimitars, trying to cut the spear shaft in half was pure fantasy.

The next instant, the spear pierced through the chest of the Jurchen cavalryman and through his heart.

His head slumped down, and blood and foam gushed from his open mouth.

This spear was specially forged by Song Yan for use on the battlefield. Although his strength was not as great as Luo Tianyang's, his physical strength far surpassed that of other martial artists of the same level due to the continuous tempering of his body by the Vajra Arhat Technique. Even with this spear weighing nearly a hundred pounds, he still wielded it with great skill.

That wasn't all. With a flick of his arm, Song Yan swung his spear, still bearing the corpse of a Jurchen cavalryman, at another Jurchen barbarian beside him. At full speed, combined with Song Yan's force, the heads of the two Jurchen barbarians, one dead and one alive, collided heavily.

Click.

Like two watermelons that burst open in June.

The black-armored warriors continued their charge, relentlessly destroying everything in their path, their cries of agony echoing through the air, blood spurting everywhere.

Limbs and severed bodies flew up and down, and the Jurchen cavalry's formation collapsed almost instantly.

Until this moment, they finally understood that this group of Han people was different; they were not sheep, but the most ferocious wolves.

Even so, the fierce Jurchen cavalry refused to give up. They were determined to defend the dignity of Jurchen warriors, even at the cost of their lives. Fearless of death, they raised their scimitars high and slashed at the enemy opposite them, but the heavy armor brought them a deep sense of despair.

Damn.

When did Ningguo become so rich that it's willing to equip these peasants with full-body heavy armor?

hateful.

Is it great to be rich?

Faced with armor that was completely impenetrable, these Jurchen warriors even felt a sense of being bullied and humiliated.

They had barely engaged in battle when nearly half of their eight hundred cavalrymen were left dead.

With defeat inevitable, their initial bravery vanished like the tide, and their last shred of fighting spirit quickly disappeared. Someone took the lead, let out a howl, and the remaining hundreds of cavalrymen fled desperately with their tails between their legs, like stray dogs.

One by one, the black-armored soldiers, and the guards further back, all stared at the figure sitting upright on horseback at the very front of the battle formation, his back as immovable as a towering mountain.

This was their general, who instilled in them unparalleled confidence.

Right before the general lay a landscape of corpses, the mournful neighing of warhorses, the groans of Jurchen cavalrymen who were not yet dead, snow stained with blood, and scattered limbs, forming a backdrop that resembled a living hell, making Song Yan's figure appear even taller.

Won.

They won when facing the Jurchen cavalry head-on.

The next second, the soldiers, having regained their senses, let out a deafening roar.

That was the ecstasy that followed the washing away of humiliation.

Cheers resounded throughout the heavens and earth.

For the people of the Haoshi tribe, the cheers here only brought despair.

Ulun's expression changed drastically, and his throat bobbed violently. Only now did he understand where his bad premonition had come from.

"withdraw."

"Everyone abandon everything and leave the tribe, quick, quick, quick..." Uren screamed, no longer caring about his eldest son.

Unfortunately, it's too late.

The force that engaged the Jurchen cavalry was only a thousand-strong unit of the Black Armored Warriors.

The remaining several thousand cavalrymen had already taken this opportunity to quickly disperse and form an impenetrable encirclement centered on the headquarters.

Behind the barrier formed by the cavalry, more than 20,000 archers had already drawn their bows.

The next moment...

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The sharp, piercing sounds mingled together, and looking up, one could see a dense downpour filling the sky!

(End of this chapter)