The Revolt of the Three Feudatories: All-in at the start in Beijing

Kuroda Matabei drew his sword and charged into the fleeing soldiers, slashing down two retreating foot soldiers with the back of his blade. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "Don't retreat! Form ranks! Form ranks!"

His voice, amidst the shouts of battle, was like a stone thrown into the ocean waves. The fleeing arquebusiers of the arquebusiers didn't listen to him at all; these arquebusiers were all low-ranking foot soldiers.

They usually practiced standing in three rows taking turns firing their guns, with the front row retreating and the back row advancing after firing. They had never practiced being attacked at close range, and they were not tall enough. Now, with a Jurchen in iron armor right in their face, how could they possibly keep up?

As for Japanese swords?

Not to mention!

A high-ranking warrior, wielding a sword with both hands, slashed at the back of a savage from the North Sea from the side. The blade tore through the cloth and scraped sparks across the iron armor plates, leaving a white dent without even a crack.

The Jurchen warrior staggered forward half a step after being slashed, glanced back at him, and then smashed his hammer into his face. The warrior's nose caved in, and he fell backward, his sword flying out of his hand and sticking into the mud.

In the short time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the fighting at the foot of the mountain was almost over, and the number of Japanese soldiers still standing was decreasing.

The foot soldiers huddled together in small groups, their spears trembling so badly the tips shook wildly. The remnants of the arquebus squad threw down their cannons and squatted on the ground, some clutching their heads, some hugging their legs, and others crawling out of pools of blood.

Kuroda Mitsuyuki, mounted on his horse, watched all this. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. Blood foam from his earlier laughter still clung to the corner of his mouth, and his fingers were trembling.

He brought out more than 5,000 men, including 2,000 high-ranking samurai, 3,000 foot soldiers, 1,000 arquebusiers, and 300 cavalrymen—this was the wealth accumulated by the Kuroda family over three generations.

It was the largest force in northern Kyushu. Now, a thousand arquebusiers had been ambushed and scattered, half of the foot soldiers had been lost, and the high-ranking samurai were still struggling to hold on, but more and more were falling.

The Jurchens opposite him were all tall and strong, clad in cloth-covered iron armor, hacking and slashing through the chaotic army as if they were nothing. He suddenly realized something—from the moment he received the letter from the Akizuki Domain requesting aid, he had already lost.

He didn't lose on the battlefield, but from the moment the Jurchens dispersed and burned the village; he was led by the nose from that moment.

"It's over." He said these two words very softly, as if he were talking to himself. "My Kuroda family is finished."

Just then, the sound of horseshoes came from the northeast. The horseshoes pounded rapidly on the gravel road, indicating that cavalry were rushing towards them.

Kuroda Matabei raised his head from the pile of fleeing soldiers, his face splattered with blood. He glanced in the direction of the sound of hooves, then shouted at the top of his lungs to Kuroda Mitsuyuki, "Lord! It's Inoue! Inoue's cavalry are back!"

Kuroda Mitsuyuki suddenly looked up and gazed northeast. In the firelight, a cavalry troop was galloping along the dirt road outside Kuroda Castle. The figures on horseback were short and stocky, their armor gleaming darkly in the firelight. The lead horse was chestnut-haired, and the rider on it was Inoue Yagoro, with broad shoulders and a short neck.

"Form ranks! Don't panic! The cavalry are back!" Kuroda Matabei shouted as he ran through the fleeing soldiers, brandishing his sword. He used the back of his blade to pull up several foot soldiers who were crouching on the ground with their heads in their hands, and pushed them toward the cavalry.

The high-ranking warriors who were still resisting perked up at the sight of the cavalry, picked up their spears, and lined up again.

Japanese horses are not tall and don't have the earth-shaking momentum of mainland horses when they run, but they are agile and won't slip when sprinting on gravel roads.

The cavalrymen on horseback crouched low, their blades facing outwards, and the cavalry charged towards the left flank of the Jurchens like an iron fence.

Yarha slashed down the last arquebusier in front of him, glanced up at the northeast direction, wiped the blood off his blade on the corpse, and grinned.

"this one?"

The old hunter next to him also looked up, paused for a moment, and then chuckled.

Those cavalrymen's horses, if you can even call them horses, are barely bigger than dogs.

He was only 1.12 meters tall at the shoulders, with a round belly, and short, thick legs that bounced like a rabbit when he ran.

The Japanese on horseback were even shorter, huddled on their horses like a group of monkeys riding large dogs.

"I wonder what trump card these Japanese devils have up their sleeves." Yarha watched the cavalry charge closer, his smile still lingering, but his eyes had turned cold. "Just this bunch of donkey riders?"

The cavalry charged within two hundred paces. Inoue Yagoro was at the forefront, crouching down to draw his sword, and three hundred katanas were simultaneously unsheathed.

The horse team lined up in a row on the dirt road, their hooves making a tight, rhythmic sound, and the ground trembled slightly from their trampling.

From the front, the sight of three hundred horses charging in two rows at the same time was not bad.

But Yarha didn't look at them anymore. He turned back and raised his short axe at the hunters behind him.

"Brothers! There's a bunch of monkeys riding donkeys pointing knives at us ahead. Who are we? We've chased bears in the snow and fought tigers for meat in the forest! And them? The things they ride aren't even as tall as bears!" Yarha pointed his short axe towards the cavalry, his voice as rough as sandpaper scraping stone. "Anyone who dares to charge me, follow me! Charge and chop off their horses' legs! Slice those donkey-riding monkeys down!"

A thousand Jurchen hunters behind them roared in unison. They were not in neat formation, nor did they move in unison. A thousand men surged toward the cavalry from their respective positions on the battlefield.

However, since they were facing cavalry, those who were confident in their physical strength ran to the front, and soon there were more than three hundred men around Yarha. They were all about 1.75 meters tall and had relatively strong builds.

Inoue Yagoro was stunned for a moment when he saw that the Jurchens were not running away but instead charging towards him, then he pointed his sword forward and shouted: "Crush them!"

Upon hearing the military order, the cavalrymen spurred their horses to speed up, their hooves becoming faster and faster. The Jurchens, on the other hand, did not slow down. In fact, Yarha, who was at the forefront, was laughing as he charged forward.

The moment the cavalry rammed into the infantry, Inoue Yagoro heard a muffled thud, after which the whole world became chaotic and blurred.

Yarha sidestepped the first horse's head-on collision, lowered his body, and swung his short axe across the horse's foreleg. The axe blade cut into the flesh and severed the leg bone. The Japanese horse let out a miserable neigh, its front hooves buckled, and it fell forward.

The cavalryman on horseback was thrown off his horse's head and crashed to the ground. Before he could get up, Yarha's axe had already cleaved into the back of his neck.

The other Jurchens didn't have Yarha's skills; they just foolishly charged in headfirst, instantly overturning the Japanese cavalrymen, horse and rider.

However, they themselves were also feeling unwell, as if they had bumped into a tree, and immediately staggered back two or three steps, coughing incessantly.

"That's it! See that? That's it!" Yarha, his face covered in blood, shouted to the hunters behind him.

"Not even as good as a little wild boar?"