The female prisoner was fierce

"What is that?" A Northern Di soldier looked up at the falling pottery jar, his face blank, and instinctively reached out to catch it. The next moment... "Boom! Boom! Boom—!!!"

A series of explosions echoed through the valley, one louder than the next. Flames erupted in quick succession, each burst accompanied by a deluge of nails, shards of porcelain, and grit flying in all directions. Within a five- or six-meter radius, men and horses alike were riddled with holes, their bodies riddled with bloody wounds, collapsing to the ground screaming in agony. Soldiers closer to the blast points fared even worse, torn to shreds by the blast waves, their blood and flesh splattered everywhere with snowflakes.

"Ah! My leg!" "My eyes! Help me!" "Heavenly lightning! It's heavenly lightning!" Screams, cries, and the neighing of warhorses instantly filled the entire valley. The Northern Di soldiers were completely thrown into chaos.

With their paths blocked by bombs and ambushes on both sides, and exploding "heavenly lightning" constantly falling from above, they couldn't hit anything and had nowhere to hide. Everyone was running around like headless flies, pushing and trampling each other, creating a chaotic scene.

"Hold on! Everyone hold on!" Harbala drew his scimitar, slashing down a fleeing soldier with a single blow, roaring with bloodshot eyes.

"What's the panic! It's just some underhanded tricks! Everyone gather together and charge up the slope! Rush up and kill them all!" He was a veteran of many battles after all. Although he was shocked by the power of "Heavenly Punishment," he quickly realized that no matter how powerful this thing was, it could only be thrown from a distance. Once they rushed up the slope and engaged in close combat with the Han people, they would be helpless.

"Baturu! You lead three hundred men to charge the left slope! I'll lead three hundred men to charge the right slope!" Harbala shouted at the top of his lungs, "Charge! Kill them!" "Yes!" Baturu's eyes were also red. He had long wanted to avenge Table Mountain, and although he was horrified by the power of the divine punishment, he knew there was no way to retreat, so he could only grit his teeth and charge forward.

The two quickly mustered their men, divided them into two teams, and charged towards the hillsides on either side, shouting. Seeing their commanders leading the charge, the Northern Di soldiers regained their composure, raised their swords and shields, and trudged up the slope through the snow. "Trying to charge up?" On the left-hand high ground, Zhao Daniu spat out a mouthful of snow, his eyes wide, and roared, "Archers, keep firing! Rolling logs and stones, smash them down!" As soon as he finished speaking, another volley of arrows erupted from the slope. The arrows, fired from above, possessed tremendous penetrating power. Many Northern Di soldiers, raising their shields to charge upwards, were still pierced by the arrows, their leather armor pierced, and they tumbled down the slope screaming. Immediately afterward, the prepared logs and stones rolled down the slope. The round logs and stones, propelled by the incline, rolled faster and faster, crashing into the crowd and instantly felling many.

The Northern Di soldiers couldn't dodge; some had their legs broken, while others had their brains splattered, crying out in agony. "Throw the pottery jars! Throw them where there are lots of people!" From the high ground on the right, Lin Qingxue's voice was cold as she directed the grenadiers to throw them in waves. The first batch of jars had barely finished exploding when the second batch was thrown down.

The Northern Di people were surging up the slope when the pottery jar landed right in the middle of them, exploding with a deafening roar and instantly knocking down a large number of them. Fragments sprayed down the slope, taking down even more people. Blood flowed down the slope, staining the white snow red and making it incredibly slippery. Those behind them trudged up the blood-and-snow mixture, slipping with every step, unable to maintain their footing. They would fall back down after only two steps, and with the added hail of arrows and explosions, the casualties were heavy. In less than fifteen minutes, over two hundred corpses lay at the bottom of the slope, and the survivors were all wounded. They hadn't even reached the middle, let alone the top. "Retreat! Retreat down first!" Harbala, his arm slashed and bleeding, gritted his teeth and ordered a retreat, both in pain and rage.

The soldiers on the right slope, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, scrambled back. The situation wasn't much better for Baturu on the left; nearly half of his men had been killed or wounded, and they retreated, covered in dust and grime, their faces a mixture of shock, anger, and fear.

"How is it?"

Harbala, panting heavily, looked at Baturu. Baturu's face was ashen. He shook his head, his voice heavy: "We can't get up there. The slope is too steep, the snow too slippery, and they have arrows and that 'Heavenly Punishment' item. The brothers can't get close at all. If we charge any further, we'll all be exhausted."

"Damn it!"

Harbala slammed his fist into a nearby tree trunk, sending snow flying. He looked up at the figures looming on the high ground on either side, his eyes practically spitting fire. In twenty years of fighting, he had never fought such a humiliating battle. The enemy was right under his nose, yet he couldn't even touch their faces, forced to passively take the beating. A thousand elite troops trapped in the valley, bombed by a few hundred—it was utterly shameful. "Commander, what do we do now?" His personal guard, a centurion, his face covered in blood, trembled. "The valley entrance and exit have been destroyed, the road is blocked, we can't charge up the slope, nearly half the brothers are dead or wounded, if this continues…"

The words were unfinished, but the meaning was clear. If this dragged on, total annihilation would be the least of their worries. Harbala gritted his teeth, his eyes so sinister they could drip water. He took a deep breath, about to speak, when the whooshing sound of wind overhead returned. Looking up, he saw another cascade of pottery jars raining down. "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!"

The soldiers screamed and scattered, but the valley was only so big, where could they hide? Explosions rang out again, and another group fell. What made the Northern Barbarians even more desperate was that the "heavenly thunder" on the slope seemed endless, exploding wave after wave without stopping. They didn't know that at that moment, behind the high ground on their right, Su Wanru was leading a dozen or so logistics personnel, working tirelessly.

The wooden crates were pried open one by one, and the pottery jars were passed forward neatly. Su Wanru squatted in the snow, her fingers red and stiff with cold, but she quickly checked the fuses of each pottery jar. If she found one that wasn't sealed properly, she would grab a lump of clay from the side and seal it up, all the while calling out:

"Quick! Move these earthenware jars forward!" "Check all the fuses, don't take the wrong ones!" "Pour the remaining gunpowder into twenty more jars, and hurry up!" This young woman, her face smeared with soot and her hair streaked with snow, showed no sign of hardship; her eyes shone with an astonishing light. Watching the bursts of fire erupting in the valley below, she felt both tense and excited—all these divine punishments were painstakingly created by her and her team. Helping Lord Xiao win the battle made all the hardship and toil worthwhile.

The logistics soldiers were also working with all their might, carrying earthenware jars, passing gunpowder, and checking fuses, supplying ammunition forward like an assembly line. As soon as the grenadiers in front were out of ammunition, new earthenware jars were immediately passed up from behind, and the firepower never stopped for a moment.

On the high ground, Xiao Jianyang stood behind a boulder, his cold gaze sweeping across the entire battlefield. He was like a precise chess player, calculating every move with perfect clarity. "Lin Qingxue, concentrate the pottery jars and bomb their group that has gathered in the middle. Don't let them regroup."

"Zhao Daniu, use your bows and arrows to suppress the enemy on the left slope and prevent them from launching another attack."

"Defang, keep a close watch on the valley entrance. Shoot anyone who tries to rush out. Don't let a single one escape."

Orders were passed down in an orderly manner, and the Xiao family army performed their duties with seamless coordination of firepower.

The Northern Di people at the bottom of the valley were driven back into the ground, unable to raise their heads. Just as they tried to regroup, a volley of pottery jars shattered them; just as they attempted to organize a charge, a hail of arrows pushed them back. ...