Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 306: Night Raid

Fortunately, this time, He Lingchuan leaned into what he was best at, which was being durable. He fought steadily until he finally caught his opponent’s opening and finished the match with a single decisive blow.

Lifting the tent flap, he was greeted by rain coming down in sheets. The curtain of water was so dense that he could not even make out men or horses ten meters away.

With visibility like this, it might as well have been thick fog.

If he stuck his hand out for a few seconds, he could literally scoop up a palmful of rain to wash his face.

He splashed some cold water over himself, then mulled over what technique he should trade his next batch of military merits for. Every real fight gave him precious experience, and now he had come to realize he lacked a truly high-burst martial technique.

Next time, I really should exchange for the Mirror Image Art.

The Yuan camp had once again been pulled back over three hundred meters, now set squarely on hard, rocky ground. This at least removed the risk of landslides, and the camp now sat a good six to seven meters higher than the current river surface.

The price, however, was a surge in the number of snakes, rats, and assorted vermin, and bites had become much more common.

Neither Zhao Pan nor He Chunhua relaxed their guard. Both men were wary of Hong Chenglue’s revenge, and each day their expectations for camp defenses climbed higher.

The ordinary soldiers, who did not know the full story, grumbled under their breath.

Step outside the tent for three or five breaths and your whole body was soaked through. The ground was a mess of yellow mud and puddles. If your boots were not ruined, then your trousers were. In weather like this, the entire camp should have been resting and waiting out the storm, yet General Zhao wanted everyone on alert, holding the perimeter as if the enemy were already at the gate.

The enemy’s still across the river. How could they possibly cross in this kind of damned weather and launch a surprise attack?

With the rain unrelenting, He Chunhua’s contingent was also stuck in camp, unable to head back south. His stay at the front line had already exceeded expectations.

That, too, was one of the roots of his unease.

Stay too long, and something was bound to happen.

Thick clouds smothered the sky, and night fell early. They did not even have to wait for the sun to truly set.

As the last scraps of light vanished in a hurry, the Yuan camp fell into a net woven of darkness and pounding rain.

Even in this weather, the sentries still had to patrol.

Their torches had been soaked in a special oil that allowed them to burn even in the rain, casting halos of light through the downpour.

They wore rain cloaks, but the armor and clothes beneath, not to mention the boots on their feet, were all thoroughly soaked, leaving them clammy and cold. Once water got into your boots, every step came with an annoying squeak.

“This damned weather!” a newly rotated sentry muttered. Holding his torch aloft, he trudged along the riverbank, wiped rain from his eyes, and spat a curse under his breath.

The spot where they had originally camped was already underwater. The riverbank had collapsed in several places, the shoreline moving nearly three hundred meters to the south. Even now, they walked as carefully as if stepping along a cliff edge.

Just two days ago, an unlucky comrade had watched the ground crumble beneath his feet and plunged into the river. The current had taken him in a blink.

So tonight, the sentry only did a perfunctory lap along the bank, keeping a full ten meters between himself and the edge.

In weather like this, there was no chance of an enemy hugging the shore. If General Zhao had not insisted, no one would be patrolling anywhere near the river.

Seeing nothing unusual, he turned back.

It had been the same for days. Every night played out like this.

Two hours later, he walked his route again.

This was his second lap. Once he finished three tonight, someone would come to relieve him.

He wandered along with half a mind, eyes drifting here and there. But before he completed the return leg, something nagged at him.

Something felt off.

He did not want to move. After a short struggle with himself, he grudgingly went back toward the bank and raised his torch.

The heavy rain never stopped, and the swelling Han River had been pounding at the shore day and night. Every time he came this way, he could hear the waves slamming into the earth, the booms as loud as thunder.

So why is there no sound tonight?

All he could hear was the relentless hiss of rain.

The sentry crept cautiously toward the edge and angled his torch down.

What in the—

Where’s the water?

A full meter below the bank, there was nothing but slick, muddy sand.

He stretched the torch out farther. Within its circle of light, he still could not see the river.

What’s going on?

When he had passed by on the first lap, the waves had still been slapping the shore.

Did the river start flowing backward or something?

Also, is something moving down there?

At the edge of the light, the darkness seemed to shift.

He leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

Suddenly, a series of four or five arrows whistled up from below. Most missed, but one buried itself straight into his eye.

The sentry toppled backward with a strangled cry.

The archers below had no origin energy to steady their aim, so they fired in clusters, relying on probability.

The sentry, by contrast, did have origin energy protecting his body. Normally, even a hit would not have been too serious. But he was unlucky as the arrow happened to strike his eye.

That was a vital point.

When he fell, his torch flew from his hand. The jumping flame caught the attention of two comrades not far off. They rushed over, saw the bright shaft jutting from his face, and immediately blew shrill alarm whistles.

Enemy attack!

Almost at the same moment, a thunderous roar erupted from below the riverbank, loud enough to drown out the storm.

“Charge!”

“Lord Nian will be victorious!”

In the darkness, something vast was surging upward toward the high ground.

Moments later, countless pinpricks of flame flickered to life below the bank, then streaked upward, creating lines of fire that cut through the night.

They fell in arcs onto tents, wagons, and stockades all across the northern edge of the Yuan camp.

Days of rain had soaked canvas and wooden frames, but the heads of the arrows had been smeared with a special oil that burned even in a downpour. With the north wind pushing the flames along, tongues of fire still licked up everywhere in the Yuan camp.

Zhao Pan and He Chunhua both jolted awake from sleep and rushed out of their tents, just in time to see fire arrows raining down, landing wherever they pleased.

“Lord, look out!”

Personal guards converged around them at once.

Zhao Pan snatched a flaming arrow from a tent pole, hefted a great bow, and ignored the hands trying to hold him back. Striding forward a hundred paces, he bent the bow and shot high, aiming toward the river below.

With his arm strength plus origin energy, he could send an arrow flying over three hundred paces even in a north wind.

The Yuan soldiers watched that arrow rise into the sky, trailing light, and then fall.

Its flame briefly lit up the shoreline below.

And there they saw it, they saw a dense mass of troops. The ranks of armor gleamed even in the fleeting glow, their formations filling the entire exposed riverbed. Voices roared like thunder as they surged toward the southern bank.

Xun Province soldiers!

A chill crawled down Zhao Pan’s spine, even as sweat broke out across his forehead.

How did Nian Zanli’s forces manage to cross the river intact and sneak up on the southern bank to strike from such close range?

“Activate the arrays! Beat the war drums and raise the banners!” No matter what he thought, years of battle-hardened instinct moved his mouth smoothly. “Battle overseers, forward!”

Whenever an army made camp, they set up defensive arrays in advance. But activating them consumed a huge amount of profound crystals, so they were rarely used outside of battle. At Zhao Pan’s shout, the spellcasters responsible for the arrays sprinted off to activate them.

The sound of drums immediately assured soldiers that their command was still in control and that there was a plan. When the drums boomed, it meant the army would counterattack. That alone steadied hearts. If the soldiers could gather even a little courage, they could turn and fight instead of collapsing outright.

They had been caught flat-footed by a night raid. If the lines broke now, no amount of individual bravery could stop a rout once it started rolling downhill.

The battle overseers galloped back and forth, cutting down more than a dozen men who tried to flee. That at least put a hard stop to the budding wave of desertion.

But just then, several explosions boomed from below the bank, and seven or eight blazing shells screamed through the air, bursting like fiery blossoms in the middle of the camp.

The Xun Province army had brought cannons as well—twelve of them, covered in tarps to keep out the rain, hauling them across the river.

The cursed things were delicate. If they got wet, they misfired, or worse, blew up in their own crew’s faces. But Nian Zanli had pasted an expensive water-repelling talisman on each and every cannon.

He had not stinted on effort.

And he had ordered them loaded with mother-child shells. When these rounds hit, they exploded once, and then exploded again, bursting apart into dozens of small lead balls.

At their speed, every fragment was a lethal projectile.

Each blast knocked down scores of men and horses. The horses, terrified, broke from their stables and tore through the camp in a panicked stampede.

Soon, the Yuan army realized that the Xun Province troops were not all ashore yet. Several thousand were still moving across the river, while the vanguard on the southern bank was pressing its charge.

The strangest thing of all was the river.

The water had pulled back. The level was visibly lower, and the current channel now lay over 130 meters away from the Yuan camp, leaving a broad, gently sloping stretch of exposed riverbed.

It was not as placid as in autumn, but anyone who could swim could probably jump in and make it across without too much trouble.

The mighty river, once a roaring barrier, had suddenly lost its raging torrent.

What in the world is going on?

The newly exposed riverbed had become the Xun troops’ landing zone.

Over on He Lingchuan’s side, he was hardly idle. He immediately went in search of his mount. His bo beast, with monster blood in its veins, was far less skittish than ordinary steeds and had the sense to come seeking him of its own accord. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

The medicine ape scrambled straight into his arms, while the rock wolf climbed to its feet, shook rain from its fur, and ran to his side.

Shan Youjun and seven or eight others hurried over as well. “Master! What do we do?”

He Lingchuan faced a choice. He could ride for He Chunhua’s position and call it protecting his father, or he could stay here and hammer away at the incoming enemy.

He only hesitated for a single second. Then he told Shan Youjun, “Those of you with bows, up the trees. The rest of you, find me a retreat path.”

“Yes!” Shan Youjun understood. Their squad would be staying to hold the line. Otherwise, they could have headed straight back toward the main camp. If they were already retreating, there would be no need to find a retreat path. Even so, he could not help but voice a reminder, “Master, your worst lots...”

He had heard Mao Tao talk about those very inauspicious lots that their master had drawn back in Immortal Spirit Village.

He Lingchuan stiffened.

The enemy had crossed the Han River in secret, coming fully prepared. The Yuan army, still half asleep, had been hit right in their own camp. At the moment, the situation was clearly one wherein the enemy held the advantage.

In the face of such a tide, the strength of their little squad of fewer than ten was limited. He, too, had to treat every move with extreme caution.

The old turtle monster’s prophecy had never truly come to pass yet. Could this be the moment?

He suddenly remembered the single character “勇 (Courage)” that Wen Daolun had interpreted for him in the Panlong Dreamscape, and the line he himself had joked up afterward, “Could it mean that when I encounter water, I should run for my life?”[1]

Encounter water, run for my life?

In front of him, the Han River flowed on and on.

Maybe this was the blazing-bright hint that he had been waiting for. Those earlier crises he had survived, none of them had anything to do with water, and he had come through them untouched.

Was this the time to cut his losses and run?

He looked back at the chaotic camp, then at the enemy massing below the slope, drawing closer by the breath.

His own army stood on the brink of disaster. Was he really going to retreat in fear?

He said crisply, “Don’t dwell on it. We’ll fall back halfway up and lay trip lines for their horses.”

The group immediately began pulling back, angling toward the side of the high ground.

Enemy troops surged up from below like a rising tide. If they tried to stand flat-footed in front of that, they would only end up falling flat on their backs.

Small-unit combat was all about tactics.

Worse still, the southern bank of the Han had once been deliberately built up. It had been raised and steepened into an embankment wall, with only a few narrow ramps for going up and down, specifically to block enemy crossings.

But days of floods had smashed that wall apart. The Yuan army itself had been forced to retreat inland. Now they were camped on ordinary high ground. There was no longer any natural fortress to lean on.

1. This was said in Chapter 292 ☜