"Sanshi, those people aren't under my father's command. My father's men would never act like that."
Sun Buqi spoke quickly, afraid that Chen Sanshi would misunderstand. "That man named Cao—he's the Crown Prince's son. The sycophant beside him is the son of the Minister of Works. They're troops from Youzhou, not part of the Eight Northern Garrisons. They're under the Grand Commander of the Left Army, reporting directly to the Ministry of War.
"The three northwestern provinces—Youzhou, Liangzhou, and Yanzhou—each have their own generals. Even though, in wartime, my father can command their deployment, it's only orders received, not authority granted.
"Only the Eight Northern Garrisons are truly our own forces.
"But even that—these past few years, the court's been trying to weaken his power. Sending inspectors, reassigning officers, moving our best men away. Even Senior Brother…"
"He's right."
Sun Li's voice was faint and weary. "The Eight Northern Garrisons aren't troops tied to one province. They were first formed in Liangzhou to fight the barbarians, but later, wherever there was war, they were moved there—south to fight the rebels, then east to war with the Qing Kingdom.
"And three years ago, when the barbarians started stirring again, the Eight Northern Garrisons were redeployed to the northern border."
Chen Sanshi understood the reasoning behind such movements.
It was to prevent any army from staying in one region too long and becoming local warlords.
Every withdrawal likely came with a purge—any local officials, clans, or sects that supported the Garrisons would be rooted out afterward.
Everything had to remain under imperial control.
It fit perfectly with an emperor who'd resort to poison to silence those who knew too much.
But even if that were true…
How could anyone endure it?
Chen Sanshi asked himself honestly—if it were him, he couldn't.
So why did Grand Commander Sun Xiangzong endure it?
Unless…
He was dying.
Only a man nearing death, one still clinging to something he couldn't let go, would choose to endure humiliation.
It was only a guess, but Chen Sanshi felt that this was the only explanation that made sense.
Otherwise—someone standing at the very peak of mortal power, commanding eighty thousand elite soldiers—why would he ever bow his head?
And then there was the matter of these elite selection candidates.
Their backgrounds were far too noble.
The Crown Prince's heir himself—essentially the future emperor in waiting.
Would someone like that ever lack for resources or techniques?
So why come to the Elite Selection, to be accepted as the Grand Commander's disciple? What kind of treasure could tempt him that much?
Chen Sanshi didn't have time to think about it now.
"Counterattack?"
Soon, all the soldiers and martial officers gathered. When they heard their commander's order, they all exchanged blank looks.
"Counterattack," by definition, meant charging the enemy.
But there were barely over a thousand of them. And they were going to attack twenty thousand barbarians? Among them, there had to be plenty at the tempering organs realm.
How were they supposed to counterattack?
"One day," Chen Sanshi said in a low, firm voice. "In one more day, the villagers up front will start crossing the river. If we want to buy them that time, we can't do it here on the plains. So we'll take the fight into the mountains—and strike first!
"Xu Wencai, I'm giving you half an hour. Find me at least three choke points for ambushes. If you can't, I'll chop off your dog head!"
He turned to the rest. "As for the others… go see your families. This might be the last thing you ever say to them. You can choose not to come back. But if you do—be ready to die."
At that, everyone finally understood.
"Understood!"
Not one person objected.
One by one, they dispersed.
"Junior Brother…"
Sun Li looked at him quietly. "Aren't you going to speak to Sister Lan? She's in the front carriage."
"No."
Chen Sanshi grabbed a brush and ink from the old scholar's belongings, scribbled a few quick words on a slip of paper, sealed it, and handed it to her. "Senior Sister Sun, please give this to Sister Lan personally—and make sure she's safely settled."
"You really won't go yourself?" Sun Li pressed, her tone sharper.
Chen Sanshi shook his head again.
He didn't tell her the truth—he was afraid.
Afraid that if he saw the only family he had in this world, he wouldn't have the strength to turn back and face death.
He wasn't even sure how things had ended up this way.
Maybe because his family was just ahead.
Maybe because his men were willing to die for him—and whether out of duty or something else, he couldn't abandon them.
Or maybe…
Because he came from another world.
It sounded sentimental—overly so—but it was the truth.
If there was any logic to his actions, that was it.
In Chen Sanshi's eyes, there were no higher or lower people—only those who deserved to die, and those who didn't.
Those who deserved death, he'd kill.
Those who didn't, he'd protect.
He knew this battle, once word spread, would make people call him a hypocrite, a pretender, a false saint.
But Chen Sanshi didn't care.
If that's what they wanted to say—then he'd "pretend" for the rest of his life.
"You all…"
He turned toward Wang Zhi's surviving nephews and their men—about two hundred of them in all. "You sure you're staying? Your families aren't even here."
"We won't shame General Tang!"
They answered in unison.
"Good!"
Chen Sanshi nodded firmly.
The last one remaining was Sun Buqi, who clearly had no intention of leaving.
To order him away now would've been an insult.
As for Xu Wencai, he had no family to bid farewell to. He was already sprawled on the ground, poring over the maps, calculating terrain and timing.
Half a day later.
At Huangtu Ridge, shouts echoed through the narrow mountain pass.
"Faster!"
"Don't let those Sheng troops cross the river!"
Several Witch God Sect followers were mixed within the marching army, each holding a golden vajra pestle used for collecting blood.
Among them, the tempering organs branch master served as field commander. "No one is to be spared! After killing, remember to collect the heart's blood immediately!"
"Where's Hall Master Amugu?"
The cavalry commander, Bilege, asked impatiently, "Why don't I see him?"
The twenty-thousand-strong pursuit force had already been stripped of all cultivators above the Transforming Strength realm—they'd been reassigned to attack Anding Prefecture.
Only a few tempering organs cultivators remained, far too few to confidently control such a massive army.
And now, the Witch God Sect's only Meridian-Connecting expert, Hall Master Amugu, had vanished as well.
"Hall Master Amugu went after a low-ranked Sheng officer—one at the tempering organs stage," someone explained. "No word yet, but he's likely waiting for us ahead."
The branch master urged coldly, "Speed up!"
"Tempering organs?"
Bilege chuckled, amused. "In the Sheng people's words, this is called 'using an ox cleaver to kill a chicken.' That Amugu is ruthless—he's personally hunting a minor officer just to leave no survivors. Truly merciless."
"I've received orders by carrier pigeon," the branch master continued in a flat tone. "Within two days, we must collect the heart's blood of another ten thousand people as backup supply. Then we withdraw immediately—leave Yunzhou, no prolonged battles."
He sneered, "That white-horse officer in the tempering organs realm is dead. There's no one of that rank left to threaten us—only some tempering bone soldiers. We can pursue freely."
"Withdraw immediately?"
Bilege frowned. "The northwest front is retreating already? So soon?"
A war like this—especially one meant to decide life and death—usually dragged on at least half a year.
Now, barely over two months had passed, and they were pulling back. That meant the retreat had been planned from the very beginning.
"We only follow orders," the branch master reminded him curtly. "The Sheng troops ahead are almost across the river. If we don't hurry, they'll escape. Failing our mission will bring us both death sentences."
"Don't worry. Once we clear these mountains, we'll catch up in half a day!"
"Hyah!"
Just as they spoke, the sound of chaos erupted ahead—horses screaming, soldiers falling. The vanguard had suddenly halted.
"What's going on?"
"My lord, an ambush ahead!"
"Traps everywhere!"
"Move!"
Bilege rode forward himself.
The road through the ridge wasn't wide. Deep pits lined both sides, filled with crude spikes and traps. The remaining passable ground was blocked by piles of boulders.
The worst obstacle was a dozen abandoned carts, loaded with dry firewood and grass—now blazing fiercely, filling the narrow road with thick smoke. The vanguard cavalry couldn't advance at all.
Bilege didn't panic. He raised his voice. "Clear the road!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Just as soldiers moved in to clear debris, arrows rained down from both slopes—dozens of Sheng archers loosed volleys in unison.
"Child's play!"
Bilege sneered. "Bring up the heavy iron-shield infantry from the rear to block!"
Not all of their twenty thousand were cavalry.
The vanguard held five thousand riders; the rest were infantry.
The shield bearers advanced, covering the soldiers clearing the road.
After half an hour, the path was open again.
But as soon as they moved forward, they ran into the same problem—more traps, more fires, more blockades.
Twice, then thrice. Each time cost them another half hour.
Before they knew it, half a day had passed.
"General Bilege!"
The Witch God Sect branch master's patience snapped. "We can't keep this up! They're deliberately stalling for time!"
"You think I don't know that?"
Bilege's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. "They're forcing me off the main road into the side trail. But I don't get it—this isn't a canyon like before. The slopes here are low, barely high enough to hide a goat, let alone an ambush. Even if we take that route, we'll still end up clashing head-on.
"They have, what, barely a thousand men? Maybe three hundred horses? Even if our cavalry can't spread out to flank them, we'd just lose a few soldiers before crushing them completely. So what's their game…"
"General," the branch master cut in, restless, "if you really think there's no ambush, then take the side path. We must clear Huangtu Ridge quickly. A few losses won't matter."
"Fine."
Bilege made his decision at once. "Cavalry with me! We'll take the narrow road. Infantry, continue clearing the main route. I want to see what trick they're playing."
The barbarian army split into two.
The five thousand cavalry, eager to save time, all took the narrow road—with five tempering organs experts among them, Bilege leading at the front.
He advanced cautiously, scanning the terrain, trying to imagine what sort of ambush could possibly be set here.
When he finally reached the fork at the end of the mountain path, he saw it.
On the wide plain beyond stood the Sheng troops.
There was no ambush—no hidden troops, no flanking force.
Only a line of three hundred cavalry and a few hundred foot soldiers. Most had no armor at all, wearing scavenged gear stripped from fallen Xi River tribesmen. Their weapons were mismatched—grassland-made spears and sabers glinting under the sun.
Yet they stood firm, blocking the entire exit of the ridge, waiting in silence.
In that moment, Bilege understood.
This was why they had lured him here.
They were using their own lives—to buy time for the common folk ahead to cross the river.