Chapter Forty-Seven: Triumph

There was still about an hour before dawn, the darkest time just before the first light. A drifting black cloud obscured the already faint moon, plunging the night into a deeper shadow and snuffing out any glimmer of hope for the exhausted Yellow Turban soldiers. Even Peng Tuo, their commander, had never imagined the tide could turn so swiftly; in the blink of an eye, he was transformed from the hunter into the hunted.

Watching his soldiers fall in droves behind him, their agonized screams and cries for help piercing the air, Peng Tuo felt as if a giant hand had dragged his heart into an abyss, leaving him utterly lost.

“Why… why is this happening…”

He didn’t know and couldn’t understand, but Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng would not spare him a moment to ponder. Within breaths, they led their cavalry of three thousand to his front, unleashing a merciless slaughter.

“Kill! Exterminate the treacherous Yellow Turbans!”

“Today is the day to make our name known!”

“Don’t let the rebel leader Peng Tuo escape…”

The shouts of the Han cavalry and the dying screams of the Yellow Turban soldiers hammered at Peng Tuo’s mind, snapping him out of his stupor. Terrified, he shouted in desperation.

“Quick… kill those Han soldiers behind us! The vanguard, form ranks—hold back their cavalry… quickly!”

He might not have known what artillery truly was, but he understood that if he let this barrage continue, his army would collapse under the combined assault of the enemy’s cavalry and cannons before dawn.

In his mind, the priority was clear: destroy Xu Kang’s artillery regiment first, then dealing with the remaining cavalry would be far simpler.

In theory, his plan was sound. In practice, however, it was futile. The night was pitch black, and at a distance of over two hundred meters, the Yellow Turban soldiers had no idea how many Han troops were to their rear. All they knew was that whenever a flash of fire erupted, thunder roared, and comrades fell in droves ahead of them—most never rising again.

The unknown is always most terrifying. So even with Peng Tuo’s desperate, blood-curdling shouts, none dared charge Xu Kang’s artillery lines.

The brief hesitation proved fatal. Another thousand Yellow Turban soldiers fell in the thunderous roar of the Tiger Squat Cannons, while those at the front, tasked with blocking the cavalry, began to crumble as well.

Witnessing this, Peng Tuo’s eyes almost burst with fury as he screamed, his voice hoarse.

“The field enforcement squad, advance! Any who disobey—kill them!”

At his command, thousands of elite Yellow Turban enforcers stepped forth, raising their blades against their former brothers-in-arms.

With a blur of steel and a spray of blood, hundreds fell at the hands of their own, dying beneath the knives of those who had once been their comrades. The remaining soldiers, gripped by terror, could only swallow their fear, grip their weapons tightly, and charge towards Xu Kang’s artillery.

They were only a little over two hundred meters from Xu Kang’s position now—a short distance, theoretically crossable in two minutes even by exhausted men.

But in reality, that short distance felt like an endless chasm.

Xu Kang’s artillery regiment boasted more than four hundred fifty Tiger Squat Cannons, firing in three staggered volleys. Even though each cannon took nearly a minute to reload, he maintained a firing rhythm of one volley every twenty seconds.

Each cannon, with every shot, blasted out roughly a hundred half-tael stones. So, with a mass volley of one hundred fifty cannons, fifteen thousand deadly stones tore through the air at once.

This was no trivial number.

Their enemies were packed tightly together, making every cannon volley devastating—hundreds, sometimes thousands, fell with each salvo, even at a range of two hundred meters. Every fifty meters closer, the death toll doubled.

The Yellow Turban soldiers didn’t understand the mechanics, but they saw the flashes, heard the thunder, and watched the men ahead of them drop—more the closer they drew, most never moving again.

Clearly, they were dead.

They didn’t want to die, so they hesitated to advance. But if they didn’t, the enforcers behind would kill them all the same.

Caught between life and death, many of these former farmers broke down on the spot.

“Please… don’t kill me!”

“I surrender… I surrender!”

“I don’t want to die… please…”

Weeping and wailing, they dropped their weapons and fled in all directions, some even running straight towards Xu Kang’s artillery positions.

Xu Kang’s eyes flickered with hesitation at the sight, but quickly hardened, his voice turning icy.

“Second battalion, light the fuses—third battalion, get ready… cover your ears!”

“Third battalion, fire—first battalion, prepare… cover your ears!”

“First battalion, fire—second battalion, prepare…”

Each command was followed by the thunderous roar of cannons, the Tiger Squat Cannons belching fire like the scythe of death, reaping all life within range.

The Yellow Turban soldiers were human, not unfeeling machines. Facing such carnage, terror overwhelmed them. No matter how the enforcers screamed and threatened, none dared charge again. Some even turned their weapons on the enforcers themselves.

Meanwhile, Zhao Hong and the cavalry broke the Yellow Turban’s front lines. Niu Sheng, newly promoted to cavalry captain, charged directly at Peng Tuo, swinging his halberd at the rebel leader’s head.

“Die, traitor!”

Peng Tuo gasped in shock, raising his spear to block. With a clang, the force of Niu Sheng’s blow numbed Peng Tuo's hands, nearly knocking the weapon from his grasp. As Niu Sheng prepared to strike again, two personal guards leapt to Peng Tuo’s defense, covering his retreat back to the rear lines.

Seeing this, Niu Sheng shouted angrily, “Peng Tuo, don’t run! Leave your life here!”

Peng Tuo, of course, ran even faster, vanishing into the swarm of his men within moments.

Niu Sheng’s face twisted in frustration, but when he spotted the enemy’s command banner retreating, a look of delight replaced his irritation.

“Ha! I’ve got it!”

He laughed aloud, spurred his horse forward, and with a single stroke killed the standard-bearer, snapping the banner’s pole, then shouted mightily:

“Peng Tuo is dead! Peng Tuo is dead! Peng Tuo is dead!”

He cried out three times, and, hearing him, the other Han soldiers took up the shout:

“The rebel Peng Tuo is dead! The rest of you, surrender!”

“The rebel Peng Tuo is dead! The rest of you, surrender!”

Their voices swelled, drowning out even the thunder of artillery.

Hearing the cries, the Yellow Turban soldiers looked to where the command banner had been. Finding it gone, they lost all hope, their spirits broken, their will to fight utterly gone.

Panic spread. Many began to flee in all directions; those caught by Han cavalry dared not resist and knelt to surrender.

As the first rays of dawn touched the Huai River from the east, not a single Yellow Turban soldier still stood on the battlefield.

The Han cavalry, victors of the night, wore faces full of fatigue, but their smiles were bright with triumph. None were more jubilant than Niu Sheng, who had felled the enemy’s banner and won great merit.

Bathed in the rising sun, he raised a banner emblazoned with a black wild boar and bellowed skyward:

“Invincible in battle, unstoppable in attack—we are the strongest army… Strong! Strong! Strong!”

Spurred on by his cry, the men—already elated—erupted into shouts with him.

“Strong! Strong! Strong, strong, strong, strong…”

Hearing their voices, Xu Kang, not far away, busy commanding the artillery crews as they packed up the Tiger Squat Cannons, felt his expression freeze.

“Damn it, who started this chant again?”