Chapter 82: Preparing for the Assault!

In the vanguard, hundreds of expendable soldiers simply sat down and refused to go any further. With hope nowhere in sight, they figured they were dead either way, so lying flat could at least buy them a little more time. One bald man flung his weapon far away and cursed loudly, “Back when the city was recruiting, they promised ten bushels of grain to anyone who signed up. I knew something was off—turns out, that grain was just payment for our lives!”

“We’ve all been sold out by the clan chief!”

“Damn that Zhang Wenyuan, may he die a thousand deaths! He’d better pray we don’t make it back alive!”

“Make it back alive? You must still be dreaming. What makes you think any of us will?”

Lying on the ground, the expendables let out a torrent of abuse, cursing Zhang Wenyuan with every breath. In the rear, Wu Fan, watching this scene, felt his pride stung. With several of his men, he strode over.

You want to live? I’ll give you a chance!

“Listen up! If you can push the line forward another fifty meters, you’ll be replaced by the next batch. Fifty meters—that’s all. After that, your turn is over.”

Wu Fan’s method was straightforward. This group of expendables wanted to survive? Well, here was their chance, if they could seize it.

At first, no one paid him any mind. But when Wu Fan brandished his weapon, some of the more timid ones grew uneasy.

“Are you serious about this?” one asked, sycophantically.

“A gentleman does not break his word,” Wu Fan replied with a cold laugh. “You have one minute. Take up your weapons and advance. Anyone still on the ground after that will be executed for treason!”

There was no mercy in his voice. Those who had been cursing Zhang Wenyuan moments before, now, seeing a few “clever” comrades take the lead, had no choice but to pick up their weapons and continue forward as scouts.

Wu Fan knew these men were nothing but a rabble without a leader—easy to manipulate.

The longbows’ range was 120 meters; getting within a hundred would be no small feat.

The expendables, lured by Wu Fan’s promise, mustered their courage and pressed on. Hope, after all, is a precious thing. If death awaited both forward and back, why not choose a more dignified way to go? But with even a sliver of hope, their hearts surged with courage, and though they were little more than a disorderly mob, their desire to live was boundless.

They formed into lines to scout ahead—inventing a rotating system where each man took three steps forward, then returned to the end of the line, and the next would take his turn. Over three hundred men formed three long columns inching forward, their survival left to luck alone.

The unlucky stumbled into one of the myriad traps, with little chance of survival. Still, sheer numbers allowed them to avoid the more obvious ones, though this was not the result Wu Fan wanted. Their progress was slow, and traps were still being missed.

Suddenly, Wu Fan grabbed a frail old man and shoved him ahead. The old man screamed and vanished into a pit.

“What are you staring at? Keep moving!” Wu Fan roared.

His ruthless methods only deepened the rage in the expendables’ hearts, but there was nothing they could do. No one dared to take the lead or even speak a word on behalf of the old man.

In half an hour, across nearly two hundred meters, half of the five-hundred-strong group was gone. The traps already triggered were simply filled in and crossed.

On the city wall of Gaoting, Hank walked to the side of the one-eyed general and said, “General, they’re almost within range!”

“Have the longbowmen ready. One volley is enough.”

“Yes, sir!” Hank saluted and descended from the wall.

Below, Wu Fan continued to drive the wretched expendables forward. No matter how many curses they spat at his family in their hearts, they still lacked the courage to resist. They all wanted to survive, all knew someone needed to take the lead, but the first to step forward was sure to die—a contradiction none could resolve.

It was then that a rain of arrows descended without warning, giving the expendables no time to react. More than a dozen fell dead on the spot. Chaos erupted; many scattered and fled.

Furious, Wu Fan hacked down five deserters in quick succession, but still could not regain control.

Why, he wondered, was it so hard? Every one of these men had a shield in hand—just crouch and raise it overhead, was that so difficult?

A hundred meters away in the rear, Xue Hui watched the spectacle with exasperation and summoned Feng Wanqing.

“Brother, what do you need?” she asked.

“I want your unit to relieve Wu Fan’s expendables.”

“But they haven’t finished clearing the mines—wouldn’t it be bad for us to advance now?” Feng Wanqing asked cautiously, clearly reluctant but unable to disobey.

“These expendables are hopeless. Do as I say.”

Ten minutes later, after three hundred traps had been triggered, Wu Fan’s expendables were replaced by Feng Wanqing’s long-shield infantry.

Xue Hui had his reasons for this arrangement. Of all their units, only Feng Wanqing’s troops carried massive rectangular shields; the others were equipped with round shields. The giant shields offered nearly twice the coverage, providing much better protection against arrows.

Xue Hui’s strategy was simple: tie each line of infantry together at the waist with rope, so if anyone triggered a trap, the rope would keep them from falling all the way in—they’d be hauled out quickly.

With this method, Feng Wanqing’s long-shield soldiers quickly formed a phalanx and advanced, their shields interlocked overhead. The arrows did little more than scratch the surface.

“General, should we fire the ballistae?” Hank asked, standing behind the one-eyed commander, watching the shield-bearing infantry press forward.

“Fire!” the general barked.

“Yes, sir! All ballistae, ready! Aim for their waists!”

A dozen ballistae unleashed their bolts in unison, the projectiles slamming into the shields at waist height. Dust billowed as the advancing formation was abruptly forced to halt.

Xue Hui, watching the battlefield closely, grew grim as he saw the enemy’s ballistae fire again and again.

“This battle is proving more difficult than I’d imagined,” he muttered.

“What do you mean, brother?” Feng Wanqing asked.

“The enemy knew this was just a probing attack, yet they didn’t hesitate to use their ballistae. Their weapon stockpiles must be ample—they’ve clearly spent the past half-month preparing for this. We have no advantage in logistics or supply.”

“Pass the order—pull your troops back for now. In one hour, we’ll launch a full assault. Be ready for heavy casualties; no matter how tough this nut is, we have to crack it.”

“I understand, brother. Don’t worry—the vanguard will give everything we have,” Feng Wanqing replied, then turned and headed back to camp.

After this brief probing attack, the brutal siege was about to begin.