After Picking Up Five Brothers, No One Dares to Offend the Capital City-Chapter 505: Post-war

When the killing sounds shook the sky, the sound of an arrow was not as clear and obvious.

The cunning angle, specially made arrowhead, rushed towards the only neck that was not covered by armor.

Jiang Jizu instinctively noticed the existence of the arrow, but two Tartars came from left to right. By the time he forced back the enemies and waved his sword, it was too late.

Seeing that the arrow was about to pierce his neck, pierce his throat, and make his blood splatter everywhere.

In the blink of an eye, Jin Vice General next to him shouted and rushed over at the fastest speed.

He didn't even have time to shout "General" before the arrow pierced the right side of his neck, hurting so much that he couldn't speak.

"Jin Vice General," Jiang Jizu's eyes were bloodshot, "retreat, retreat."

Maybe wait a little, wait for the military doctor to come, pull out the arrow, and still have a chance to survive.

But where was there room to retreat?

All around were people, splashing blood, severed limbs, whimpering horses.

If you stop, you will be pierced by spears, slashed by swords, and fall silently like a piece of meat.

Even if Jiang Jizu desperately tried to protect him, several spears still stabbed Jin Vice General's body.

He covered his neck and shook his head with all his might.

Don't... General, don't.

War was so cruel, the battlefield was so bloody, being just a little slow was enough to die.

The vice general could die, but the main general could not die.

The northern border needed General Jiang, and the frontier army also needed General Jiang.

There were countless vice generals, but only one main general.

"General... kill the enemy," he squeezed out four words with all his might.

If they didn't kill more enemies now, more compatriots would die and more blood would flow if they kept entangled.

How heartbreaking it was that they couldn't even stop to mourn the dead.

Jiang Jizu suddenly looked up and glared coldly in the direction the arrow came from, roaring, "My boys, the Tartars are desperate, the Tartars are afraid! Kill, drive them out, let them roll back to the grasslands!"

"Roll back to the grasslands!" Hundreds of thousands of soldiers shouted together.

Their moves became more fierce, their actions more ruthless.

They trampled on the corpses of enemies and compatriots, dragged their scarred bodies, and raised their blades high.

The snow-white knife reflected the red glow, like the color of blood, stinging the eyes of every Tartar.

They had rushed into Guanjin Line with skills, yet were forced back out of the gate. Their tribesmen fell one by one, and those still alive were injured and bleeding, yet the enemy seemed unfazed by pain and fearlessly fought to the death.

Men's hearts would be fearful, military morale would collapse.

When the first person rode away on horseback, those behind would flee as a matter of course.

The equally exhausted Dayu soldiers seemed injected with chicken blood, becoming increasingly brave as they chased down the Tartars.

Jiang Jizu did not follow them.

He staggered to Jin Vice General’s side, suppressing grief and anguish. “Wake up, I’ll take you back for medical treatment, I’ll take you back to pull out the arrows. I still have two sausages hidden that I didn’t tell you about.”

“You can't sleep. Your family still has two little brats not fully grown. Your wife is still waiting for your return in Fengjing.”

“Although you always complain about them, I know you love your family very much, and want to reunite with them, never to part again... Old Jin, get up, get up!”

But alas, the man was pierced by several spears into the ground, his neck twisted, his eyes wide open, as if trying to take one last look in Fengjing’s direction.

He would never get up again, becoming nutrients for this land like countless fallen soldiers.

Jiang Jizu had led troops into battle for so many years that he thought he would not shed tears anymore. Yet only when he felt the cold wetness on his cheeks did he realize, belatedly, that he was grieving.

If he had known earlier he would have given out those sausages already.

If he had known earlier...

This battle had to be fought, these enemies had to be killed.

If they didn’t resist, only more people would have died.

Far more than now.

Countless exhaustion overwhelmed Jiang Jizu. He could no longer stand and slumped down next to Jin Vice General’s body.

He really was getting old. His arms ached, old wounds ached, reminding him that his body was deteriorating.

People had to accept getting old. When he was a teenager, fighting Tartars to utter exhaustion and nearly dying, he could bounce back in high spirits after one night of rest.

After thirty, he started feeling tiredness that one night of rest couldn’t recover from, needing two or three nights for spirits to slowly return.

By forty, accumulated injuries and pain all came back at the same time, which military doctors examined him for yet couldn’t find the cause. He could only lie in bed alone, using willpower precipitated over the years to endure.

The imperial doctors in the royal palace said these sicknesses and pains needed rest to heal, yet when could a general possibly rest?

The land full of wounds, the city full of blood, the unjust deaths, and departure of acquaintances, constantly reminded him that...The war would not rest for a single day until settled, and his mission did not stop for a moment until then.

Not knowing who sobbed first, but soon the whole battlefield was filled with weeping as those still alive looked at yesterday's laughing friends now corpses, emitting hopeless wailing.

Cry.

After crying there were still things that needed to be done.

Killing was only the first step. Treating the injured was the second step.

The Dayu Dynasty’s medicine was not outstanding. Severed arms could not be reattached, ruptured intestines not saved, massive blood loss also clueless, how many of the injured soldiers lying on the ground could still survive?

History books recorded that after battles ended, the greatest losses were often not from combat deaths, but injuries and sickness.

Even handling these post-war corpses was an extremely difficult problem.

During summertime, corpses rotted quickly. If not disposed of swiftly, it may trigger large scale plague which would be a mortal disaster for the frontier army.

After venting emotions briefly, the teary-eyed soldiers still had to prop their bodies up to carry injured comrades for medical treatment, and dead comrades for hasty burial.

A hasty burial that left no corpse, recorded no names, not even keepsakes.

Very close people may help preserve a memento, but who could guarantee they would survive the next time to deliver it to the families?

Jiang Jizu endured injuries all over his body to remove a wooden tag from Jin Vice General’s neck. After wiping it over and over on himself to leave the name visible, he solemnly tucked it into his chest.

“General,” an officer came over to report, “Reinforcements from headquarters are about to arrive to handle matters after Guanjin Line.”

He weakly waved his hand to signal agreement.

Soon, 60,000 reinforcements arrived.

The two leading youths rushed over with limps, extremely relieved to see him.

On the hillside outside the city gate, two other youths witnessed the human hell outside, then silently turned to leave.