The Demon Lords-Chapter 572 - 69 Viewing the Scenery_1

The pressure on Que Mu at this moment was tremendous. This was not only reflected in his "kneeling" posture but emanated predominantly from the overwhelming, suffocating pressure exerted by Tian Wujing.

Tian Wujing was like a towering mountain that had instantly smashed Que Mu into the dust. But in the next moment, the mountain vanished, transforming into clouds and rain. The Kunwu blade flipped, thunder turning to gentle rain, the earth dragon to a green serpent, its edge hooking horizontally before pulling back.

Que Mu, in the phase where his old strength had just dissipated and new energy had yet to gather, felt his arms swell. In an instant, Tian Wujing had swept his Wolf Fang Club away with the edge of his blade.

The previous chop was like a raging wave crashing onto the shore, while the current hook was as gentle as the morning breeze and the waning moon. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Caught between this display of unyielding force and subtle grace, Que Mu felt like a lamb whose hide and flesh were being expertly processed.

It was clearly a clash between the main generals in the formation, yet it had devolved into a starkly contrasting scene: one side unhurried and methodical, the other struggling to parry.

"ROAR!"

Que Mu let out a furious roar. His knees shot up, and his entire body recoiled backward. This was the correct decision—not a retreat, but an attempt to avoid the miserable fate of being slaughtered by Tian Wujing's next strike.

The wild people warriors behind Que Mu were shocked to see their leader directly repelled by the enemy's main general. Nevertheless, they continued their fierce charge. Firstly, their momentum was already established and irreversible. Secondly, they all understood that even the most powerful individual becomes exceedingly vulnerable and easily perishable amidst the chaos of blades and spears in a melee.

However, the Jingnan Army knights behind Tian Wujing had already charged in from both flanks. They skillfully maneuvered their horses to evade the sweep of enemy blades, then used the length of their lances to impale their foes. The knights following them moved with incredible nimbleness on their warhorses; even in full armor, their evasive maneuvers on horseback remained agile.

Li Fusheng once said that the essence of war lies in "strong soldiers and strong horses." This is a rather simplistic view, but within certain limits, it is very practical.

While the archery and horsemanship of these wild people might not compare to the Barbarians', they weren't terrible. However, the wild people likely possessed only a few dozen sets of armor in total among them all. Ordinary tribesmen, far from wearing armor themselves, probably only had the chance to touch an old set belonging to a noble when helping them with chores, even if that armor was ancient.

This was the generational disparity in equipment.

While the elite Yan people cavalry had long been proficient in using the width, thickness, length, and hardness of their armor and weaponry to enhance their advantages in battle, many of the wild people did not even possess a decent set of armor.

The formations of both armies collided head-on. In that instant, countless men were unhorsed, and countless others were pierced by weapons. Blood became the most common color adorning the battlefield.

Tian Wujing did not continue to pursue Que Mu, at least not deliberately. Beneath the sweeps of his Kunwu blade, wild people warriors fell one after another; none could withstand a close-quarters engagement with him. It seemed as if he had let Que Mu go.

But more accurately, he didn't think that the life or death of the enemy's main general would have any impact on the outcome of this battle.

Zheng Fan, on the other hand, found himself in a much more precarious situation. When charging in formation, fighting side-by-side on horseback was manageable, especially thanks to his cultivation base as a Seventh Rank Martial Cultivator, which allowed him some leeway. What he truly feared were the unexpected attacks from some unseen corner—a sudden slash or thrust leveraging a horse's momentum. Even a master could be taken down by such a surprise attack if careless.

Yet, to be able to pay attention to such things in this chaotic environment, to fight the wild people before him while still having the presence of mind to scan his surroundings—Chief Zheng felt he was genuinely being tempered by the battlefield.

Mo Wan constantly adjusted his position within Zheng Fan's armor. After several consecutive advancements, regardless of his true feelings, he and his "father" were, at least for this period, in a honeymoon phase. Therefore, Mo Wan was deeply concerned about preventing any mishaps befalling his father. In the past, Mo Wan had been quite calm, because even on the battlefield, Zheng Fan was usually surrounded by a group of demons intentionally protecting him, especially A Ming, who had lightened Mo Wan's burden considerably.

But now, A Ming was not present, nor were the other demons. Mo Wan alone had to shoulder all his father's messes.

The initial clash between the two forces did not yield an immediate, decisive victor. Yet, in another sense, the outcome was already sealed. Tian Wujing's central army, with merely 4,000 cavalry, had charged head-on against nearly 10,000 wild people cavalry and held their ground, not falling into a disadvantage.

At this juncture, the cavalry on the flanks plunged directly into the battlefield. Liang Cheng, commanding the rear guard, also seized the opportune moment, leading his troops into the fray from behind at the most critical time.

Human strength has its limits. The wild people warriors were undeniably brave, but when their flanks were cut and the enemy's rear guard charged them head-on, no amount of courage could counteract the sharp downturn in the battlefield situation.

Many wild people warriors were accustomed only to past tribal conflicts: gather your own warriors and those of your allies, clash in a wave, and the winner takes all. More complex tactics might involve night raids or sieges—maneuvers known to anyone with basic military experience. But when it came to finer, more detailed aspects of warfare, true tactical segmentation and precision, even if they could understand the concepts, they lacked the capability to execute them.

When the wild people warriors saw their kinsmen and comrades being picked off in droves, when they found themselves surrounded by rampaging Yan people cavalry, a tide of panic and bewilderment began to overwhelm their courage, gradually filling their hearts.

Few actually broke and fled, but being fragmented and continuously assaulted by organized Yan Army formations rendered their so-called resistance pathetically weak.

Que Mu, having been unhorsed by Lord Jingnan, had just picked up a sword and was preparing to re-enter the fight when he keenly sensed how dire the battlefield situation had become.

This was a sensation he had never experienced before. In past battles against the Jin people—the Situ Family's forces—though their soldiers were fierce, they could never achieve such precision.

For a long time, in Que Mu's eyes, the only difference between the Jin people's (Situ Family's) army and his own wild people's army was that the Jin had better equipment and more men.

And indeed, that had been the case. As the wild people, under their king's leadership, grew in number and acquired more armor through capture and their own crafting, they had begun to defeat the Jin forces.

However, the army before him now was the same force that had once annihilated the Jin State's 600,000-strong army within ten days, campaigning across a thousand-mile battlefield. For such an army, dissecting the enemy with the skill of a master butcher in this small, localized encounter was hardly an exaggeration.

Que Mu's blade felled a Yan Army cavalryman's horse. He then beheaded the thrown Yan soldier. The Yan man's blood splashed onto Que Mu's face, yet he felt no elation.

He raised his head, looking around in a daze. How could they have lost so quickly?

Yes, how could they have lost so quickly?

This question echoed in the hearts of many wild people. They were clearly fighting with all their might, the passion in their hearts still burning, yet they could do nothing to stop the rout. Many of them didn't want to flee or retreat; they were simply so overwhelmed by the suffocating pressure of the battle that, like drowning men, they instinctively struggled to break free, to gasp for a breath of fresh air.

First, they scattered. Then, inevitably, came defeat.

The scales of victory had tipped decisively. This pervasive despair tormented every surviving wild person.

Angda's left arm had been severed, but he continued to fight. He could feel the number of comrades around him dwindling, the situation growing more desperate by the minute.

In a flash, Angda saw that gilded figure.

He gritted his teeth, spurring his exhausted warhorse toward the silhouette.

Was he trying to kill that man, or begging that man to kill him? Even Angda himself wasn't clear.

Just before the battle, he had told Que Mu that it was best not to fight if possible.

The current outcome had proven his foresight correct: the Yan people cavalry were as formidable as ever. Yet, Angda felt no joy in his accurate prediction, only a profound bitterness.

He didn't manage to reach Tian Wujing. Tian Wujing had already sheathed his sword and was calmly observing his surroundings, like an artist appreciating his newly finished oil painting.

BANG!

A figure lunged, knocking Angda from his horse. Angda's sword was parried, but in an instant, he drew a dagger from his tunic.

His only thought now was probably that if he had to die, he would make it count.

However, a rock shot out from the chest armor of the Yan soldier who had tackled him, striking his wrist and causing the dagger to clatter to the ground.

The Yan soldier raised his sword with both hands and, in a somewhat ceremonious posture, plunged it straight into Angda's chest. At such close range, the armor Angda wore was practically useless.

THUD!

Angda's body trembled. His eyes widened, and blood trickled continuously from the corners of his mouth. He didn't look at the face of the Yan soldier who had killed him. Instead, his gaze scanned the surroundings until he saw the Black Dragon banner, still fluttering.

They had once been followers under this banner, students taught beneath it. But what was truly despairing was that just as these students had matured and were about to achieve their own successes, their teacher suddenly appeared, intent on burying his former pupils.

The light in Angda's eyes slowly dimmed, eventually fading completely.

Zheng Fan panted heavily as he got off Angda's body. Even then, he didn't forget to glance at Lord Jingnan, who wasn't far away.

Lord Jingnan, however, was simply taking in the view.