The Demon Lords-Chapter 644 - 115: Waves Wash Away Heroes_1
The fierce battle of the Left Army had reached a fever pitch. Fighting was akin to a tug-of-war: one misstep led to repeated setbacks. Each minor disadvantage slowly accumulated until it morphed into an insurmountable mountain, leaving them powerless to reverse the desperate situation.
Deng Jiuru was still waving the command flag. The battle had progressed to a point where there was little left to command. The entire encampment was a chaotic melee, making it impossible to issue effective orders.
Once the troops' formations were broken, the general's orders could no longer be delivered. At this moment, all they could rely on was raw courage, hoping to drive the wild people out of the encampment!
All the old general could do was wave that flag, ensuring his soldiers could see it, to maintain their confidence and conviction to fight on.
For a commander, this was the most detested situation: the battle's development had completely slipped from his control. At this point, how different was he from those who performed empty rituals, praying to spirits? What difference could there possibly be? It was all down to resigning oneself to fate.
On the side of the wild people, their offensive surged like a tide. Their combat prowess indeed astonished the Yan Army.
They charged forward fearlessly, again and again, desperate to tear open a breach. To achieve this quickly, their archers in the rear loosed arrows indiscriminately, even at their own and enemy soldiers locked in the melee.
The wild people's warriors hit by arrows from their own kin showed no anger. Instead, they grinned savagely as they snapped off the shafts lodged in their bodies, blood in their mouths, and continued to fight.
Whether the stars would protect them, or whether the souls of the fallen could truly be received by the stars—they did not truly care.
For hundreds of years, the Snow Plain, out of numbness, had bred ignorance. This led them, generation after generation, to immerse themselves in a beautiful dream. It seemed this was the only way to endure the bitter cold of the Snow Plain.
But now, the appearance of that one man had pointed them in a new direction. Their lives were no longer confined to the vast expanse of stars above them at night. They had rediscovered the land beneath their feet and witnessed an existence called hope.
The King had said, "The future of the Holy Tribe is no longer in the heavens, but ahead—right in front of us!"
For what lies ahead—KILL! KILL! KILL!
The Wild King had never cared for the rituals of the Snow Plain, nor for its so-called Star-Guides—the emissaries of the stars. This was clear from his promotion of Sang Hu, a man who reveled in killing these Star-Guides.
For in the Wild King's heart, he himself was the stars.
It was not that he was grand or radiant. Rather, like the light of the stars, he could make the warriors of the Snow Plain believe in him, submit to him, and willingly offer their devotion and their lives for him.
Zheng Fan and the Blind One had once analyzed the Wild King. They both concluded that he possessed not only exceptional strategic foresight but also a captivating charisma that inspired fanatical devotion from his people.
Emperors of other nations also called themselves the Son of Heaven. But frankly, "Son of Heaven" was merely a title, a supreme designation. It was less a divine mandate and more the ultimate "official position" tied to the Dragon Throne. The Wild King, however, on the Snow Plain, already embodied a fusion of political and religious authority.
The Yan Army's outer encampment, already flimsy and hastily constructed, was now completely breached. The wild people began to furiously compress the Yan Army's formations.
In such circumstances, individual martial prowess began to seem increasingly insignificant.
Sometimes, it wasn't that you wanted to retreat, but that you were forced to. This chain reaction took hold, and the Left Army began an unstoppable backward drift.
"We can't retreat, brothers! We mustn't retreat! We cannot retreat!" Deng Jiuru roared.
Behind them lay the great river!
"Kill! Fight them back! Drive them out! We can still hold out for reinforcements! We can still hold out for reinforcements!" Deng Jiuru cried. The old general knew, however, that while reinforcements were indeed on the opposite bank, the Chu State's navy blockaded the river. Its width had become an insurmountable chasm.
The slaughter continued for a long time. To Deng Jiuru's relief, his troops seemed to have stabilized their lines. The fierce courage of his young soldiers and the inherent tenacity of the Yan people had allowed them to withstand the surprise attack. At least, it appeared they had held on.
However, the Yan Army's problem was that its internal command structure had completely collapsed. Meanwhile, the wild people, following their initial plan after four hours of brutal fighting, began an orderly withdrawal of their vanguard, replaced by fresh troops from the rear. This exchange of forces was why it seemed to Deng Jiuru that his side had managed to hold.
The ground was already carpeted with the dead from both sides. In some places, bodies were piled so high they formed veritable mountains of corpses. It was truly a scene of corpse mountains and a blood sea.
When a figure clad in white wolf pelts appeared on the battlefield, the wild people erupted into a frenzy.
The newly rotated wild people fought with even greater ferocity, while the Yan people were unable to conduct any orderly relief or rotation of their own troops.
The battlefield had shrunk to the point where Yan soldiers from the rear could not advance, and those at the front, utterly exhausted, could not fall back to rest. No matter how brave or fearless a soldier might be, he was, in the end, only human.
Facing the wild people's second wave of attack, the Yan Army began a large-scale rout. The retreat of the vanguard pressed upon their fellow soldiers in the rear, forcing them into an uncontrollable backward surge.
At this juncture, even if The main general, with an iron heart, ordered the execution of retreating soldiers, it would be futile. The rout had already taken hold, much like the chaos of a panicked night camp that could not be quelled until daybreak.
