100 Seizing the Initiative

In the era of cold weapons, the prowess of cavalry was universally acknowledged. After all, a warhorse charging at high speed was no ordinary force to be reckoned with.

On the battlefield, only a solid shield formation combined with long spears thrusting at the charging horses could offer effective defense.

As standardized weapons of the Han dynasty, shields and spears were currently equipped only by the elite Yellow Turban Strongmen within the Yellow Turban army. Ordinary Yellow Turban foot soldiers could consider themselves fortunate if they wielded a long fork or iron hoe; some were armed merely with sharpened wooden sticks, which were barely effective even for stabbing a man, let alone killing.

Insufficient weaponry was one issue, but armor was even more lacking. The better-equipped might have bamboo armor or simply two wooden plates—one protecting the chest, the other the back—stitched together with thread. Those worse off wore nothing but coarse cloth and human skins, carrying wooden sticks onto the battlefield...

As the saying goes, “To do a good job, one must first sharpen one’s tools.” With such an ill-equipped force, how could the Yellow Turban rebels possibly contend with the Templar Knights, the most elite unit personally forged by Luan Yi and devoted to the Holy Mother faith? Without their overwhelming numbers, they would have been defeated the moment they clashed with the Templar Knights.

At the forefront of the Templar Knights’ thousand-strong cavalry formation, Zhao Yun bore a heroic visage, his deep eyes radiating fierce battle intent. Beside him stood Liu Yu, a cleric of the Holy Mother faith within the knightly ranks, whose sharp gaze reflected unwavering resolve. Responsible for spreading the Holy Mother’s teachings and strengthening the soldiers’ faith, this divine servant reminded the guards of their sacred mission just as the two forces were about to collide. With head held high, he shouted, “For the glory of the Holy Mother!”

The troops responded in unison, “For the Holy Mother! Kill, kill, kill!”—three sharp, resonant cries that sent chills through the Yellow Turban ranks. Coupled with the deafening thunder of hooves and the towering warhorses nearly within arm’s reach, the rebel formation faltered even before battle commenced.

Seizing the moment, Zhao Yun urged his steed forward. The thousand-strong Templar Knights plunged like a sharp arrow into the northwest corner of the Yellow Turban vanguard’s encampment—dust clouding the air, blood spraying in all directions. The massacre had begun in earnest.

As one of the famed generals of the Three Kingdoms, Zhao Yun’s martial skill was unquestionable. His spear darted and weaved—rising, falling, left, then right—like a serpentine dance, each strike merciless and lethal. Every thrust extinguished a life; not a single enemy commander stood their ground against him. Blood flowed freely, warm and sticky, splattering his face and armor. Usually refined and gentle, on this battlefield outside Shanghe County, a fierce aura of killing intent radiated from him.

A thousand warhorses charged wildly through the Yellow Turban ranks, cutting down over two hundred foes within moments.

The leaders of the Yellow Turban vanguard camps, seeing this, grew desperate and urged their men to intercept with all their might. But how could these nimble cavalry be so easily stopped?

The Templar Knights merely brushed past the converging Yellow Turban forces, leaving behind dozens if not hundreds of warm corpses, then like a gust of wind veered swiftly toward the army’s main banner.

“Trouble! They’re going to cut down the banner!” a Yellow Turban squad leader realized Zhao Yun’s intent, his heart suddenly lodged in his throat. He dispatched messengers to report to the vanguard commander Li Xiu and whipped his horse forward, leading his personal troops to intercept Zhao Yun, determined to block him at all costs.

Yet the moment he engaged Zhao Yun, he realized how foolish that hope had been. The leader of this Holy Mother cavalry looked no older than twenty, yet wielded martial prowess beyond expectation.

The Yellow Turban leader raised his steel blade and swung it fiercely. Sunlight gleamed off the flashing edge; confident, he believed one strike would sever Zhao Yun’s head.

At that moment, a strange force struck his blade like an arrow, throwing off his balance and nearly unseating him. Regaining his posture with difficulty, he saw a flash of silver light—a silver dragon snarling and lunging forward. But on closer inspection, it was no dragon, but Zhao Yun’s iron spear.

The rebel leader’s face paled. Instinctively, he turned his head to dodge, and that reflex saved his life—the spear grazed his cheek, leaving a deep gash.

Zhao Yun let out a surprised “Huh.” Since entering the Yellow Turban ranks, this was the first time someone had evaded his swift silver spear. Yet he spared no mercy, sweeping the spear from a stab to a slash, striking the rebel leader’s skull and knocking him from his horse.

The unfortunate Yellow Turban leader left no name, soon trampled into pulp by the thousand Templar Knights who surged forward.

The Templar Knights broke through like a tidal wave. From the moment they struck, within the brief incense burn of a few minutes, they had slain over a thousand Yellow Turban soldiers. Thanks to the rebels’ crude farming tools and wooden sticks inflicting little damage against sturdy armor, combined with sharp weapons and strong mounts, the knights suffered minimal casualties—only a dozen or so fell, mostly trampled after falling from their horses, with a few injured.

In an instant, the Templar Knights appeared before Li Xiu, commander of the Yellow Turban vanguard.

Li Xiu had once been a local ruffian of Liyang County in Jizhou, idle and violent, feared and despised by many. Though living carefree, he was socially isolated and often scorned, which left him spiritually hollow. When the Taiping Dao sect rose in Jizhou, recruiting disciples, Li Xiu, bored and friendless, joined. His knack for violence soon made him a notorious enforcer within the sect, fulfilling his desire for significance. Rewarded for solving numerous problems for the sect, he was promoted to lead a troop and marched south under Zhu Ying to strategize in Jinan.

During his service, Li Xiu had killed many—unarmed peasants, heavily guarded officials—numbering in the hundreds. His confidence in his martial skill and self-proclaimed invincibility grew accordingly.

Thus, when Zhao Yun charged at him, Li Xiu neither called for reinforcements nor ordered a retreat but boldly led his personal guards in a counterattack.

Yet, when their eyes met, much like the previous rebel leader, he instantly regretted his arrogance. The eagle-sharp gaze that passed over him sent a familiar icy chill down his neck—the cold wind of death he had delivered to many over the years was now upon himself.

Fear spread through his heart like wildfire, and suddenly he recalled an old saying: “There is always a sky beyond the sky, a man beyond the man.”

Momentarily stunned, Li Xiu was half a beat slow as Zhao Yun galloped forward, spearing like a silver meteor toward his chest.

One had to admit, Li Xiu was no stranger to battle and possessed some skill. Even at this dire moment, he reacted with lightning speed, raising his twin axes to parry Zhao Yun’s spear aside with a crisp metallic clang.

The horses clashed, and Zhao Yun let out another “Huh.” This was the second person today who had withstood his full-strength strike. His fighting spirit surged anew as he wheeled his horse around for another charge.

After their clash, Li Xiu trembled with fear. He marveled at how this seemingly slight youth wielded such strength—parrying that strike had left his hands numb for a long while.

Forced to press on, Li Xiu faced Zhao Yun again.

“Clang!” The metallic ring was even louder this time. But Li Xiu’s luck had run out. As he braced to block the spear, the weapon suddenly shifted—Zhao Yun feinted a stab to the chest, the real strike aimed at the neck.

Blood spurted as the sharp spearhead tore through tender flesh, piercing his throat, entering front and exiting back, severing his head in a powerful thrust. The severed head rolled far across the ground.

Li Xiu’s guards, already shaken by the Templar Knights’ disciplined gear and deadly efficiency during the fierce fighting, were terrified anew to witness their famed commander slain in an instant. Panic erupted, and the Yellow Turban forces scattered in chaos.

Zhao Yun pressed on without impediment, reaching the command banner. Drawing his treasured sword, he struck it down; the Yellow Turban flag collapsed, fluttering in the wind.

Over nine hundred Templar Knights roared in unison, “The rebel general is dead; why do you not surrender?”

From all directions, the Yellow Turban forces who had rushed to encircle Zhao Yun saw the fallen flag and heard of their leader’s death. Their morale plummeted, and they fled in panic.

Seizing the opportunity, Zhao Yun and the Templar Knights slaughtered relentlessly, beheading countless foes and capturing over two thousand prisoners. Pursuit continued for more than fifty li, halting only upon sighting Zhu Ying’s main banner in the Yellow Turban central camp, after which they withdrew to Shanghe County.

At that moment, Luan Yi led the Holy Mother’s nine thousand-strong army to the city outskirts. Hearing of Zhao Yun’s victorious first battle, he rejoiced immensely, donning his armor to personally visit the Templar Knights’ vanguard to commend the troops and arrange generous rewards.

In those ancient times, cities evolved from markets. Multiple villages would establish a central market for trade, which grew increasingly busy. Professional merchants settled there, sustaining themselves through commerce. Over time, as trade and population increased, these markets became towns, then county seats.

Thus, cities in antiquity were modest in size. Take Licheng County, the capital of Jinan State: the distance between its east and west walls was just over two li, and from north to south less than six li. A quarter of this area belonged to the Jinan royal mansion. The permanent population numbered only around eight thousand; the rest of the county’s inhabitants lived in surrounding villages.

If Licheng County was so small, Shanghe County was even smaller. Such a tiny county town could hardly accommodate a force of ten thousand men. This explains why, in ancient siege warfare, defenders often stationed themselves outside the city walls to engage invading forces rather than fight within the cramped city confines.