Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 12: The Prince

Oaks Windclaw glared fiercely at the battlefield, yet his heart was filled with remorse. As a member of the powerful Oaks Empire’s royal family, his deep-seated contempt for humans and excessive arrogance had made the situation impossible to control. He should have stepped in to take charge the moment he heard the warning from his jackal-man subordinate. But the glory and spoils of conquering the human tribe once again today had clouded his judgment. He had become overly intoxicated by the fine wine offered by the horned beast-men tribe under his command, as well as by the two granddaughters of the tribe’s chieftain—and even now, his head was still spinning. By the time he had sobered up enough to don his armor and emerge, the horned beast-men had already collapsed. He estimated that there were about two hundred invading humans—roughly the same number as the tribe’s combat-ready men. But the humans had taken control of the outer thatched huts right from the start of the battle, leaving the newly joined beastmen unable to charge out from the huts to fight. Even the few particularly brave warriors who managed to break through the walls of the huts were quickly killed by the numerically superior humans surrounding them. The only effective resistance in this battle came from the jackal-men, goblins, and the horned beast-men tribe that had sided with him earliest. If he had stepped forward from the start to lead them in suppressing the invaders, he could have freed the warriors trapped inside the huts. With his formidable combat prowess, he would certainly have made those foolish humans understand the greatness of the Oks royal family. But now it was too late. His original subordinates had been slaughtered, and the horned beastmen had lost their will to resist, having turned into complete cowards. Over a hundred humans were gradually closing in. That a situation that hadn’t been difficult to begin with had turned out this way was certainly a profound lesson for him. Of course, it was just a lesson—he’d simply need to be more careful next time. Inside the large wooden hut behind him, two half-naked Di girls worked together to carry out a massive sword. Over 1. 7 meters long, it resembled a cavalry saber. The lion-man lifted it effortlessly with one hand, swept the blade outward with a “whoosh,” and severed the heads of several fleeing soldiers who let out loud, agonized screams. “Those who retreat will die!” the lion-man roared once more. His brutal tactics overpowered the sheep-horned humanoids’ instinct to flee, and the deserters were forced to turn and charge back toward the enemy main force, which was closing in step by step. A volley of pistol fire rang out from across the field once more, and several Di warriors at the front fell screaming. Then the row of shield bearers pressed forward again; more than a dozen mentally broken Di warriors, screaming at the top of their lungs, crashed into the round shields, and in an instant, the ground was littered with their agonized screams. As the shield formation faltered momentarily, the lion crouched low and charged forward, slamming his iron-gloved left fist viciously into a shield at the center of the formation. The wooden shield, reinforced with two layers of cowhide, shattered as if struck by a battering ram, sending debris flying in all directions. The Yi soldier spat blood as he was hurled backward, knocking over an axe-wielding soldier behind him. A greatsword thrust through the gap and swept violently to the right, sending three heads and several fragments of shield flying through the air. The left hand that had just sent a burly man flying transformed from a fist into a claw; dagger-like claws emerged from the specially cut slits in the fingertips of the iron gauntlet. With a light flick, a soldier’s sword-wielding arm was severed into five pieces! The Lion used his shoulder to pin down the Yi soldier, who was clutching his severed arm and screaming in agony, then leaped sideways with great force, knocking over every shield-bearing soldier on his left. In the blink of an eye, the once-menacing shield formation was breached by a single man, and every shield-bearing soldier was either dead or wounded! “Aaaarrgh!!!” The royal of the Orc Empire let out a long, piercing howl to the heavens. The sound waves spread out in concentric circles as if they were solid, sending up a cloud of loose snow. Even the most seasoned Yi warriors were so terrified they stopped in their tracks. With a “bang,” a 15-millimeter lead bullet struck the lion squarely in the right flank. Even his exquisite silver chainmail could not withstand the cheap lead projectile. The bullet pierced through the armor and the lion’s fur, flattening inside his body and creating a cavity. Blood spurted from the wound, forming a jet of crimson. Severely wounded, the lion-man dropped his weapon, pressed his right hand firmly against the wound, his body trembling slightly as he turned his head to his right… As the commander of the left flank, Ou Yang had not participated in the volley of plate armor fire led by Huang Qianzong. Participating in combat for the first time, his mind went blank; in a daze, he never found an opportunity to fire, and so, holding a loaded pistol, he mindlessly followed his troops as they charged forward. Fortunately, his men were battle-hardened veterans, and this small-scale skirmish required no specific command; otherwise, as their commander, he would certainly have held everyone back. It was precisely because his mind was a blank that the lion’s roar did not intimidate him; on the contrary, it brought Ou Yang back to his senses. Seeing the enemy only twenty-odd paces away, he raised his hand without a moment’s hesitation and fired his first shot in combat. At that distance, hitting such a massive, stationary target, it would have been hard to miss. Still not fully lucid, Ou Yang was shaking even more violently than the severely wounded lion. He fumbled to retrieve his ammunition, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pour the gunpowder from the paper cartridge into the barrel. The lion simply stared at this battlefield novice, muttering something under its breath in a language no one could understand. A faint red glow enveloped the lion; its body, already two and a half meters tall, suddenly swelled by a full head, reaching nearly three meters in height, and its eyes, once emerald green, instantly turned blood-red! “It’s sorcery! Kill him!” Liu Chenyong, commanding the right wing, shouted from a distance. Several archers who reacted first fired arrows in rapid succession, but having exhausted their supply of iron arrows, the bone arrows clattered uselessly against the chain mail. “Roar!!!” Driven mad by the Bloodlust spell, the imperial scion of the Orc Empire lost all reason. Crawling on all fours like a real lion, he opened his blood-stained maw wide and lunged fiercely at Ou Yang. In a panic, Ou Yang tossed aside his unloaded pistol and reached for the broadsword at his waist; by now, he could already smell the foul stench emanating from the lion’s mouth. “I’ve heard that when a person is about to die, they can see flashbacks of their entire life…” Just as he thought this, a long axe whirled out from behind him and slammed heavily into the head of the lion, which was charging straight at him without even trying to dodge. Even though the Bloodlust spell allowed the beastman to largely forget pain, this blow was simply too severe. The lion rose back onto its hind legs, clutching its forehead as blood gushed forth. For the first time, it let out a series of “Ugh… ugh…” groans, completely stripped of the overwhelming momentum it had displayed moments before. From the start of the battle, Heheli had stood right behind Ou Yang, never leaving his side. After throwing the long axe, he raised his banner spear horizontally, lowered his center of gravity, and with a furious roar, took a lunge forward to thrust into the lion’s lower abdomen. The spearhead sank deep into the flesh; the lion, as if struck by electricity, grabbed the shaft with both hands to prevent it from penetrating any further. By now, the lion was drenched in blood; the blood had soaked its fur, causing strands to cling to its body in clumps. It looked more like a large cat that had just been pulled from a river of blood than the frenzied Grim Reaper it had been moments ago. Ou Yang finally snapped out of it. He drew his broadsword and slashed at the lion’s nape. The first blow didn’t cut deep, but the fear of death finally overcame the madness induced by the Bloodlust spell. The red in the great cat’s eyes quickly faded, leaving only helpless despair. “No… no…” the big cat pleaded feebly, reaching out a paw to try to stop Ou Yang. Heheli seized the opportunity, straining with all his might as the banner spear pierced through the beast’s body. The beastman spat a mouthful of fresh blood onto Heheli’s face, his body going limp as he gradually sank to his knees. Ou Yang didn’t even hear the great cat’s pleas for mercy. Gripping his sword with both hands, he brought it down with another savage blow. The exquisitely crafted steel-clad broadsword severed the lion’s cervical vertebrae, leaving only the head—still connected by a sliver of flesh—hanging limply from its chest, blood gushing from the severed wound. The body of the member of the Imperial House of the Oks Empire collapsed with a thud. The 8th day of the 10th month, Year 30 of the Republic At dawn, it was snowing again. Huang Qianzong stood on the steps at the entrance of the large wooden house in the center of the Di-Qiang tribe, his expression cold and grim. At his side, a Han clerk held a sheet of paper and recited, swaying his head from side to side: “Our unit suffered twenty-two dead and twenty-six wounded; we beheaded one hundred seventeen—the wounded are also counted among the beheaded;228 able-bodied men were taken prisoner, of whom 115 were slaves captured by these Di-Qiang—all barbarians; 283 women, of whom 65 were barbarians; 85 children, 30 of whom were barbarians; and there are also a dozen or so Di-Qiang chieftains and elders—they’re of no use to us, so let’s just bury them…” Liu Chenyong could no longer contain his rage. He drew his broadsword and, roaring with fury, charged into the ranks of prisoners, slashing left and right. These unfortunate Di and Qiang warriors had their hands and feet bound, and the nooses around their necks were tied together, leaving them utterly unable to dodge. They could only wriggle about while pleading for mercy, trying to evade this god of death, and those struck by the blade let out a series of agonized screams. Not a single Han officer on the steps made a move to stop him. Huang Qianzong remained impassive as the clerk matter-of-factly recited one figure after another; Song Wenmu, with his hands tucked into his sleeves, watched the snowflakes drifting down from the sky, as if pondering a line of poetry. Hu Lanshan eagerly handed Ou Yang a piece of cotton cloth soaked in hot water, and Ou Yang silently wiped the blood from his face. It was his first time killing someone—though one might consider the beastmen to be human, for all intents and purposes—and Ou Yang was surprised that he didn’t feel the urge to vomit; he felt only a slight sense of exhaustion following the extreme tension. His hands and feet were still trembling slightly, so much so that he couldn’t even clench his fists. The battle, which had begun late last night, had lasted nearly an hour. After it ended, there was no time to rest; they had to rush to clear the battlefield, and it wasn’t until now that the work was finally finished. Liu Chenyong slashed at the horn of a burly Di-Qiang warrior. All Di-Qiang people had a pair of sheep-like horns growing from their heads; the horns of Di-Qiang women were thin and straight, extending backward along the crown of their heads, resembling a kind of hair ornament. The horns of men were thick and curved, providing some protection to the sides of their skulls. Liu Paijia’s blow cut so deeply that he couldn’t pull the blade out on the first try. He kicked the Di-Qiang warrior in the face, knocking out all his teeth, then swiftly drew his broadsword and delivered another savage blow to the unfortunate man’s neck, severing his bloodied, mangled head. Beside this group of male captives knelt the captured women. A beautiful Di woman struggled and pleaded as she tried to stand up, but the auxiliary soldier guarding her showed her no mercy, beating her with a flurry of blows until she fell back to her knees. The Di and Qiang women let out desperate wails. Liu Chenyong finally stopped. He took two deep, ragged breaths, spat viciously at the Di-Qiang on the ground, sheathed his sword, and, without looking back, slipped into the wooden hut to rest. Of the more than three hundred men who had set out on this expedition, nearly fifty had been killed or wounded, and several of the seriously injured would certainly not survive. The barbarians were essentially slaves; even those with minor injuries might not make it through the winter without proper medical care and medicine. What pained him most were the shield bearers. This time, he and Huang Qianzong had each provided five of their own private slaves to serve as shield bearers. His men stood on the left side of the shield formation—precisely where that mad lion had launched his main assault—and as a result, all five were killed. Of Huang Qianzong’s five, only one had died; the rest had merely been knocked down and sustained minor injuries. These men did not participate in farm work at all; they served as a sort of personal guard or household retinue. With only a dozen or so under his command, this was truly a devastating loss. The clerk glanced at the door that Commander Liu had slammed shut and said calmly, “To correct that: 122 were beheaded, and 223 able-bodied men were taken prisoner.” “Hah,” scoffed Song Wenmu, who had always been at odds with Liu Chenyong. “That brute isn’t quite as stupid as he seems.” Liu Jiachang had suffered heavy losses, so it was understandable that he’d kill a few slaves to vent his frustration. But at the end of the day, these captives were already considered everyone’s property; killing too many would affect others’ profits. Killing exactly five was just enough to avenge his own personal slaves. Moreover, after letting off some steam, he could simply hide away in his wooden hut. Naturally, others wouldn’t feel comfortable consulting him on the remaining matters, and he wouldn’t have to take a stance on some of the more thorny decisions.