Late Han Dynasty: Did the Yellow Emperor truly descend?

Chapter 66 "Invincible Soldiers"

The government troops on the south bank finally made their move.

Seeing the chaos on the north bank, with shouts of battle deafening, Chen Yuan and his men knew the time had come.

He took a deep breath, drew his long sword from his waist, and swung it fiercely at the formation behind him.

"Form ranks, advance!"

The order was given, and the officers and soldiers began their advance.

A square formation of several hundred people slowly advanced toward the riverbank, with swordsmen and shieldmen in front and spearmen behind, their shields held together and their spears pointing diagonally forward.

The front line of the formation consisted mostly of conscripted civilians. Although they hadn't trained for long, their every step forward seemed to tremble the riverbank beneath their feet. That heavy, unstoppable momentum still made the refugees on the riverbank change color.

This is what a square formation is. Even a half-baked square formation, when hundreds of people gather together and advance in the same direction, creates a sense of oppression that no single person can withstand.

On the riverbank, whether they were the first to reach the shore or the last to arrive, their legs trembled uncontrollably when faced with the hordes of government troops and the dense array of shields and spears. Some instinctively wanted to retreat, but behind them lay the surging river; where was there any way to turn back?

"Let's fight them!"

Someone shouted, their voice hoarse, like the howl of a dying beast.

A group of refugees, driven to desperation, charged towards the government troops, wearing straw sandals and carrying wooden sticks.

They had no formation, no strategy, but they had one thing in common: a resolute determination to fight to the death!

Seeing the refugees surging in like a chaotic mob, a hint of contempt flashed in Chen Yuan's eyes.

"Fire the arrows! Fire them immediately!"

The crossbowmen at the back of the formation pulled the triggers, and arrows flew out like locusts.

The fleeing refugees in front fell to the ground, but those behind them continued to rush forward, stepping over the corpses of their companions.

The madness in their eyes made even the swordsmen and shieldmen at the front line change color.

"Swordsmen and shieldmen, engage the enemy!"

Chen Yuan calmly gave the order, and the messenger signaled with flags.

The swordsmen and shieldmen at the front raised their shields, and the spearmen thrust their spears through the gaps. The first rank of refugees crashed into the spear tips, their flesh and blood pierced through, and screams filled the air. The spears were withdrawn, leaving a cloud of blood, and the second rank of refugees charged forward.

A refugee was pierced through the stomach by a spear, his intestines spilling out. He grabbed his intestines with one hand and used a machete to cut the spear shaft in half with the other, staggering as he lunged at the swordsmen and shieldmen blocking his way.

The soldier was so frightened that he tried to retreat, but was held back tightly by the soldiers behind him and could not move back.

These are the refugees fighting a desperate battle. They have no way out; they either fight their way through or die in the river.

The battlefield became fiercely contested, with both sides locked in a tangled struggle, gradually losing their bearings.

Although the soldiers at the front line were arrayed in square formations, they were also from poor backgrounds, and the largest battles they had ever seen were village brawls. They had never seen an enemy like this—fearless of death, fearless of pain, who, even after being stabbed, would still pounce on you, grab your leg, and tear at your throat with their teeth.

A young soldier was struck in the face with a wooden stick, his nose broken, blood gushing out, and he collapsed to the ground screaming. Another soldier, who had just slain a refugee, hadn't even had time to sheathe his sword when a boy tackled him from the side. The boy's face was covered in blood, and he clutched a sharp stone, repeatedly smashing it against the soldier's head until it bled profusely. The soldier screamed and struggled, his fingers digging deep furrows in the riverbed, until he gradually went still.

The formations at the front began to loosen and collapse.

The refugees kept pouring into the "meat grinder," ramming their bodies against the shields and biting the spear shafts with their teeth. One swordsman's shield was pulled by three refugees at the same time. He stumbled, his shield tilted, and immediately four or five wooden sticks were thrust in, hitting him in the face and chest. He screamed and fell to the ground, and the breach widened instantly.

More refugees poured in through the breach, like a flood bursting its banks.

Chen Yuan's mindset has changed somewhat.

He hadn't anticipated that the front rank of the phalanx would be scattered in just a quarter of an hour under the desperate onslaught of the refugees. The swordsmen and spearmen were broken into small groups, fighting independently. Without the cover of the phalanx, the individual martial skills and equipment advantages of the regular soldiers were completely negated by the frenzy of the refugees.

"Hold on! Maintain formation!"

Chen Yuan shouted hoarsely from behind.

But the soldiers' lines continued to retreat.

Fear spread like a plague. They weren't cold-blooded veterans; no one wanted to face such an opponent. One soldier threw down his spear and ran, then a second, then a third.

Judging from this limited perspective, Chen Yuan's military skills were not outstanding; in fact, one could say they were rather mediocre.

If a seasoned general were to deploy troops, he would surely select elite soldiers to hold the front lines, like pillars against the onslaught of refugees. Once the refugees suffer heavy casualties, their desperate momentum would naturally dissipate, leaving them at the mercy of government troops. Unfortunately, Chen Yuan lacked this foresight; he placed his weakest, regular soldiers in the most dangerous position.

Seeing that the battle line was about to collapse, Chen Yuan drew his sword.

"Those who retreat will be executed!"

The elite soldiers in the rear guard swung their swords at their fleeing comrades. Even so, the scattered regular soldiers continued to retreat, their courage shattered by the refugees' reckless ferocity. On the riverbank, the corpses of regular soldiers and refugees were intertwined, blood flowing into the river and turning the water on the shore a dark red.

Chen Yuan's heart sank to the bottom, but he had no time to feel sentimental.

The troops of the powerful clan where the central army was stationed remained firmly arrayed in formation. Their armor was iron, their shields were heavy iron-clad shields, and their spearheads gleamed. Yet, from the start of the battle until now, these elite soldiers stood there like an iron wall, completely unmoved.

The soldiers bleed at the front, and they wait; the refugees charge and fight, and they wait; the soldiers are scattered and retreat, but they still wait.

These are the officers and soldiers led by Chen Yuan.

At this point, Chen Yuan was no longer at ease.

"Regiment, press them down!"

His voice cracked.

The powerful clansmen's troops finally made their move.

"Thump!"

The swordsmen and shieldmen in the front row simultaneously paused, producing a dull thud.

"Thump!"

The spearmen in the back followed suit.

The truly elite troops began to advance steadily, taking over from the rout-strewn main force.

Like a tidal wave, the refugees crashed into the reef that emerged from the water.

Their clubs, pitchforks, and machetes pounded against the iron-clad shields with dull thuds, yet they couldn't budge them an inch. The shields remained unmoved, and spears thrust out from the gaps, stabbing and retracting, taking a life with each strike. Rows of refugees fell in the front, while those behind were gripped by fear.

These are the soldiers of the Han Dynasty, soldiers from good families, soldiers of the Han Dynasty who are said to be able to fight five barbarians with one Han soldier.

They wielded their butcher knives wantonly, reaping the lives that rushed towards them.

These groups of refugees who had reached a dead end were not seen as people, but merely as walking military achievements.

The refugees finally couldn't hold on any longer.

They bypassed the core of the officers and soldiers, like waves parted by a boulder, flowing in two directions.