Chapter 35: All Attributes Exceed 900 Points

Zhu Ying charged on horseback, cutting down enemies in an endless stream. With his current formidable attribute power, he had long surpassed the capabilities of ordinary men; even if he could not be called a match for ten thousand, he certainly possessed the strength to face a thousand. Even if he were surrounded by a thousand men, Zhu Ying could still fight his way out. Of course, if a thousand archers were to fire at him from a distance, it would still be a difficult situation.

Urged on by Zhu Ying, several thousand Ming soldiers fought with fearless ferocity, relentlessly crushing the demoralized Tatars and slaughtering those who had lost their will to fight. In less than half an hour of battle, the ground was littered with corpses and thousands of riderless horses.

"Host's total attributes have exceeded 800 points. Reward: one ordinary treasure chest."
"Host's total attributes have exceeded 900 points. Reward: one ordinary treasure chest."

The system panel chimed. After this battle, Zhu Ying did not know exactly how many Tatars he had killed, but it was at least two hundred or more; this was his true combat power unleashed without reservation. Such martial prowess earned the deep conviction and trust of every soldier under his command.

"Breaking a thousand in total attributes is within reach. I wonder what changes my attributes will undergo once I cross that threshold," Zhu Ying thought, a trace of joy appearing on his face.

However, he did not dwell on it. He regained his focus and scanned the battlefield. It was strewn with bodies, ninety percent of which were Tatars, alongside horses wandering about. Still standing on the battlefield were several thousand blood-stained Ming cavalrymen, all breathing heavily, with some still pursuing the fleeing Tatars.

"Do not pursue desperate foes," Zhu Ying shouted.

Hearing this, the various battalion commanders echoed the order: "The Garrison Commander has ordered: do not pursue desperate foes!" Under their restraint, the pursuing soldiers returned one by one.

"Brothers," Zhu Ying said, addressing the battalion commanders and the surrounding troops with great solemnity. "This group of Tatars was just one of their scattered detachments. We cannot stay here long. Obey my orders: quickly tend to the wounded, and strap the fallen soldiers onto their horses with ropes. Even in death, I, Zhu Ying, will not let their remains be abandoned in this foreign land. I promise that, whether alive or dead, I will bring my brothers home."

In this foreign territory, after killing so many Tatars, Zhu Ying could well imagine the cruel treatment the soldiers' bodies would suffer if left behind. He could not bear to let his comrades, who had lived and died by his side, be abandoned in a strange land and have their remains desecrated.

Hearing his words, the gazes of the surrounding soldiers toward Zhu Ying changed; they were filled with deeper awe and conviction, along with a heartfelt sense of belonging. At this moment, they understood the young Garrison Commander’s dedication to living and dying alongside his brothers-in-arms. This was a man worth following to the death.

"We will obey the Garrison Commander's orders!" all the soldiers shouted in unison, their voices resonant and filled with recognition and trust.

"Zhang Wu, Wei Quan," Zhu Ying called out.
"At your command," the two replied immediately.
"Do not abandon the Tatars' horses. They are already tamed; we shall take them all to serve as mounts. Collect all the arrows from these Tatar bodies—do not waste them. Get all the brothers moving; we must withdraw within the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, or we will be caught by the Tatar reinforcements. Also, there are surely some Tatars among the corpses feigning death; be careful not to be harmed by them. If you find one, kill him immediately," Zhu Ying said in a low, stern voice.
"Understood," the two replied.

There were at least three or four thousand horses scattered across the battlefield, and nearly four thousand Tatar corpses on the ground. The results of this great battle were remarkable.

After giving all his orders, Zhu Ying looked at the chaotic scene and his own blood-drenched armor, feeling a sense of unreality. "Before I knew it, it has been nearly five months since I joined the army. Half a year is almost up. From a nobody to an acting Garrison Commander—if I can survive this ordeal, I can at least have my position confirmed. Afterward, as long as I relentlessly harass the Tatars, military merit will be within my grasp. And in the process, I will surely be able to push my total attributes past one thousand. Still, I must do my best to bring these brothers who follow me back safely. Once we have decimated the Tatar cavalry, the path ahead will be much easier."

An incense stick's time later, several battalion commanders came forward to report: "Garrison Commander, everything is prepared. We are ready to withdraw at any moment."

"Good." Zhu Ying nodded. He surveyed the area; the soldiers had all mounted their horses, the captured Tatar horses had been driven together, and the bodies of the fallen soldiers had been secured to their mounts.

"Pass the order: continue marching north," Zhu Ying commanded loudly.
"We obey the Garrison Commander's orders!" the soldiers replied in unison.

With that, Zhu Ying spurred his horse and charged toward the north, followed by his troops. As the Ming soldiers departed, the battlefield was left with nothing but a sprawl of corpses and many dead horses—a scene of extreme carnage.

Less than an incense stick's time after Zhu Ying left, the sound of hooves thundered as several thousand Tatar cavalrymen swept in from the south. Seeing the carnage of the battlefield, the leading Tatar commander waved his hand: "Halt!"

The Tatar soldiers looked on, their faces pale and grim.
"How many Ming troops were there?" the Tatar Wan-hu (Commander of Ten Thousand) asked in a low voice.
"R-reporting to the Wan-hu," a surviving Qian-hu (Commander of a Thousand) trembled as he replied, "The Ming force was... it was about five thousand, no, more than five thousand. At least seven or eight thousand."
"Seven or eight thousand?" The Wan-hu’s face twisted into a snarl. "Our five thousand warriors couldn't even hold them for half an hour? And less than a thousand returned?"
"Wan-hu," the surviving Qian-hu reported, shaking, "The Ming army is very strong. Their commander is a demon; he fears neither arrows nor blades. Hundreds of our men died at his hands alone. And... and the five Qian-hus... they all died by his hand. Furthermore, those Ming soldiers have all gone mad; they do not fear death..."
"Shut up!" the Wan-hu barked. He scanned the area and shouted, "See if there are any survivors!"
"Yes!" The Tatar soldiers dismounted and ran toward the bloody battlefield.

Just then, a Tatar soldier approached, holding their battle flag. "Wan-hu, there is writing left by the Ming army on our flag." He held it up and offered it respectfully. The Wan-hu took it, looked at it, and shouted, "Does anyone here know Han characters?"
"I do," one Tatar immediately ran forward.