Tang Yanhai squinted, like an eagle waiting for its chance, standing on a high slope on the west side of Qishan Mountain.

His 100 elite scouts had already broken up into smaller units, blending into Wu Shangzhi's cavalry or lurking on the edge of the battlefield.

Their mission is not to kill the enemy, but to observe, identify, and lock onto targets.

"Four people, acting suspiciously, in the southeast corner."

A young scout beside him whispered, his monoculars fixed on that direction.

Tang Yanhai took the binoculars—the "telescope" developed by Zhao Muyun, which was provided to every officer and above in the military.

In the telescope, four people dressed as ordinary soldiers are walking briskly with their backs bent, but one of them walks with a steady gait. Although the sword at his waist is wrapped in cloth, the shape of the hilt is not that of an ordinary soldier.

"Chase." Tang Yanhai said only one word.

More than ten elite scouts slid down the hillside silently like foxes, using the terrain and dust as cover, and trailed far behind the four men.

An hour later, the sounds of fighting on the battlefield gradually subsided.

With their commander missing, their retreat cut off, and casualties mounting, the four thousand Jiannan soldiers finally collapsed.

Squads of soldiers threw down their weapons and knelt down to surrender.

Wu Shangzhi ordered a halt to the attack and began accepting prisoners of war and taking stock of the spoils of war.

Meanwhile, Yang Chao and his three companions had already ventured deep into the dense forests on the southern slopes of Qishan Mountain.

"General, once we cross that mountain ridge ahead, we'll be out of Qishan territory."

One of the guards, panting heavily, said, "If we go another thirty miles south, we'll find the secret supply point we set up earlier."

Yang Chao leaned against a pine tree, his chest heaving violently.

For a pampered general like him, abandoning his armor and walking on foot, running swiftly along mountain paths, was far too strenuous.

"Rest...rest for a quarter of an hour," he said hoarsely.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a crossbow bolt pierced the air and landed with a "thud" on the tree trunk above Yang Chao's head, its fletching buzzing.

"Enemy attack!"

The guards cried out in alarm and drew their swords to protect Yang Chao.

The other two quickly took positions on the left and right, with their backs against the big tree.

The forest was quiet, with only the rustling of the wind through the treetops.

Tang Yanhai's voice came from deep within the forest, elusive and uncertain:

"General Yang, the mountain road is difficult to travel. Why don't you come back to Xijing with us? My Grand Commander has good wine to entertain you."

Yang Chao's face turned deathly pale—how did they catch up with us?

How do I know I'm on this path?

"Fire arrows! Force them out!" Yang Chao roared.

The three guards drew their bows and shot towards the source of the sound, but the arrows disappeared into the forest without a response.

Suddenly, a short scream came from the left—a guard had been shot in the throat and fell backward.

Next, on the right, another guard was pierced through the chest by a short spear thrown from who-knows-where.

The last guard, his eyes bloodshot, charged into the depths of the forest with his sword, only to step into a trap after three steps. He was hung upside down from a tree and then riddled with arrows.

The whole process took only a dozen or so breaths.

Yang Chao stood alone, leaning against a large tree, his hand holding the sword trembling slightly.

He prided himself on being the bravest general in Jiannan, but now he faced a completely different enemy—one who would not confront him head-on, nor would he engage in battle in formation, but would instead seek his life from the shadows.

"General Yang, surrender."

Tang Yanhai emerged from behind a bush, followed by seven or eight scouts, their crossbows already cocked and aimed at Yang Chao's vital points.

"Zhao Muyun...you want her alive?" Yang Chao gave a bitter laugh.

"The Grand Commander cherishes talent."

Tang Yanhai said calmly.

Yang Chao suddenly sprang up, his long sword thrusting straight at Tang Yanhai's face!

Tang Yanhai neither dodged nor avoided the attack, and only slightly turned his body when the tip of the sword was only three feet away from his face.

At the same time, the crossbows of the two scouts behind him were pulled—not to shoot people, but to shoot swords.

With two sharp "ding-ding" sounds, the specially made blunt-nosed crossbow bolts struck the sword precisely.

Yang Chao felt a violent tremor in his hand, and the long sword almost slipped from his grasp.

In that instant of hesitation, Tang Yanhai had already closed in and delivered a chop to Yang Chao's wrist, sending his sword crashing to the ground.

With his other hand, he gripped Yang Chao's throat like an iron clamp and then slammed his knee into his abdomen.

Yang Chao groaned and slumped down.

"Tie him up."

Tang Yanhai clapped his hands, as if he had only done a trivial thing.

......

Five days later, outside Xijing City.

Wu Shangzhi and Tang Yanhai rode side by side, with a procession of prisoners being escorted behind them.

More than three thousand surrendered soldiers from Jiannan were dejected, but their clothes were still intact, indicating that they had not been mistreated.

At the very front of the procession, Yang Chao was imprisoned in a specially made prison cart, with a layer of dry straw even laid on the wooden cage.

Outside the city gate, Zhao Muyun and Yinji led civil and military officials to greet them.

"Welcome back in triumph, General Wu and General Tang!"

The city gate guards shouted in unison, their voices shaking the heavens.

Wu Shangzhi dismounted and saluted: "This humble general has fortunately fulfilled his mission, defeating Yang Chao's troops, capturing 3,123 people, and seizing a certain amount of military equipment and provisions."

Tang Yanhai then gestured to his men to push the prison cart forward: "Yang Chao is here."

Yang Chao, inside the prison van, raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, but his expression remained defiant.

He scanned the welcoming party outside the city gate, and when he saw the troops standing solemnly beside Zhao Muyun, his pupils suddenly contracted.

On the left, Guo Luo led a thousand heavy cavalrymen who stood like a mountain.

Both men and horses were clad in heavy armor, and the sunlight shone on the cold, forged armor plates, reflecting a chilling light.

Those warhorses were all over six feet tall at the shoulder, their breaths sounded like muffled thunder, and their coats were pure white; they were actually rare Akhal-Teke horses.

The cavalryman held a long spear, the red tassel at the tip of the spear remaining motionless in the wind—a composure only experienced soldiers who had fought a thousand battles possessed.

On the right, Xi Sheng's thousand-strong Mo Dao battalion was even more astonishing.

The soldiers were all over eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick waists, and their long swords were over ten feet long with hilts as thick as a child's arm.

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