At this critical moment, Niu Desheng, covered in blood, miraculously led several hundred remaining soldiers through the encirclement and reached the vicinity of the central army!
"Old Ma! Hold on! Old Niu is coming!"
Niu Desheng, like a mad bull, wielded his broadsword like a windmill, carving a bloody path through the air and rushing to Ma Zongliang's side, shielding him from a fatal blow.
"Desheng!" Ma Zongliang was both surprised and delighted, but when he saw the few hundred people behind Niu Desheng, his heart sank.
"It's no use! Old Ma! Everything's in chaos! We can't organize anything at all!"
Niu Desheng, panting heavily and speaking in a hoarse voice, said, "There's been no movement from Li Biao and Li Bao either! Let's go! If we don't leave now, we'll all be wiped out here!"
Looking at the dwindling number of his personal guards and hearing the increasingly loud shouts of the Northern Di from all directions, along with the desperate screams of his own soldiers, Ma Zongliang knew that the situation was hopeless.
He was overwhelmed by endless regret, resentment, and pain.
An army of 140,000!
This was Li Jingang's entire fortune, and he ruined it all with his own hands!
"Pfft—" Overwhelmed by anger, Ma Zongliang suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood, his body swayed, and he almost fell over.
"Marshal!" His personal guards hurriedly helped him up.
“Let’s go…let’s go…” Ma Zongliang’s face was ashen as he uttered the two words with difficulty, as if he had used up all his strength.
Under the desperate protection of Niu Desheng and the remaining personal guards, Ma Zongliang discarded the ceremonial axe and banner that symbolized the dignity of the commander-in-chief, and fled desperately into the darkness to the south, mingling with the fleeing crowd.
The commander's escape was like the last straw that broke the camel's back; the remaining sporadic resistance of the Fengtian Army completely collapsed, and a total rout began.
Wuzhu did not stop because Ma Zongliang had fled; he knew the principle that "it is better to cut off one finger than to injure all ten."
He ordered his troops to pursue with all their might, giving the Fengtian Army no chance to regroup.
The Northern Di cavalry, like a pack of wolves on a hunt, drove, divided, and slaughtered the fleeing Fengtian army.
In order to run faster, many Fengtian soldiers discarded their weapons and took off their heavy armor, making them even more vulnerable to the scimitars and hooves of the Northern Di cavalry.
On the plains, there were fleeing figures, chasing cavalry, splattered blood, and dying cries everywhere.
This was a one-sided massacre that lasted all night.
As dawn broke, the wind gradually subsided.
The scene on the battlefield was horrific.
Everywhere you looked, there were corpses strewn across the fields, tattered flags, abandoned armor, and burning vehicles.
Blood stained large swathes of land a strange dark red, and the air was thick with the stench of blood and burning.
Wuzhu stopped his horse amidst a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. Looking at the purgatory he had created with his own hands, his face showed little joy, only a cold weariness and the relief of having achieved his goal.
He tallied the results of the battle: in this battle, more than 50,000 Fengtian soldiers were killed in action, more than 20,000 were captured, and countless others were routed.
Fengtian Army Commander-in-Chief Ma Zongliang and other high-ranking generals escaped with their lives, but countless supplies and provisions were captured.
"Your Majesty, we have won! An unprecedented victory!" The generals excitedly gathered around, their faces beaming with fervor.
Wuzhu nodded, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield, and said in a deep voice, "Order a retreat. Treat the wounded and take inventory of the spoils."
"Furthermore... give the Fengtian Army generals a proper burial; they... were respectable adversaries."
He paused, then added, "Send out scouts to continue reconnaissance southwards, monitoring the movements of the remnants of the Fengtian Army. At the same time, inform Arahan of Youzhou of this good news, and tell him that I have reclaimed the glory he lost!"
The decisive battle on the plains ended in a brilliant and decisive victory for the Northern Di army.
With his extraordinary courage, skillful use of the weather, and precise tactical execution, Wuzhu, the Left Wise King of the Northern Barbarians, almost completely annihilated the most elite field army of Fengchao, thus turning the tide of the war!
Under the desperate protection of Niu Desheng and others, Ma Zongliang raced southward without daring to stop for a moment.
Only when the sun was high in the sky and they were certain that the Northern Di pursuers had gone far away, leaving only scattered, panicked soldiers behind them, did they stop behind a small mound in Hejian Prefecture called "Luohunpo" (Soul-Falling Slope).
A headcount revealed that fewer than three hundred men had followed Ma Zongliang to this place, and all of them were wounded, their armor incomplete, and their expressions dazed—a stark contrast to the formidable army of yesterday.
Niu Desheng was shot in the shoulder with an arrow. He only received a simple bandage, but blood was still seeping out.
Li Biao and Li Bao have also disappeared without a trace, and their fate is unknown.
Ma Zongliang leaned against a withered tree, his face pale, his eyes staring blankly to the north.
His marshal's robes were nowhere to be found; he was only wearing an ordinary military uniform stained with mud and blood.
Overnight, he seemed to have aged twenty years. His former gloom and majesty vanished, leaving only endless desolation and deathly silence.
"140,000...140,000 brothers..."
He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, "Just like that... gone... I'm sorry to His Majesty... I'm sorry to the Great Feng... and even more sorry to the soldiers who trusted me..."
Two streams of murky tears slid down his wrinkled and dusty cheeks. This cunning and shrewd Li Jingang, one of the Four Heavenly Kings, was utterly defeated at this moment.
Niu Desheng plopped down on the ground, then slammed his fist into a nearby rock, tearing his skin and flesh, but he seemed oblivious, letting out a low growl:
"Stop talking! Old Ma! It's all my fault, Old Niu! If I hadn't been so reckless as a striker and thrown the team into disarray, things wouldn't have come to this...it wouldn't have come to this..."
This once unruly and arrogant general, who thought himself the best in the world, was now filled with regret and self-reproach.
Just then, a commotion arose ahead.
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