But the Fengtian Army soldiers behind them continued their charge, stepping over the corpses of their comrades.
Fear had vanished from their eyes; only madness remained—retreating meant certain death, so they might as well fight their way forward to escape.
Finally, they ran into the Mo Dao Battalion.
"Mo Dao Battalion—Slay!"
Xi Sheng roared and unleashed a thousand Mo Dao swords simultaneously.
The first rank of Fengtian soldiers fell like straw. The long-handled swords sliced through them, cutting their bodies like tofu.
Blood splattered, staining the heavy armor of the Mo Dao wielders dark red.
But there were too many Fengtian troops.
Kill one row, and another row comes; kill one group, and another group surges in.
They piled up corpses and cleared a path with flesh and blood.
Some grabbed the legs of the swordsmen and bit them; others rolled from the ground into the formation and stabbed at the gaps in their armor with short swords.
The Mo Dao Battalion began to suffer casualties.
After a Mo Dao (a type of long-handled swordsman) killed seventeen people, he was tackled by five Fengtian Army soldiers. They used stones and knives to pry open his mask and stab him in the eye.
Another Mo Dao (a type of long-handled swordsman) had his sword handle broken and was dismembered by a flurry of blows.
But the Mo Dao Battalion remained steadfast as a rock. They formed groups of three, supporting each other from all sides.
When one person falls, someone else immediately takes their place.
The Mo Dao (陌刀) was wielded like a whirlwind of death, each strike taking several lives.
The beachhead has become a veritable meat grinder.
Corpses piled up like mountains, and blood flowed into streams, seeping into the soil and turning the earth a dark red.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, making one want to vomit.
By noon, the Fengtian Army had suffered over 40,000 casualties, but nearly 100,000 soldiers were still crammed onto the south bank beach.
The Yin army also paid a heavy price: the Mo Dao battalion lost 800 men, archers were killed or wounded 2,000, and frontline infantry suffered nearly 10,000 casualties.
Ma Zongliang personally went to the front line.
He led three thousand personal guards and finally fought his way through the first line of defense of the Mo Dao Battalion.
"Zhao Muyun is there!"
He saw the silver-armored figure on the central command platform, and his eyes flashed with a crazed light. "All troops, listen to my command! Overcome all dangers and break through the central army! Whoever kills Zhao Muyun will be crowned a king!"
"Kill Zhao Muyun! Confer a title of king!"
"To be granted the title of King!"
Driven by the promise of a hefty reward, the Fengtian Army unleashed its final frenzy.
Tens of thousands of people surged toward the central army of the Yin army, like a flood bursting its banks.
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