Chapter Fifty: Bocai's Retreat

On the other side, the Formation Breakers, who had fallen slightly behind earlier, now caught up. The cavalry of the Vanguard Battalion was already entangled in the melee with the Yellow Turbans, making it impossible for the Formation Breakers to use their repeating crossbows any longer.

Gao Shun seized the moment and roared, “This is the day to win glory and make history! Formation Breakers, draw blades and slay the enemy!”

With Gao Shun’s thunderous command, the soldiers of the Formation Breakers immediately split into five phalanxes, each a thousand men strong, raising their heavy swords high.

“Formation Breakers, kill! Formation Breakers, kill!” The resounding chant of five thousand men shook the battlefield. Each phalanx moved in perfect unison, like a single entity, ignoring all defense as they reaped the lives of the Yellow Turbans with their blades.

Meanwhile, atop the walls of Changshe, Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun, both already exhausted from the fighting, noticed a sudden relief in pressure. Fewer enemy soldiers were making it to the ramparts.

“Gongwei, look! That must be our reinforcements!” Huangfu Song, ever sharp-eyed, spotted Liu Yao’s troops advancing steadily toward the city. He called out excitedly, even as his blade struck down another enemy scaling the wall.

Zhu Jun’s heart leapt with joy. He looked into the distance and saw two banners emblazoned with the characters for “Han” and “Liu.” Laughing wildly, he shouted, “Hahaha, Yizhen, those are the banners of Liu! His Highness the Crown Prince has come! We are saved!”

Both men watched as the force of barely ten thousand pressed the Yellow Turbans back step by step, their faces alight with hope. Huangfu Song raised his spear to the sky, summoning his strength, and shouted, “Soldiers, our reinforcements are here! His Highness the Crown Prince, Governor of Youzhou, Liu Yao, has come to our aid! The Yellow Turbans are in retreat! Open the gates—follow me and charge out!”

At the mention of Liu Yao’s name, hope surged in every defender’s heart. Their morale soared, and all exhaustion faded away. To them, Liu Yao was the very symbol of invincibility. Even the Wuhuan had fallen before him—how could these rabble of Yellow Turbans hope to stand?

“To arms!” With Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun taking the lead, the defenders were fired with new spirit, unleashing all the pent-up frustration from being forced onto the defensive. They flung open the gates and surged out to exact vengeance on the fleeing Yellow Turbans.

As for Bo Cai, witnessing the chaos before him, he was already terrified. Seeing Liu Yao’s troops charging directly at him, he screamed, “Don’t run! Hold your ground—stand and fight, quickly, hold the line!”

“Run for your lives!” A Yellow Turban dropped his weapon and fled the field.

“I don’t want to die! Out of my way!” Another, blocked by his own comrade, cut the man down without hesitation and continued his escape. In the face of death, all loyalty and brotherhood were cast aside.

Defeat came like a landslide—no matter how capable Bo Cai was, he could not rally his broken army. Consumed by the urge to escape, he fled toward the Yellow Turban camp, surrounded by his personal guard. The remaining Yellow Turbans, seeing their commander run, followed in a panic.

But the earlier shout had already revealed Bo Cai’s position to Liu Yao, whose keen hearing caught the sound. Liu Yao looked in Bo Cai’s direction and said to those beside him, “Zilong, Yide, Hansheng—Bo Cai is there. If you can capture him alive, do so; if not, kill him outright.” Even as he spoke, Liu Yao’s giant axe swept through the enemy with brute force. He needed no technique—raw power alone sufficed to cut down the foe. Even a glancing blow left a Yellow Turban dead or crippled.

Following Liu Yao’s gaze, the three men—Zhao Yun, Zhang Fei, and Huang Zhong—quickly spotted Bo Cai fleeing in the distance. Their hearts leaped with anticipation. Capturing Bo Cai alive would be a great merit.

“Bo Cai, wretch, prepare to die!” Zhang Fei bellowed, spurring his jet-black steed forward. The horse, as if understanding, shot ahead like an arrow.

Zhang Fei’s voice was so loud it cut through the chaos of battle, reaching Bo Cai’s ears with chilling clarity. Bo Cai shuddered in terror and glanced back to see a fierce, black-faced warrior bearing down on him, every Yellow Turban who got in the way slain with a single thrust. He dared not tarry and fled desperately from the field.

“Yide, you won’t take him—Bo Cai’s life is mine!” Zhao Yun laughed, galloping in pursuit.

Huang Zhong, not to be outdone, also raced after Bo Cai. Such a great achievement, he would not let slip away.

With the three men spurring on their finest steeds, they quickly closed the distance to Bo Cai.

“Bo Cai, wretch, you won’t escape! Let me, Zhang Fei, send you to your ancestors!” Zhang Fei shouted, brandishing his eight-foot spear as he drew near.

Bo Cai looked back and saw the three generals less than a hundred paces behind. In panic, he yelled to a few Yellow Turban lieutenants, “You there! Hold them off for me!”

“Yes, sir!” Six of Bo Cai’s loyal lieutenants rode out. These were his most trusted men, willing to die for him without hesitation.

They charged at Zhang Fei, spears leveled. Six spear points thrust at him at once.

Zhang Fei showed no fear—instead, he laughed heartily and with a single, casual sweep of his great spear, deflected all six attacks.

Before Zhang Fei could dispatch these underlings, a voice came from behind: “Yide, I’ll help you!” With that, a silver spear flashed past—Zhao Yun’s weapon, twirling with lightning speed, pierced the hearts of two lieutenants.

Huang Zhong appeared silently on Zhang Fei’s other side. With a single stroke of his great saber, two more heads fell to the ground.

“You two dare steal my prey?!” Zhang Fei roared in anger as his kills were taken. With a flourish, he brushed aside the spears pressing against his own and quickly drove his weapon through the last two lieutenants.

In a single exchange, the six lieutenants fell beneath the three heroes’ blades.

By now, Bo Cai had fled more than a hundred paces away, and with many Yellow Turban soldiers between them, the three could not close the gap.

Seeing this, Huang Zhong wasted no time. He drew his treasured eagle-bow, nocked an arrow, and loosed it with a sharp twang—the shaft whistled through the air toward Bo Cai’s head.

Sensing mortal danger, Bo Cai instinctively looked back and saw an arrow streaking toward his face. He thought bitterly, “This is the end.”

But in that instant, one of Bo Cai’s bodyguards leapt in front of him, crying, “My lord, beware!” The arrow struck the guard through the chest, and the man closed his eyes in contentment as he died.

However, Huang Zhong’s archery was famed as the finest under heaven for a reason. The arrow, though deflected, still had force behind it. It struck Bo Cai in the left arm rather than the head.

“Aaagh!” Bo Cai howled in pain, clutching his wounded arm as he fled without looking back. The remaining Yellow Turban soldiers, desperate to survive, followed close behind.