Chapter Thirty-Nine: Campaign Against the Yellow Turbans (Part One)

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei exchanged a glance. Although Sun Meng’s words left them somewhat displeased, they had no choice—the man’s strength surpassed their own.

The three of them headed out into the courtyard. Suddenly, Zhang Fei spoke, “By the way, Brother Sun, you’re skilled with the bow, aren’t you? But…” He glanced around. Though the courtyard was spacious, at their level as martial artists, crossing from one end to the other would take no more than a couple of breaths. For an archer, this was far from a safe distance.

Sun Meng smiled. “Don’t worry. Since I said it, I’m confident. Besides, my skills aren’t limited to archery alone. For a friendly spar, this is more than enough.”

“Apologies, Brother Sun!” Guan Yu and Zhang Fei cupped their hands in salute. Flanking him from left and right, one with a blade and the other with a spear, they charged at Sun Meng.

Even without horses, their explosive footwork brought them before Sun Meng in a flash.

Yet Sun Meng simply raised his longbow to block their weapons. With a strong shove, the two drove him back, leaving a trace along the ground.

“Impressive strength. My turn!” As Sun Meng finished speaking, two arrows formed of inner energy appeared on his bow.

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei instantly retreated, but the arrows followed relentlessly.

Their weapons clashed with the arrows, the explosive force forcing each of them back a step. A sudden sense of danger surged; looking up, they saw an inner energy arrow burst overhead, splitting into dozens of smaller arrows raining down upon them.

They released their inner energy as a shield, spinning their weapons defensively.

Smoke rose, but neither was harmed. At that moment, Sun Meng’s voice sounded from above.

“Brothers Yunchang and Yide, now I finally have the range to attack!”

Sun Meng was not flying high—barely twenty meters or so. Even if they could not fly, both could leap that high. But jumping up meant falling back down, and maneuverability was limited; it was little more than a straightforward charge.

Unless they could fly, there was nothing to do but endure Sun Meng’s attacks.

Guan Yu sheathed his blade, about to speak, when Zhang Fei shouted, bracing his spear and launching himself skyward. Swathed in black inner energy, he resembled a giant serpent opening its maw to swallow everything before it.

But his leap was in vain—Sun Meng simply shifted aside in midair, letting Zhang Fei pass. A flurry of arrows chased after him, but these were ordinary shots, easily blocked by his inner energy. Nevertheless, Zhang Fei was surprised to find he could stabilize himself midair!

However, in only a few breaths, he was falling back to earth. Sun Meng sighed, catching him gently so the courtyard would not be destroyed.

“The essence of the Manifestation Realm is to amplify your inner energy, allowing for ranged attacks. Second is flight, and then come special effects—mine, for example, has some tracking properties. I haven’t figured out the higher levels; perhaps that’s the realm Xiang Yu reached in his day,” Sun Meng said.

“Thank you for your guidance, Brother Sun!” Guan Yu and Zhang Fei spoke in unison. This exchange had proved fruitful. Though the time was too short for fully consolidating their breakthroughs, they had gained new techniques.

Early the next morning, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei assembled their five hundred men, and with Zou Jing’s thousand troops joined them, they quickly set out for Mount Daxing.

Coincidentally, a force from the Yellow Turban camp was also on the move, heading for Zhuo County by way of Mount Daxing. This contingent numbered around ten thousand, shrouded in a pale yellow mist. At their head rode the commander, Cheng Yuanzhi, wild-haired and sporting the Yellow Turban.

Sun Meng reached the skies above the foot of Mount Daxing ahead of the others, spotting Cheng Yuanzhi and his army from afar. The mist was far thinner than before, merely a byproduct of their numbers; it seemed Cheng Yuanzhi’s command was not as formidable as he might have thought.

He returned to Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, who, having set out early, had arrived first and were resting in a small grove.

Seeing Sun Meng land, Liu Bei stepped forward. “Brother Sun, how long until the enemy reaches the foot of the mountain?” This was the spot they had chosen for the coming battle.

“The enemy has not deployed their full force; I’ve only seen one leader. The good news is their command is weak—the mist is naturally formed, not the product of formation. If we slay their commander in a sudden attack, the enemy’s morale will collapse,” Sun Meng replied.

A smile appeared on Liu Bei’s face. “Excellent! Let’s move. Their main camp still has leaders; even if we rout this force, they’ll flee back to camp. We should press the advantage and seize the camp in one stroke—our numbers are too few for a drawn-out fight.”

Sun Meng had no objections. “Shall I take out their commander with a single arrow?” The one he meant was Cheng Yuanzhi, who was marching boldly at the very front.

Zhang Fei opened his mouth to speak, but Guan Yu held him back. Any of them could easily kill the enemy commander, but with the main camp still intact, their leader must be eliminated in one blow.

Liu Bei understood as well, bowing to Sun Meng. “We’ll rely on you, Brother Sun!”

Sun Meng smiled. “A trivial matter.” And so, he would claim a handsome reward.

The four of them took up positions with their troops. Across the field, the Yellow Turban army finally came into view, Cheng Yuanzhi indeed riding nonchalantly at the head as if out for a stroll.

“How arrogant!” Liu Bei clenched his fist. In normal marching order, only a vanguard or a challenger would ride in front—otherwise, it was a clear sign of contempt for the enemy.

“He’ll only be arrogant for a moment longer,” Sun Meng sneered, drawing his bow. His manifestation appeared behind him, a chill energy infusing his arrow.

“Strike!”

The arrow flew, a streak of silver.

“Who—” Cheng Yuanzhi had only time to raise his spear. In the next instant, the silver light pierced his weapon, the arrow passing cleanly through his throat and blasting away half his neck.

“The heavenly army is upon you! Surrender, villains!” Liu Bei shouted. Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, each leading a detachment, had already charged into the Yellow Turban ranks.

“The commander is dead!” Only now did the Yellow Turbans react. Their already ragged formation dissolved into chaos; those further back turned and fled.

A few minor leaders tried to rally their men and fight back to camp, but most of the soldiers were panicked and uncontrollable, swept along in the rout.

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, protected by inner energy and channeling it through their weapons, carved a swath through the enemy with every stroke. Their godlike slaughter was the final straw that broke the army’s will.

Weapons were abandoned, and the soldiers dropped to the ground, clutching their heads, soon bound by the infantry arriving from behind.

Elsewhere, Sun Meng occasionally loosed an arrow of inner energy, which exploded among the fleeing Yellow Turbans—not to kill, but to drive them toward their camp.

Liu Bei ordered an adjutant sent by Zou Jing, “Take five hundred men and guard these captives. When we seize the Yellow Turban camp, bring them back with us.” He turned to Sun Meng. “Brother Sun, it’s time. Let’s move out!”

In the main tent of the Yellow Turban camp, Deng Mao was suddenly seized by unease.

“Strange… Why this feeling? Could the imperial forces have some formidable expert? Even so, one man can’t defeat ten thousand! The men Old Cheng led aren’t just rabble,” Deng Mao muttered, growing more anxious by the moment.

“Deputy Commander! Bad news!” A soldier stumbled in, breathless.

“What is it!” Deng Mao rose to his feet.

“Defeat! The vanguard has been routed!” the soldier gasped.

“Defeat! No—order the gates closed, now!” Deng Mao bellowed.

“Boom—!”

A tremendous noise shook the camp. Deng Mao seized his spear and rushed out. “Guard squad, with me! We must drive back the imperial troops!” He knew what had happened; his only hope was to quell the chaos and hold off the enemy’s charge.

He cursed Cheng Yuanzhi countless times in his heart, but there was no remedy now—he could only do his utmost.

“Heaven is dead, the Yellow Heaven shall rise!” Deng Mao cried, brandishing his spear as he spurred his horse toward the gate.

He channeled his inner energy, activating a secret incantation. Instantly, the panicked Yellow Turbans regained composure.

“Heaven is—” his guards began to shout, when suddenly Deng Mao’s body was sent flying into the air.

“Guan Yu is here! Prepare to die!”