From atop Daizhou's city walls, Sun Chuanting watched the battle unfolding outside and fell completely silent.
He was not someone easily stunned.
In fact, among the Ming officials, there were very few who understood the Manchus better than him. Years spent handling frontier affairs had taught him one simple truth: when Manchus fought seriously, they were terrifying.
Fast.
Ruthless.
Efficient.
And yet—
What he was witnessing now didn't match any battle record he knew.
The Manchus weren't being pushed back inch by inch.
They weren't locked in a bitter stalemate.
They were being crushed. Cleanly. Efficiently. Almost… professionally.
Sun Chuanting frowned slightly.
This is too fast.
The mysterious militia opened with a round of artillery bombardment—short, sharp, and precise. Before the Manchus could even reorganize, dense ranks of musketeers followed up with volley after volley of disciplined fire.
The two armies hadn't even fully collided.
And yet the Manchu front line had already collapsed.
Sun Chuanting felt a strange sense of unreality.
What kind of militia is this?
The Manchu infantry formation had cavalry deployed on both flanks, a classic Eight Banners configuration. In countless previous battles, the infantry would pin the enemy, and once the balance tilted, the cavalry would sweep in from the sides like a closing trap.
That tactic had broken countless Ming armies.
But now—
The infantry in the center hadn't "tilted."
They had shattered outright.
The cavalry on both flanks froze.
Charge?
Retreat?
Regroup?
There was no time to decide.
On the left flank, Gao Chuwu raised his arm and roared, "Open fire! Attack!"
On the right flank, Wang Er shouted just as fiercely, "Target their cavalry! Don't let them scatter!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Continuous musket fire erupted like tearing cloth.
Manchu cavalry fell.
Mongolian horsemen fell.
Men and horses collapsed together, tangled into bloody heaps.
Sun Chuanting suddenly snapped out of his daze.
This was no longer the time to watch.
"Garrison soldiers inside the city, listen to me!" he bellowed. "The Manchus outside have been routed! We must press the attack! Charge!"
With the Prefect dead, Daizhou's garrison had been leaderless, their morale hanging by a thread.
But Sun Chuanting's roar cut through the chaos like a blade.
The defenders instantly understood.
This was it.
The one and only chance.
If they hesitated, the opportunity would vanish.
"Charge!"
The defenders gathered their last strength and surged forward, following behind the Sun family retainers, slamming into the Manchu soldiers who had already breached the walls.
Even the common folk of Daizhou could no longer hold back.
Farmers.
Artisans.
Shopkeepers.
They grabbed hoes, poles, knives—anything they could lift—and swarmed onto the walls.
"I'll beat you to death, you dog bastard!"
"Give me back my wife and children!"
The Manchu elite soldiers inside the city panicked.
Their main force outside had collapsed.
Their vanguard inside the city was now isolated.
Cut off.
Surrounded.
There was no formation to rely on.
No morale left to burn.
They broke almost instantly.
Once the Manchus inside the city were completely cleared out, the people of Daizhou finally dared to breathe again.
They climbed the walls and looked outward.
What they saw made their hearts race.
The main Manchu army was already in full retreat.
And that mysterious army—still flying no banners—was relentlessly pursuing them.
Musket fire echoed intermittently across the plains.
With every volley, Manchu soldiers fell, leaving a trail of corpses marking their escape route.
Seeing their former masters being beaten so thoroughly, the Mongolian cavalry made a decision that came as naturally as breathing.
This was their traditional "wolf logic."
Strong leader?
Follow.
Weak leader?
Replace.
With a sudden clamor, the Mongolian cavalry scattered, each unit peeling off independently, displaying horsemanship so refined it looked almost artistic.
In moments, they vanished.
The Gao Family Village Militia didn't bother chasing them.
Their objective had never been the Mongolians.
They focused entirely on the Manchus.
The pursuit continued for fifteen li.
The Manchus threw away armor.
Dropped weapons.
Abandoned wounded comrades.
Only then—utterly humiliated—did they manage to escape with their lives.
As evening descended, the setting sun burned red across the horizon.
The shadow of Bianjing Tower stretched long and somber.
A group of garrison soldiers carefully placed the Prefect of Daizhou's body into a coffin, preparing to carry it out of the city.
On the north wall, Tie Niaofei approached Sun Chuanting, clasped his hands, and bowed deeply.
"Mister Sun, I arrived late and almost failed to save the people of Daizhou. I am deeply ashamed."
Sun Chuanting hurriedly returned the gesture. "Mister Tie, you're far too modest. Without you, Daizhou would already be a sea of blood."
After a pause, curiosity crept into his voice.
"Mister Tie… where did you find such a terrifying reinforcement force?"
Tie Niaofei smiled and waved his hand. "Oh, that's simple. Allow me to introduce someone."
He pulled Cheng Xu forward. "This gentleman's surname is He, given name Jiu. He's a militia instructor. The reinforcements today were recruited and trained by him."
"A militia?" Sun Chuanting stared at the musketeers still cleaning up the battlefield. "That… is a militia?"
"Indeed."
"Not the New Divine Machine Camp?"
Tie Niaofei laughed. "Of course not. The Divine Machine Camp doesn't have that kind of money."
Sun Chuanting fell silent.
Seeing this, Tie Niaofei quickly added, "The militia was funded by Jin merchants, salt smugglers, traders, local gentry, and artisans. It cost a great deal."
Then he smiled meaningfully.
"And it's all thanks to Mister Sun's story."
"My… story?" Sun Chuanting was baffled.
"The Story of a Border Soldier from Dalinghe," Tie Niaofei explained. "Once people read it, they despised the Manchus and feared suffering the same fate. Those with money donated, those with strength contributed labor. That's how this militia came to be."
Sun Chuanting considered this explanation.
It made sense.
The court certainly couldn't afford this.
Only private wealth could.
Turning to Cheng Xu, Sun Chuanting clasped his hands. "Instructor He, thank you for your aid. Your firearm unit is truly impressive."
Cheng Xu immediately shook his head. "It's not my skill. It's money. If Mister Sun had those funds, he'd train an army far better than mine."
Sun Chuanting smiled bitterly.
If only.
Finally, he asked, "What are your plans next?"
Cheng Xu replied calmly, "We're unfamiliar with border strategy. We ask for your guidance."
Sun Chuanting picked up a charred stick and drew on the ground.
"The Manchus split into four columns after capturing Shangfang Fortress. They're mobile, difficult to track. Our scouts are blind outside the city."
He circled several points.
"They'll likely converge at Yingzhou. To protect the people, we should guard Zijing Pass and Yanmen Pass, and send forces toward Wanqiuan Left Guard and Shangfang Fortress…"
The war, it seemed, was only just beginning.