Chapter 70 – Taking Ningjiang
An absurd report came in.
It said the Liao forces were too many to even count.
Aguda, who knew Liao well, immediately judged it to be false.
He sent scouts again and pressed for confirmation.
They reported that the number did not exceed eight hundred.
That was likely the truth.
A long signal horn sounded, and the Chaoyao banner was raised.
"Over there."
At the scout's words, Aguda pulled hard on the reins.
"What did the adjutant (參軍) say about today's strategy?
He said something earlier."
The officer beside him could not answer at once.
"He said—what strategy is there against thugs like them.
That is what the adjutant said."
"Did he really?"
"Yes, Khan."
Aguda nodded.
"Good.
What strategy for thugs."
A piercing blast rang out again.
The long signal echoed, and the Chaoyao banner rose once more.
Chaoyao Banner (招搖旗): a military standard used by a commander to summon officers on the battlefield.
The commanders of hundreds came rushing in.
There were exactly twenty-five of them.
The result of the new military structure.
All twenty-five pulled their reins and formed up in order.
The horses, having run a long distance, snorted and shifted their weight back and forth.
"Where is the adjutant?"
The deputy pointed to the side.
He stood there with twenty-five Goryeo soldiers, staring straight ahead.
"Why is he not coming?"
"He seems eager to charge ahead first and is waiting there."
"Wugaimai!"
"At your command!"
"Open the gate."
"At your command!"
"Until the gate is opened, do not let a single one of them raise their heads."
"At your command!"
"There is no strategy.
We sweep them away."
At that moment, Wugaimai raised his hand.
"It is reported that the Imperial Guard (親軍) is inside.
Late information."
Imperial Guard (御帳親軍): the elite forces of Liao, selected from various tribal troops, originating from the core armies established by Emperor Taizu Yelü Abaoji and Empress Shunqin.
"It does not matter.
Imperial Guard or not—our land is being trampled.
From this day forward, there will be no Khitan in Liaodong."
"Loyalty!" "Loyalty!" "Loyalty!" "Loyalty!" "Loyalty!" "Loyalty!" "Loyalty!"
The twenty-five commanders of hundreds shouted.
Behind them, two thousand five hundred riders roared in unison.
"Beat the drums.
I lead."
Dum—dum, dum-dum-dum.
The drums of advance thundered,
and for the first time in centuries, the Jurchens attacked a Liao army.
To the east of Ningjiang, they met Yelü Shishi.
He commanded a garrison of Balhae people.
The clash began immediately.
Aguda charged forward.
In the fighting, Yelü Shishi was thrown from his horse.
A Balhae soldier rushed to save him,
but an arrow struck first.
It was Aguda's shot.
He brought him down in a single release.
Two thousand five hundred Jurchen cavalry surged toward the walls.
As they entered range,
they loosed a volley toward the gate tower and the walls.
Thousands of arrows flew with a sharp whistling sound.
Each one was aimed.
Those who raised their heads to look were struck down at once.
The damage to the gate tower was severe.
When large wooden shields were raised,
fire arrows followed.
When they exposed themselves to put out the flames,
they were struck again and fell under the rain of arrows.
They shot, and shot again.
It seemed those on the walls would have the advantage.
In truth, the opposite was the case.
Grief and rage had been poured into every arrow.
Each one found its mark.
In most battles,
men merely shoot in the general direction.
To aim is to risk being struck.
But the powerful composite bows of Liaodong were different.
They struck with precision.
While the enemy could not even raise their heads,
the attackers reached the base of the wall.
Hooks were thrown.
Bodies climbed.
Though recently trained,
their bodies had already learned.
They rose quickly.
The strongest under Wugaimai crossed the wall.
At first, about ten.
While those ten held the wall,
twenty more came over.
They did not remain to fight above.
They opened space,
then leapt straight down.
Toward the gate.
Along the path,
enemy soldiers who had rushed out blindly lay scattered.
"Haa!"
Wugaimai let out a cry and charged.
His blade traced a pattern as it cut through the enemy.
Those behind him rushed desperately toward the gate.
Only then did the enemy understand.
They surged forward.
"Open the gate! Now!"
Those running to the gate fell beneath enemy blades.
They had crossed the wall—
but they were too few.
"Open the gate!"
Wugaimai roared.
If the gate opened, it would be over.
The path was blocked.
His vision blurred.
Sweat, tears, blood—
he could not tell.
Each time his men rushed the bar,
the enemy crashed into them.
They had lightened themselves to climb the wall,
and arrows cut them down.
Many had crossed.
Most had fallen.
Now only a few remained.
The bodies of their own lay everywhere.
Wugaimai cut down another rushing soldier.
Armor split open—
the man fell.
"Open the gate!"
He shouted again.
He stepped in front of the man running for the gate.
Three enemies came at him.
Thrust, cut, strike.
Two fell.
The third pressed in.
Wugaimai opened his arm and shifted the angle.
He caught the blade with his hand—
and drove it in.
"Ghk—"
The man collapsed, pierced between neck and chest.
Too deep.
The blade would not come free.
Blood dripped from his gloved hand.
He kicked the body away,
ripped the blade free,
and turned.
More enemies behind the gate.
One more.
Just one more.
He resolved himself.
At that moment—
Arrows fell.
From behind.
Slanting.
They struck only the enemy.
A black rain.
The enemy faltered.
"The gate! Open it!"
Five rushed forward.
Two raised shields,
three pulled the bar free.
Three massive beams dropped.
The gate opened.
"It's open!"
Even then,
the fool tried to report it.