Chapter 155 — Battle of Huanglong Prefecture
Chapter 11 — The Fall of Huanglong Prefecture
Just before dawn, the sky hung low and dark.
Mist drifted along the walls, clinging to the fortress.
Huanglong Prefecture, with its outer and inner walls layered together, stood like a heavy shadow within the fog.
Along the ramparts, soldiers gripped their weapons and stared outward.
Below the walls, the army began to move.
Horses stepped forward, armor plates grinding together with a low, heavy sound.
The tremor of hooves pressing into the earth merged into a single flow, surging toward the fortress.
At the moat, wooden planks were lowered.
The timbers trembled under weight, then steadied.
The armored cavalry crossed first, driving pressure forward.
Behind them, siege troops advanced carrying ladders.
The ladders bore men.
Soldiers climbed in two ranks, shields raised, bodies fixed in place.
Below, siege troops and cavalry supported the weight with shoulders and hands, pushing steadily—without pause—toward the wall.
Only then did the defenders atop the walls begin to react.
Shouts erupted.
Arrows rained down.
They struck shields, glanced off metal, or vanished into the mist.
Still, the ladders rose.
They arced high, then thrust forward, striking the towering walls.
At each contact, the soldiers clinging to their ends spilled over the ramparts.
Driven from below, the ladders pressed flush against the wall, and the men upon them were forced upward into the defenders' space.
Those who crossed were no ordinary soldiers.
They were elite—fighters of exceptional skill.
Their task was simple: open the gate.
The moment they landed, spears fell and blades clashed.
In the cramped space, sharp, brief collisions followed one another.
When the front rank faltered, those behind surged up to take their place, pressing forward.
They did not linger to fight.
They broke through and advanced.
Those who resisted were cut down.
Though the defenders were more numerous upon the walls, the assault force carved through them and advanced.
While they fought, more troops were raised from below.
The defenders' footing slipped, their balance faltered, gaps opened.
Through those gaps, Jurchen soldiers climbed up, shields driving forward, bodies forcing entry.
The pressure from behind did not cease.
The space atop the wall widened.
Men spread left and right, turning that space into a passage inward.
Through that passage, forces poured into the fortress.
They descended the stairs, where fierce combat erupted.
It was a battle of few against many—
yet the few did not yield.
With overwhelming force, they drove the defenders back, pressing toward the gate.
At the gate, bodies and blades collided.
The weight of those pushing from behind compounded the force.
The defending line buckled and split.
Soldiers raised axes and struck the wooden gate.
The timber cracked.
The bar gave way.
The gate opened inward.
The explanation may be long—
the time it took was not.
Before long, the gate was open.
At that instant, the Iron Pagoda cavalry waiting outside moved.
Clad in silver armor, they surged forward as one mass.
The pressure that had built exploded toward the gate.
They thundered through.
Hooves struck stone.
Metal clashed against metal, deep and overlapping, filling the fortress.
The front ranks lowered their spears and charged.
Those behind closed the gaps and followed.
Inside the gate, defenders locked shields and braced.
Behind them, spears aimed low.
As the gate opened, horses surged in, heads lowered.
Spears thrust forward toward the riders—but glanced off armor.
A horse's forelegs struck the ground within and stepped further in.
Another horse pressed from behind, tightening the space.
A defender's footing slipped, the shield line broke.
Through that gap, a rider thrust his spear low.
A man fell backward.
Before the gap could close, more horses forced through.
Pressure mounted.
The line bent, then split.
Through that rupture, the vanguard of the Iron Pagoda drove deep into the fortress.
A tide of silver armor flooded inward.
Yeong-u's Iron Pagoda force spread through the city.
They widened across open ground, cut between buildings, and drove toward the center.
Wherever they passed, Liao soldiers met them—
and fell.
Clashes flared briefly, then collapsed.
Blood sprayed, bodies dropped—
and the silver tide passed over them.
The gate should never have been opened.
Had it held, they might have endured longer.
But once it opened, all resistance broke.
The Iron Pagoda surged in, crushing everything in its path.
They passed through once—
then again—
leaving nothing unbroken behind them.
They did not stop.
They pushed forward, trampling the fallen, never looking back.
They drove deep into the fortress.
Behind them, follow-on forces cleared the remaining resistance, widening the space.
Movement became unified—one flow.
At the center, the fighting faded.
The clashes ceased.
Only the steady rhythm of hooves remained, filling the space.
Then even that stilled.
At that moment, all resistance in Huanglong Prefecture ended.
The fortress still stood.
But the force that held it had changed.
And thus, Huanglong Prefecture fell.