"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
The war drums—deep, resonant, and majestic as the heartbeat of the ancient citadel—suddenly roared, tearing through the night and the swirling chaos. It was not a rhythm to spur an assault; it was a sentence of death, a funeral knell for the fifty thousand warriors of the Blood Wolf Tribe who had unwittingly stepped into the jaws of the abyss.
The performance reached its climax. The meat grinder began to churn.
The chieftain of the Blood Wolf Tribe, a giant riding upon the back of a blood-colored wolf-demon, finally felt a sense of impending doom after his initial moment of triumph. An earth-shattering BOOM resounded from behind him.
The Profound Iron gates, weighing a thousand jin, had slammed shut, completely sealing their only retreat. Simultaneously, from atop the towering walls and within the pitch-black alleys on both sides, thousands of torches were ignited in unison, illuminating the main thoroughfare and transforming it into a cage of fire.
"A trap! We have fallen into a trap!" he roared in terror, a cry filled with indignation and fury.
But it was already too late.
From the rooftops, thousands of Tran Bac archers—soldiers long accustomed to the north wind and the blood of their enemies—silently drew their bows. They did not loose ordinary arrows. They loosed shafts soaked in oil and ignited with flame.
"FIRE!!!"
A cold command rang out. Thousands of fire arrows, like a lethal meteor shower, rained down from the heavens, plunging into the huddling, chaotic ranks of the barbarian army.
"Ah... AHH! ARGH!"
Marrow-chilling shrieks echoed without end. The beast-hide armor of the Blood Wolf Tribe ignited instantly upon contact with the flames. Their already fractured formation disintegrated into utter ruin. They trampled one another; some frantically tried to douse the fires, while others fled in mindless panic, only to find themselves surrounded by stone and steel on all four sides. There was no escape.
Yet, this was merely the opening act.
"POUR!!!"
From atop the city walls, colossal cauldrons of boiling oil, prepared long ago, were overturned in unison. The scalding liquid fell like a rain of annihilation, causing flesh to peel and bone to sizzle, turning their cries into a threnody of absolute despair.
The Blood Wolf warriors, once ferocious and peerless upon the boundless steppes, found themselves trapped within the narrow streets, their advantages stripped away. Their brute strength had no room to be exerted. Their superior numbers had become their fatal flaw.
From the narrow alleys on both sides, the infantry units of the Tran Bac Army, wielding massive shields and long-sabers, surged forth. They did not engage in a frontal confrontation. Instead, they utilized the "guerilla" tactics taught by Tran Kien—striking once and immediately retreating, only to reappear elsewhere. They transformed the labyrinthine alleys of Tran Bac City into a lethal maze.
The Blood Wolf chieftain roared like a wounded beast. He swung his colossal war-hammer, frantically slaughtering any Dai Viet soldiers who dared approach. But it was futile. For every soldier he struck down, ten more surged from the shadows, striking at his vital points before vanishing once more.
He tried to rally his formation, but his warriors were utterly delirious with terror, running in circles like headless flies. He attempted to shatter the city gates, but how could Profound Iron be broken so easily?
The entire main thoroughfare had become a meat grinder in the truest sense. Blood flowed like rivers; corpses piled up like mountains. The roars of the barbarians, the shouts of the Tran Bac soldiers, and the clashing of iron all merged into a symphony of the underworld.
And atop the highest tower—the Drum Tower of Tran Bac City...
A scholarly figure, still clad in simple azure robes, stood silently with his hands clasped behind his back. The fierce north wind buffeted his robes, causing them to flutter violently, yet his frame remained as immovable as a primordial mountain.
Tran Kien.
He did not partake in the slaughter. He merely observed. Within his profound eyes, there was no excitement, nor was there cruelty. There was only a terrifying composure. The chessboard he had laid out was operating with flawless precision.
Beside him, the two vice generals watched the hellish scene below and then looked at the youth beside them. A sense of awe and dread swelled in their hearts to the extreme. They finally understood: a stratagem could indeed be more terrifying than a grand army of a hundred thousand.
Tran Kien said nothing. He merely raised his hand and flicked a green command flag.
The signal was sent.
At the Tiger Howl Valley outside the city, Mong Phong, who had been lying in wait, saw the signal. His tiger-eyes ignited with a fanatical fire.
"The time has come!"
Within the city, the Blood Wolf chieftain, after his desperate slaughter, finally realized the main gates were unbreakable. He saw that to the west, the western gate appeared to be more loosely defended.
"Everyone, follow me!" he roared, a final glint of hope flashing in his eyes. "Break through the western gate! Escape!"
He did not know that the "path of life" he saw was, in reality, a path leading to an even deeper hell. He was leading his remnants straight into the maw of the waiting tiger.
The game at Tran Bac City had reached its final move.