122 Zilong is formidable.

At that time, the Church army was a hundred miles away from the rebels besieging Changshe. This distance was calculated with purpose, remaining just outside the maximum detection radius of the rebel scouts. Even if an occasional rebel scout strayed into the Church’s sphere of influence, the Church’s dense network of scouts would detect and eliminate them beforehand. In other words, the rebels were unaware of the Church army's exact position.

However, continuing the march would change the situation. Should the rebels discover a large imperial force approaching Changshe, they would certainly dispatch troops to intercept. With over one hundred thousand rebels, sending even forty or fifty thousand would be enough to put Luan Yi and his men in dire straits. According to the plan to burn the rebel camp, the Church army had to advance toward Changshe—this was undoubtedly the greatest problem Luan Yi faced.

The Church could, of course, send elite cavalry deep behind enemy lines to launch a fire attack. But such minor skirmishes would not break the rebels’ backbone; not only would the gains be minimal, but it would also expose the intent of a fire attack, making it difficult to employ such a strategy again in the future. Therefore, Luan Yi immediately decided to postpone the fire attack and first solve the problem of maneuvering toward Changshe. On this point, Xu Shu offered his own insight—a plan that could be called nothing short of perfection.

The next morning, breakfast was served at the third watch, and the camp was struck at the fourth. The Church army crossed the hundred-mile limit without hesitation, charging directly toward the theater of war. By noon, rebel scouts had reported the news to Bo Cai, who ordered his general Peng Tuo to lead fifty thousand troops to intercept them.

The Yellow Turban army and the Church army stood in battle formation fifty miles from Changshe. On one side, the rebels’ yellow banners stretched for miles, and their yellow headbands were as boundless as a desert, bustling and chaotic. On the other side, the blood-red cross banners fluttered in the wind. The thousands of troops stood proudly, the sunlight reflecting brilliantly off their silver armor. The vibrant, blood-red cross emblems engraved on the finely crafted breastplates exuded a thick, visceral scent of carnage.

The formation was dead silent; even the warhorses were infected by the atmosphere, ceasing their neighing. Only the occasional sound of heavy breathing was audible, standing out with startling clarity in the midst of the tens of thousands of soldiers. This was the army of the Church of the Holy Mother—a force governed by dogma, disciplined, filled with those who feared neither death nor strong foes, devoted solely to the Holy Mother, and possessed of unwavering faith.

"Hey, you pretty boy! How dare you come here to bluster? Are you tired of living?" Peng Tuo brandished his broadsword and shouted from the front of his lines. The "pretty boy" he referred to was, naturally, Luan Yi.

"Hmph!" Luan Yi snorted coldly. "Whose dog is this? Why aren't you keeping it on a leash instead of letting it run out and bark at people?" When it came to verbal sparring, Luan Yi feared no one. Even someone as eloquent as Xi Zhicai was no match for him.

"You..." As expected, the remark left Peng Tuo red-faced and furious. "You're the dog!"

"Who is the dog barking at?" Luan Yi asked sharply.

"The dog is barking at you!"

No sooner had the words left Peng Tuo's lips than the Church army erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Only then did Peng Tuo realize he had been goaded by Luan Yi in a moment of impatience.

"Good dog!" Luan Yi raised his right hand in a gesture as if petting Peng Tuo’s head.

"Stop with the empty talk! If you have the guts, let's see what you can do with your steel." Peng Tuo prepared to charge, but was stopped by a lieutenant. "Why should the commander-in-chief bother with such a lily-livered scholar? Allow this subordinate to capture him, strip his flesh, mince his bones, and feed them to the dogs."

Peng Tuo considered it—if he were to stumble... death was a small matter, but losing the commander-in-chief would be a disaster. It would be better to let his lieutenant test the waters first. "Very well!"

The lieutenant, known as Erlang, leveled his spear and rode out.

"Master, remain calm. Let Yun go and trade some blows," Zhao Yun said. Since Peng Tuo did not enter the fray, Luan Yi naturally did not need to step out either. This was the unspoken rule of the battlefield: opponents of equal rank should face each other. To use an appropriate analogy, it was much like a state visit in later ages; unless there were special circumstances, a visiting head of state should be received by the highest leader of the host nation. Thus, Zhao Yun was a fitting match for "Erlang."

Seeing the young general in silver armor emerge from the Church ranks—a youth with red lips and white teeth, looking more like a scholar—Erlang wore an expression of disdain. He curled his lip and said, "You are no match for me. Send someone more robust."

Zhao Yun ignored him, digging his heels into his horse's flanks. The white steed reared up, letting out a snort, then bolted forward like a silver dragon, skimming the ground as it charged toward Erlang with unstoppable momentum.

"One can tell the quality of a fighter the moment they strike." Erlang had fought dozens of battles and was a man of some experience. Seeing how Zhao Yun handled his mount—as if it were an extension of his own body—he knew Zhao Yun was a master of horsemanship and archery. "Oh?" Erlang’s expression turned somber. "Well come!" He leveled his spear to meet the charge.

"Clang!" After the first clash, the horses brushed past each other. Erlang’s eyes shifted from solemnity to astonishment. "How does this fellow have such strength?" He gripped his spear with all his might, struggling to stop his hands from trembling. The sticky sensation at the webbing between his thumb and forefinger told him that the collision had actually split his skin. "This..." He turned his horse around, hoping to see Zhao Yun in a similar state, but found Zhao Yun’s hands as smooth and clean as jade! "How can this be?"

There was no time for shock. With a roar, Zhao Yun charged again. His slightly brown eyes flashed with piercing light and murderous intent, as if he were a dragon fueled by fury. The furrow of his brow from his intense battle spirit was like a dragon’s whiskers, and his gleaming armor like dragon scales.

Erlang grew afraid. Cold sweat broke out instantly, and he had to grit his teeth and push forward. "Clang, clang..." In a flash, Zhao Yun thrust and parried. Erlang reacted quickly, twisting his spear to block, barely escaping harm.

By now, the momentum of the charge had faded, and the two began to trade blows from their saddles. They went back and forth for over a dozen rounds without a clear victor. However, any discerning eye could see that Zhao Yun held the upper hand, growing more valiant with every strike. His spearwork became faster and faster, dazzling to behold.

Erlang, conversely, became increasingly desperate. Facing the relentless "dragon claws," he could only defend passively, with no room to counter. Just then, he noticed that Zhao Yun, caught up in the heat of the attack, had momentarily left his left shoulder exposed. Overjoyed, he parried Zhao Yun’s silver spear with all his might, gritted his teeth, and thrust his spear toward Zhao Yun’s shoulder with lightning speed. "Die!"

But the moment his spear left his hands, he felt something was wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. "What’s happening?" he wondered. Wait... wait, the young general in silver was smiling. He had just smiled... Why was he smiling? Why?

Zhao Yun’s next move explained exactly why he had smiled. At the moment Erlang spotted the opening and thrust his spear, Zhao Yun used the recoil of the parry to whip his spear behind his back. As he leaned back to dodge the incoming thrust, he snapped his wrist, driving his silver spear into the defenseless Erlang, opening a gash over an inch long across his throat.

"Ugh..." Erlang clutched his neck, gurgling as blood poured from his windpipe and mouth, before tumbling from his horse.

Zhao Yun casually grabbed the corpse and rode back. Seeing this, the Church army, with the permission of the Divine Servants, cheered in unison, "General Zilong is mighty! Mighty! Mighty!" Their morale soared.

Seeing that the Church army possessed a warrior like Zhao Yun, Peng Tuo knew that even if he stepped out himself, the outcome would be uncertain, let alone sending other generals. Fearing to risk his commanders, he ordered the drums to sound the full advance.

The fifty thousand Yellow Turban rebels surged forward like a great tide, the sound of their footsteps and roars shaking the earth.

"Form the shield wall!" Under Xu Shu’s command, the flag-bearers waved their signals rapidly. The Church guards, trained for nearly half a year, acted according to the signals in unit-based formations, led by their squad leaders. The Divine Power Battalion and the Divine Rock Battalion occupied the left flank, the Templar Knights held the right, and the Divine Wind Battalion was positioned behind the shield wall in the center.

"For the glory of the Holy Mother, kill, kill, kill!" As Luan Yi raised his hammer and roared, the Divine Servants in each battalion led their men in a shout: "For the glory of the Holy Mother, kill, kill, kill!"

The power of faith erupted in an instant. Driven by the Church’s doctrine of "fear no death, seek only eternal life," every guard in the army became a loyal fanatic. A thick aura of slaughter spread in their eyes, for in their belief, every enemy killed brought them closer to the grace of the Holy Mother, who would then summon them to Heaven and grant them blessings. If they fell in battle, they would ascend directly to the heavens to become children of God, no longer suffering in the mortal world.

The soldiers of the Church had come to this killing field with the intent to die, and this fearlessness was the most terrifying weapon on the battlefield.

"Range-finding arrows... loose!" Following Huang Zhong’s order, the archers in the front row of the Divine Wind Battalion tilted their longbows at a 45-degree angle, aiming into the distance and firing special arrows tied with red threads. The arrows flew, carrying the threads out to 130 paces.

That 130 paces was the maximum range for the archers in the current headwind. By observing the direction the red threads fluttered, they could determine that the wind was coming from the east, with a northerly shift of about 30 degrees. This provided the data needed to adjust their aim.

However, just as the archers of the Divine Wind Battalion prepared to release their own volleys, the Yellow Turban crossbowmen struck first. Positioned upwind and on higher ground, their range was naturally much greater than the Church's. A buzzing sound filled the air as ten thousand arrows were unleashed, sweeping down upon the Church army like a swarm of locusts.

"Shield wall... form the shield wall immediately!"