Bai Yuzhu's eyes snapped open.
"Rest time's over! Pass my command—prepare to attack!"
His close aides moved immediately, shouting the order down the line.
Relaying commands between boats was normally a headache—real navies used flags for that sort of thing.
But Bai Yuzhu's river army didn't have that problem.
The bandit fleet's ships were packed so tight that the gaps between big and small boats barely fit a man. All they had to do was yell.
"Ready to work!"
"Attack the pier!"
"Boss Bai says—everyone charge together! Stack the ships by the shore! Even if you can't land, use the lead boats as bridges—run right across!"
"Kill that fool of a county magistrate!"
"Hack those militia bastards to pieces and feed them to the dogs!"
"Feed the dogs? Waste of meat—bring it home for dinner! Hahaha!"
They shouted and cursed as they moved, venting the frustration from their earlier failure.
Since following Wang Jiayin in rebellion, they'd only lost twice—
once in Hequ County, blasted into chaos by General Wang Guoliang's Western cannons,
and once at Yichuan, when Hong Chengchou somehow crushed them.
Other than that, they'd never tasted defeat.
And the more you win, the less you can stomach losing.
So now, their anger burned even hotter.
The fleet came alive.
Boatmen braced their oars for a full sprint toward the pier, while the fighters rearmed.
They'd learned from the last round—the defenders' main offense was bows and arrows.
Those gunpowder bombs made a lot of noise but little harm.
So long as they raised their shields, they'd be fine.
No shield? A thick quilt would do. Even that could block arrows.
These ragtag militias—once we close the distance, their bows mean nothing. They'll crumble like any peasant mob.
"Prepare to attack!"
"Wait for my signal!"
Bai Yuzhu slapped down the F2A (his crude version of a signal drum button) and bellowed,
"Full assault!"
Every ship except his flagship lunged forward.
The sight alone was terrifying—a black mass of boats surging across the Yellow River.
If Heyang's local militia were still manning the walls, the view alone would've made them weep.
But now, the defense belonged to the Gaojia Village Militia—and that changed everything.
From the tall watchtower, Feng Jun looked down.
Some of Gaojia's men showed flickers of fear, but most didn't flinch at all.
Of the fifteen hundred soldiers, five hundred were new recruits—
the other thousand were veterans who'd fought in the Huanglong Mountain bandit purge.
They'd traded fire with Wang Zuogua's army and come out tempered like iron.
They didn't even blink.
A captain shouted, "Prepare to tear down the stockade wall!"
Feng Jun gaped.
"What? Tear it down? Without the wall, how do we defend!?"
Bai Yuan chuckled.
"A single-layer stockade's too narrow up top—it blocks our firearm lines. We'll pull it down. Don't worry, our troops don't need walls to hold this pier."
"…"
The first wave of boats slammed into the shore.
Bandits leapt down, hoisting shields, lids, wooden boards, even quilts—every form of makeshift protection imaginable.
More boats piled behind, stacking two or three deep.
In no time, a hill of hulls rose by the bank, so dense it covered half the river's width.
The bandits hopped from one boat to the next, nimble as monkeys crossing branches.
From the watchtower, the Gaojia archers raised their hand crossbows and loosed a storm.
Something curious happened.
Gaojia's cold-weapon contingent numbered only eight hundred—fewer than Heyang's militia ever had.
Yet the arrow rain they unleashed was far denser.
Because Heyang's troops had never been properly equipped—half of them didn't even own bows.
But Gaojia's men? Every single one carried a hand crossbow—crafted by Gaojia's master carpenters with materials supplied by Dao Xuan Tianzun himself.
They spared no cost.
Each weapon was fine-tuned and powerful—its bolts flew harder, truer, and deeper than any common bow.
Marching into that storm was pure torment.
One man's shield tilted slightly—an arrow speared his leg.
He screamed, staggered, his shield slipped—then thunk thunk thunk, three more bolts struck his chest. He fell, writhing.
Another hid under a quilt; the fabric thudded with arrows like rain on a roof.
He didn't dare peek ahead, missed his step between two boats, and plunged straight into the Yellow River with a splash.
Within moments, bodies littered the bank.
Still, the bandits pushed forward, teeth clenched.
They'd sworn to "teach these militia whelps a lesson" and refused to retreat.
The frontier troops among them raised their shields and advanced slowly under fire.
Their cloth armor could take a stray bolt or two—it wouldn't stop them.
Step by step, they pushed closer.
Behind them came the turncoat garrison soldiers,
and behind those, the regular bandits—three layers of assault.
Before long, they'd formed a solid front under the arrow storm.
The frontier leader roared with laughter.
"They're not throwing bombs anymore! Must've run out of gunpowder!"
"Advance!"
"Keep the shield wall tight—forward!"
Then—
BOOM!
The wooden stockade suddenly collapsed in a thunderous crash.
Dust and sand exploded into the air, veiling everything in a smoky haze.
The bandits froze—then burst into cheers.
"Hahaha! Their wall's down! They built it too shoddy—it fell on its own!"
Bai Yuzhu's eyes gleamed.
"Heaven helps me! Must've been cheap labor—they didn't anchor the beams deep enough! Attack there! Full charge at the breach!"
The bandits howled and surged toward the fallen wall.
And just then—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sharp crack of firearms tore through the dust.
From the ruins of the fallen stockade, hundreds of firearms roared together in relentless rhythm.
Rifling or not, muskets didn't need precision here—just point and fire in volleys.
The drifting sand meant nothing to them.
Bullets sliced through the haze, hammering into the charging bandits in a storm of lead.
The result was carnage.
Those with iron shields managed to block a few rounds—
but the ones wielding pot lids weren't so lucky.
The lead balls punched straight through the thin metal; men shrieked and toppled as the bullets tore into their chests.
They fell like wheat before the scythe.