Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Pack of Wolves Faces the Fierce Tiger

The next day, on the plains and highlands...

The battle had already begun. In the autumn dusk, infantry and cavalry clad in black armor assembled on the southern hills beyond the main battlefield, the great standard still faintly bearing the character for "Wu." On the northern hill of the main field, a shadowy mass of soldiers in black armor stood in strict formation beneath the "Wu" banner, glaring furiously at the Western Liang cavalry on the southern hill, ready to charge at a moment’s notice.

The Western Liang cavalry on the southern hill had likewise gathered into formations of infantry and cavalry, their eyes ablaze with animosity as they stared back at the Youzhou army to the north, equally prepared for combat. Both sides arrayed their troops, braced for a deadly clash—a duel between two commanders.

Lu Bu stood out among them, crowned with a three-pronged purple-gold headdress, draped in a hundred-flower robe of red Sichuan cotton, armored in a beast-faced chain mail that devoured the head, and girded with a resplendent lion belt. Arrows hung at his side, a halberd in hand, astride the snorting Red Hare. Truly, “Among men, Lu Bu; among horses, Red Hare”—he cut a figure of formidable might, his presence towering and commanding, eyes fixed on Zifan with a tiger’s hungry glare.

Reputed as the greatest warrior of the Three Kingdoms, Lu Bu’s very presence heightened the tension. To face such a peerless master in single combat, how could Zifan not feel a surge of excitement as well? His fingers unconsciously rubbed the shaft of his Tiger-Head Spear, gripping it tight, the tip rising slightly as a fierce murderous aura slipped from him unnoticed.

Lu Bu sensed this killing intent at once, lifting his halberd and tugging at the reins of the roaring Red Hare beneath him.

Their eyes met, and it was as if invisible waves rippled through the air—a clash of indomitable wills. Born kings, neither would yield. Zifan’s natural aura was that of a sovereign lord—handsome features as if carved from marble, sharp and defined, his gaze deep and piercing, emanating an oppressive force. Lu Bu was no less imposing, a sly smile playing at his lips, eyes as fathomless as the abyss, gleaming with a blade’s edge as he watched, wary and perhaps mocking.

Roused by Red Hare’s provocation, Zifan’s Dragon Horse beneath him neighed wildly, displaying its own strength. The war of kings thus began.

Zifan reined his mount and charged straight at Lu Bu, emboldened by the system’s aid. As the armies set their formations, Zifan had already appealed to the system for help, boosting his martial prowess by forty percent and fusing with the might of Li Yuanba of the Sui Dynasty—though only for an hour.

Lu Bu too raised his halberd high, the fury in his eyes almost leaping forth. As their horses met, in that brief instant, their weapons clashed countless times.

Zifan exploited the spear’s agility—thrusting, slashing, feinting—launching ranged attacks to wear Lu Bu down and force an opening. As their duel intensified, a cold flash like shattering ice swept past Lu Bu’s face.

“Bang…!”

Lu Bu, unhurried, lifted his halberd to parry. But as another cold gleam flashed, Zifan struck again. Lu Bu twisted aside, swift as wind, swinging his right leg in a sweeping kick at Zifan’s legs, making him wince with pain.

The halberd in Lu Bu’s hand spun between his fingers, stirring the very air itself.

“Clang!”

“Ding!”

“Bang…!”

Lu Bu attacked, Zifan parried; halberd and Tiger-Head Spear collided in a fierce struggle—dragon against tiger.

The Shujin Suanni armor on Zifan’s body shone, highlighting his powerful frame. The two men danced like specters, each refusing to yield. The halberd moved like a giant serpent, the Tiger-Head Spear like a golden dragon; blade and spear vied for vital points, each strike deadly.

For several rounds, Zifan pressed Lu Bu to the brink, leaving him no chance to retaliate. Only Lu Bu’s rich experience saved him from being unseated. His martial skills were immovable as Mount Tai, always finding Zifan’s weak points at the critical moment. The duel was evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand.

A vast silence fell over the battlefield. Only the snorting of horses and the labored breathing of a few men could be heard.

Cao Xing, one of Lu Bu’s lieutenants, mounted his horse and charged at Zifan with a spear, secretly drawing his bow. Finding his moment, he loosed an arrow, but Zifan dodged swiftly, steadied his spear, and spurred his horse forward. In their clash, Zifan struck Cao Xing from his horse with a single blow.

With a sweeping motion, Zifan ordered his army to charge. The Youzhou soldiers, spirits ablaze and battle-lust high, surged forward with earth-shaking cries. The clash of iron and horse, the shouts for supremacy, and the blare of horns echoed in the valley. In contrast, the Western Liang cavalry, their commander defeated and a general lost before they could even gain ground, saw their morale plummet.

The two forces tore into each other in ferocious combat, banners flying and flames licking the dusk. At this range, the entire ranks faced off in deadly formation. Armored cavalry collided in bloody struggle, archers drew their bows in grim determination, and the soldiers, eyes bloodshot, roared as blood trickled from their lips.

What matter if one’s guts are spilled? What if an arm is lost? As long as a man still breathes, he will fight on. The soldiers of Youzhou would not bring shame to their people or disgrace their commander. Their fighting spirit was unmatched. They feared death but refused to cling to life in disgrace—for them, living was to uphold their honor. Blood covered the ground, staining the earth red.

On the battlefield, Zifan wielded his long spear as if painting with blood. Beneath his armor beat a head that would never bow, the hope of all Youzhou soldiers, their eternal and only commander—a living banner. So long as he lived, the spirit of Youzhou would not perish, nor would their passion cool.

Suddenly, a cloud of dust rose in the distance, rolling in like a whirlwind. Soon, the thunder of hooves was heard, and a cavalry unit raced forth. Unbeknownst to Lu Bu, Zifan had earlier dispatched Ding Feng to lead an elite detachment around the enemy’s rear for a decisive strike, drawing Lu Bu’s main force away without their knowledge.

The slaughter continued. The air grew thick with the scent of blood, the world itself seemed to tremble, as if mountains were collapsing and the earth splitting.

In a flash, Lu Bu’s Western Liang cavalry broke and fled, their faith in victory shattered. In the face of death, all men trembled. Death threatened life, irreversible and ever-present, freezing memory and suspending time, turning fleeting moments into eternity.

The blood-red sunset faded, and both sides returned to their high ground, locked in a deadly standoff. Of Zifan’s army, nearly all survived, while less than half of Lu Bu’s men returned—so many lives ended on that field, the losses devastating. Yet neither side retreated or charged again; no one contested the corpses and abandoned wagons littering the valley. Like two tigers locked in a stare, neither dared withdraw first.

Night fell, cloaking the heavens in darkness...