Section 83: Collapse and Departure

"People must die, but the significance of that death varies."

"To die for the interests of the people is weightier than Mount Tai; to die for a feudal dynasty, for landlords, nobles, emperors, and those who exploit and oppress the people, is lighter than a feather."

Then, what are they? Adventuring in this space with me, not for the people, not for an emperor, but for the sake of their own survival—that was their only modest wish.

And yet, you killed them all.

What, then, was the significance of their deaths?

Ranke lowered his head, hiding his tears from the students.

Before this, he had harbored no hatred for anyone, nor did he wish to blame anyone. The battlefield was simply that way; everyone served their own masters. After taking everyone prisoner, Wang Luo had not made any harsh demands and had immediately allowed them to surrender. Later, he even provided missions that allowed them to earn equipment and supplies. In a sense, he had treated them quite well.

But what was this, then? Giving such missions—how was that any different from sending us to our deaths?

What can I do? Take revenge on those who accepted our surrender? Or ignore the fact that my companions were killed and act as if it never happened?

He crouched on the ground, trembling.

Suddenly, the sound of drums erupted from outside the camp. Several students stood up and pushed back the tent flap.

Officers were shouting orders. Soldiers were donning armor, grabbing weapons, and running toward the perimeter.

Has the Han army arrived? Should I go and help? Help these people who killed my companions?

I can't. I just can't!

"Mr. Ranke," a gentle voice sounded beside him amidst his agony. "You seem to be in pain."

It was Zhou Suyan. Ranke had seen her at Wang Luo’s side, and he felt a surge of guarded caution. What was she doing here?

He thought this, and so he asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing," she giggled, then turned and walked away.

***

Zhou Yingxiong had been prepared for the enemy’s attack; he had even anticipated it, feeling a touch of excitement.

When Wang Luo first assigned him to manage the camp's internal and external affairs, he hadn’t thought much of it. On the whole, he had tackled the trivial, complex, and often thankless logistics work with enthusiasm. It was only later, realizing he had no chance to reach the front lines, that he felt a glimmer of dissatisfaction and voiced a few suggestions—all of which Wang Luo ignored.

If it were up to him, he would still choose to fight.

And now, the opportunity had finally arrived.

There were about eight hundred soldiers guarding the camp. In addition, there were four or five hundred lightly wounded men capable of performing tasks. The rest were the elderly, the weak, women, and children.

Their numbers were less than half of the enemy’s, but the Han army at the ferry camp were not elite troops, and their own camp was well-fortified with watchtowers, palisades, caltrops, trenches, and catapults. Relying on these, holding the defense would be no problem, but to break the enemy—though he hated to admit it—would require waiting for Wang Luo to return with reinforcements.

Unless, of course, the enemy made a grave mistake, and he managed to seize the opening.

The soldiers were ready. Some of the lightly wounded had taken their places on the watchtowers, while others had replaced the original guards at various posts.

There was no wind. The midday sun made the armor he wore feel stifling. The air felt thick and viscous, making him feel entirely uncomfortable.

The soldiers around him seemed agitated and nervous. Why such a feeling? Strange; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t fought before, and they had even been closer to the enemy in the past—why hadn't they felt this way then?

In the distance, the banners of the Han army appeared. Someone shouted, and the catapult crew nearby released their ropes, sending stones flying to a spot several hundred meters away from the Han formation.

The battle could be said to have begun at that moment.

Within the Han ranks, war drums began to beat. The Han army, originally in marching formation, slowly shifted. A few squads of crossbowmen crept forward, and once they entered range, they began firing at the Revolutionary Army camp. Several squads of soldiers carrying ladders and pushing battering rams stayed at a distance from the crossbowmen, slowly advancing toward the camp.

Had the Han army ever used battering rams before? Perhaps that contractor over there had prepared them. Following Zhou Yingxiong’s orders, several soldiers ran to the catapults, cursing at those who had fired early and demanding they wait until the enemy was in range. But even when they did as ordered, the accuracy of these machines was abysmal. Archers on the watchtowers had already begun to fire; utilizing their high-ground advantage, they dealt more damage than the Han crossbowmen, but their arrows had little effect against the enemy’s shields and armor.

Gradually, the Han infantry approached the trench, dropped their ladders, and crossed. A few were struck by arrows in the face or legs and tumbled into the ditch, but the rest kept shouting, brandishing long blades and spears as they rushed forward, carrying ladders toward the palisades.

On the Revolutionary Army side, the war drums also sounded. Fully armed soldiers, following their training, formed a tight, orderly defensive line, waiting for the enemy to breach the perimeter. Zhou Yingxiong felt his mouth go dry, as if he could no longer think.

He handed the command over to Liu An, who stood nearby, while he himself, just as he had when he first entered the battlefield, raised his shield and long blade and took his place at the main gate alongside his soldiers.

The battering ram began to strike the gate. The crossbowmen and archers above fired desperately, but with little success.

To Zhou Yingxiong, this waiting was agonizing; each sound of the impact seemed to strike his very heart. Perhaps opening the gates and charging out would be a better choice? Or should he wait for the impact to exhaust the enemy's strength?

***

As he waited, a loud "Bang!" rang out nearby, and the palisades on both sides of the gate collapsed with a thunderous crash.

A swarm of Han soldiers poured in.

***

It is time to leave.

Zhou Suyan entered the rear camp with a calm expression. The wounded guards recognized her; not only did they not stop her, they saluted her in respect.

Per Ling’er’s request, she had used an instigator on Ranke before the battle, and after that, she was to leave as soon as possible.

This seemed to be Gethini’s requirement. Did he have a grudge against Ranke? It didn't matter—Ranke was not an important figure, nor would his actions cause any major impact; if he needed to be used, he was used.

If she surrendered back to the Han army, the reward would be reduced to a quarter. But that was fine; she had already obtained the equipment, food, and medicine promised for completing the mission here. Since he no longer wanted her, leaving was only natural.

No, it had nothing to do with him. She had always been a member of the Wuzhou faction; she was nobody’s possession. Back then, she had followed Xiaowan’s suggestion to attempt an assassination, only to be captured. Now, she was simply returning to her team, doing what she was supposed to do.

That was all.

Yet, why did it feel as though the days in Wuzhou were from a long time ago? As if being by his side was the life she had truly been living?

They had only been together for a few short days.

It was a sickness. Yes, Stockholm Syndrome—or something like that, falling in love with the person who abuses you...

How ridiculous! Women are not tools for cooking and laundry! She didn't like those things! She wouldn't enjoy being protected! In this cruel space, no one is reliable but oneself!

That jerk wasn't even handsome; he spent his days talking nonsense and blathering on. Even if he had won a few battles, it was nothing special! And he already had other women around him! He was just a man—what was the big deal? She had been with twenty or thirty others before!

The feeling that he was a good person, that he would be good to her—it was all an illusion! She didn't want to rely on him! She only wanted to use him! It was impossible for her to fall in love with him!

She opened the door and rushed out of the camp.

I have no right to love him. I... I lost the right to love anyone long ago.