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Back when Fei Qian was in Jing Province, he had wondered: since they already had helmets, why not add a face mask?
If they'd had face masks, perhaps Xiahou Dun in the Three Kingdoms wouldn't have lost an eye…
Of course, crafting a fine, detailed mask that precisely followed facial contours, complete with nose and mouth, would present some difficulty. But forging a roughly curved piece and, while it was still hot, punching out holes for vision and breathing—wasn't that essentially the same difficulty as punching holes in armor plates for lacing?
Certainly, a plain, curved faceplate wouldn't look particularly intimidating. But you could paint it!
Using white and red paint to create a blue-faced, fanged demonic pattern on the black base of the faceplate—Fei Qian had originally thought this a very simple matter. However, he hadn't anticipated that the imagination of people in the Han Dynasty was, in fact, rather impoverished…
Master Craftsman Huang Dou, who had followed Fei Qian to the Northern Bend camp, agonized for two days. What he finally presented to Fei Qian was a design featuring two red dots painted at the eye positions and a single red line for the mouth. That was all.
Was this supposed to be Pleasant Goat or the robot Watt?!
Fei Qian almost choked on his own saliva at the time…
Well, it was understandable. After all, people in the Han Dynasty had never seen horror movies.
In the end, it was Fei Qian himself who took up the brush and painted a more convincing demonic mask—
A white base, no eyebrows. Blood-red corners of the eyes and red frown lines on the brow divided the white forehead into three sections. The eye area remained the original iron black, but the eye sockets were enlarged, with a ring of white painted in the middle, making it seem as though huge eyeballs bulged from deep-set sockets. Interlocking upper and lower fangs were outlined, occupying the entire lower half of the mask. Combined with the white vapor of breath emerging from beneath it in the cold weather…
Of course, by Fei Qian's own standards, it still wasn't scary enough. But judging by the current situation, the effect seemed quite satisfactory.
Although the street had been swept, there was still plenty of dust and dirt.
Er Gouzi trembled, howled, and charged forward step by step. The soles of his feet pounded the dirt-covered street, kicking up swirls of yellow dust. His gleaming blade held high above his head, he aimed a slash at Huang Cheng's neck.
Huang Cheng stood firm and steady, as if the man charging at him did not exist at all. His entire body remained completely motionless. Only his fingers lightly tapped on the long handle of the modao blade, seemingly calculating Er Gouzi's strides and distance…
Er Gouzi took another step, dust billowing from under his foot…
There was only a sound of "Wu weng…" A flash of light blazed between heaven and earth. Then, a crimson line appeared at Er Gouzi's waist. In an instant, like a water source about to be blocked, it burst forth with a "puchi" sound, spraying wildly. He had been cleaved in two at the waist!
Suddenly, everything fell silent, as if all sound had been sucked away by that single blade stroke…
"Ah…"
Er Gouzi wailed in agony on the ground, trying to grab his spilled intestines, as if doing so could prolong his life for another moment. But clearly, all efforts were in vain. His severed torso writhed and convulsed on the ground, like a fish out of water in its death throes, making its final struggle…
"Gho… ghost…"
Whether it was coincidence or a hallucination in his dying moments, just before breathing his last, Er Gouzi suddenly cried out this phrase, then fell silent.
Instantly, the White Wave army fell into disarray. They had seen dead people before, seen hands and feet severed, seen bellies slit open. But being cleanly cut in two by a single blow—that was something they had rarely, if ever, witnessed!
This was clearly a power only ghosts and deities possessed!
Even if they were men, they were men with ghostly, divine power!
The White Wave soldiers' faces paled with fear. Many instinctively touched their own bellies, confirming they were still intact and not in two pieces, before breathing a sigh of relief.
Ghosts and deities!
That was practically on the same level as the Heavenly Duke General and his ilk. This… this…
How could mere mortals like us possibly fight against that?
Many White Wave soldiers shrank back, pressing closer to their comrades. Only by feeling the warmth of others could they barely suppress the chill rising in their hearts.
Watching from behind the formation, Fei Qian shook his head and ordered, "Light the beacon fire." This White Wave force was already defeated. Their edge was gone, their courage spent. Having marched all day, their strength was mostly depleted. The only question now was how long they could hold out…
An army that relies on faith in ghosts and deities to incite fanaticism in its soldiers can be terrifying. But once that faith is shattered, such an army can plummet to the depths just as rapidly. The fearless courage it once possessed vanishes without a trace.
The Yellow Turban uprising relied on the Heavenly Duke General's preaching. Many fanatical believers, under self-hypnosis, could unleash strength beyond ordinary people. They believed themselves invulnerable to blades and arrows, charging into battle without fear of death. But these so-called Yellow Turban warriors, after the Heavenly Duke General was beheaded, lost the support of their faith and became nothing more than common bandits with blades.
"These are men! They must be men!" Hu Cai muttered, then suddenly strained his neck and shouted, "Don't be afraid! There are only a few of them! Charge together! All together! No retreating! Those who retreat will be executed!"
Hu Cai didn't realize his voice had changed by the end of his shout, becoming like a rooster with its throat half-squeezed, able only to emit sharp cries, lacking the previous depth and power…
"Forward! Charge forward!" Hu Cai's personal guards raised their blades, driving the soldiers forward, crowding them ahead. They even cut down two or three soldiers who cowered at the back, unwilling to advance. Only then did they manage to get the troops moving.
Behind his faceplate, Huang Cheng smiled contemptuously. If they charged on horseback, he might not be able to withstand it. But with these scattered, unruly troops surging forward like this… Although his troop formation wasn't yet perfectly drilled, dealing with these small fries was, heh…
The White Wave soldiers shuffled, taking small, hesitant steps. Reaching a certain distance, they looked at each other, suddenly let out a collective roar, and broke into a frantic, full-speed charge!
Huang Cheng shouted, "Raise!"
The soldiers of the black-armored formation followed Huang Cheng, resting the handles of their modao against their waists…
"Rotate!"
At the command, the modao blades—over three chi long—began to rotate horizontally, parallel to the ground, pivoting from the soldiers' waists. The three-chi-plus blades, along with a portion of the handles, extended over a meter from the bodies of Huang Cheng's black-armored soldiers. Cold glints of light began to flash, like so many blooming flowers of death…