Chapter 57 Collapsing at the First Touch

"Report, big chieftain, this is bad! Something huge has happened!" A bandit rushed in, flustered and out of breath.

Short-legged Hu pressed one hand on the armrest of his chair and demanded, "What is all this fuss about?"

Standing inside the hall entrance, the bandit stammered, "O-outside... a-a lot of people have come and surrounded our stronghold!"

"What!" Short-legged Hu abruptly stood up. "Government troops?"

Immediately, he shook his head. It was impossible for government troops to arrive at Tiger Head Stronghold this late, and he hadn't received the slightest bit of intelligence beforehand.

The second chieftain, sitting in the chair to the left, stood up with his saber in hand and said, "Big brother, it must be that pack of roving bandits from down the mountain making an assault. I'll take men and wipe them out right now."

"I'll go with you." The third chieftain grabbed the weapon at his side.

"No need. This time, I will meet them myself and see who gave them the guts to attack my stronghold." Short-legged Hu turned his head and shouted out the door, "Someone, bring the armor!"

Before long, two bandits walked in, one holding a quilted cotton armor and the other carrying a suit of iron armor.

Short-legged Hu first put on the quilted cotton armor, layered the iron armor over it, grabbed a broadsword, and strode out of the Earth God Temple's main hall.

The second and third chieftains also put on their armor—the second chieftain wearing iron armor, and the third chieftain wearing cotton armor. Each armed with their weapons, they followed closely behind Short-legged Hu.

Standing in front of the main hall of the Earth God Temple, Short-legged Hu's face was dyed a deep crimson by the firelight flickering on either side. He shouted in a booming voice, "Brothers, you surely know the situation by now. A bunch of roving bandits has come outside the stronghold, but there is no need to be afraid. We have armor for armor and weapons for weapons!"

"You all know what kind of scum those roving bandits outside are. To put it nicely, they're roving bandits; to put it bluntly, a pack of filthy beggars. Could our brothers possibly be afraid of a bunch of beggars?"

"Not afraid!" The third chieftain at the side raised his weapon and shouted loudly.

"Not afraid!" "Not afraid!" "Not afraid!"

The bandits surrounding the Earth God Temple raised their voices in a clamor.

Short-legged Hu raised his broadsword and shouted, "Ten taels of silver for every roving bandit head, twenty taels for a bandit leader's head! Brothers, charge out with me and trade heads for silver!"

As he uttered the word "kill," he pointed his broadsword forward.

Hearing that a single bandit head could fetch ten taels of silver, the bandits were electrified, a wild frenzy glinting in their eyes.

Money moves the heart. Just because the stronghold had silver didn't mean that low-level bandits like them had any.

All the bandits spontaneously surged toward the stronghold's main gates. The few bandits closest to the gates joined forces and shoved them open.

The very instant the gates swung open, a continuous line of torches suddenly blazed to life outside.

Those very bandits who had been clamoring to rush out and slaughter the roving bandits suddenly backed away, their frenzied cries instantly dying down into silence.

"Charge! Charge forward! Ten taels of silver per head!" Seeing that the bandits were not rushing forward but instead retreating, Short-legged Hu, standing further back, loudly urged them to charge out of the stronghold.

Standing in front of the Earth God Temple, Short-legged Hu was blocked by a sea of people and could not see what was happening outside the stronghold.

"Big brother, has something gone wrong up front?" the third chieftain reminded him from the side.

Short-legged Hu shoved aside the bandits blocking his path, cut through the crowd, and reached the stronghold gates. Raising his eyes to take in the scene outside, he instantly sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

Beyond the gates, rows of torches illuminated the earth and sky. Roving bandits with resolute expressions and wooden spears in hand pointed their weapons directly toward the stronghold, a chilling aura of slaughter rushing straight at them.

Short-legged Hu instinctively took two steps back, bumping into the third chieftain behind him, only to realize he had actually been scared back by a mob of roving bandits.

"Cl-close the gates!" Short-legged Hu shouted in panic, while inwardly cursing. These weren't a hundred or so roving bandits; even if they weren't entirely clear in the dark, there had to be two or three hundred of them.

Short-legged Hu himself was originally from the frontier army. Seeing the forest of wooden spears, the dark, hollow barrels of firelocks, and the neatly disciplined formations of the refugees outside, his heart sank heavily.

The stronghold gates were made of solid wood. Four bandits—two on each side—exerted all their strength, shoving against the doors in an attempt to slam them shut.

"Firelock squad, ready... Fire!"

The stronghold gates had already been thrown wide open; Chen Xunping was not about to give them a chance to close them. He immediately issued the order to the firelock squad crouching before the entrance.

Bang, bang... bang!

The musketeers kneeling in the front rank pulled the triggers of their weapons. Puffs of white smoke erupted, and lead balls whistled through the air.

Three of the four bandits trying to close the gates were struck and killed on the spot, while the sole survivor was scared so badly he tumbled backward onto his backside.

"Second firelock rank, ready... Fire!"

Bang, bang... bang!

The reports of firelocks rang out once more. The air grew thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder. Several more bandits inside the stronghold collapsed after the volley, including a minor bandit leader clad in iron armor.

The musketeers who had finished firing began clearing the powder pans to reload with gunpowder and lead balls. Meanwhile, the third rank of musketeers had already raised their firelocks, taking aim at the bandits inside the stronghold.

As the two volleys finished, the bandits inside the stronghold watched their comrades fall, pools of blood spreading across the ground. Some bandits had their bellies torn open by lead balls, their entrails spilling out onto the dirt.

Blood, red and green intestines scattered everywhere mixed with mud, and the agonizing screams of the wounded struck a profound chord of terror in the remaining bandits.

Bandits lived with their heads on the line, but the gruesome spectacle before their eyes was far more terrifying than death itself.

Some bandits watched with their own eyes as their neighbors had their guts blown open by firelocks, their intestines spilling out. With two blood-soaked hands, they frantically tried to stuff their guts back into their stomachs—only for them to spill right back out—pushing them back in again and again until they drew their final breath.

Psychological trauma is far more terrifying than death. Finally, a bandit could no longer bear it; he dropped his weapon and fled backward, screaming at the top of his lungs.

His flight acted like the final straw breaking the camel's back. Many bandits teetering on the edge of collapse broke and ran, and some even hacked down those ahead of them who they felt were running too slowly.

Panic and selfishness—everyone wanted to save their own skin in the face of death.

"Big brother, let's go! It's over, the stronghold is finished!" The second chieftain grabbed Short-legged Hu, dragging him and the other fleeing bandits toward the rear.

At this moment, titles like big chieftain and second chieftain meant nothing; every bandit had only one thought in mind: survival.

Once the bandits inside the stronghold began to flee, chaos erupted instantly. People pushed and shoved, and some even drew blades to slash at others in a desperate bid to carve out a path to life.

The second chieftain and Short-legged Hu had sturdy builds; they shoved aside the bandits in their way and escaped toward the front.

The third chieftain was not so lucky. He was relatively lean and lacked the physical advantage of the other fleeing bandits. Furthermore, because he had been stationed too close to the stronghold gates, he found himself trailing at the very rear of the fleeing mob.

"Firelock squad, ready... Fire!"

The third rank of musketeers pulled their triggers. Smoke billowed from the muzzles, and a volley of lead balls flew out, striking the bandits fleeing at the rear.

The third chieftain was somewhat fortunate; he had tripped over a bandit's corpse on the ground and was already sprawling flat when the volley rang out.

Before he could even stand back up, he watched with his own eyes as a bandit running just ahead of him was struck in the back by a firelock bullet. A spray of blood bloomed, and the man staggered twice before crashing headfirst onto the ground.

Seeing this scene, he dared not stand up at all and simply flattened himself against the earth, playing dead.