When the leading knight pulled on the reins, the black warhorse beneath him lifted its front hooves, moving as if treading on clouds. The knight gripped the horse’s flanks with his legs, leaning slightly to control the rearing steed, looking both impressive and imposing. As the horse’s hooves landed, splattering mud and grass, the rest of the riders halted at the same time—a clear sign of rigorous training.

The leading knight wore armor woven from bronze plates. The chest plates were sewn together with some kind of animal hide and fine thread, each plate a square about five centimeters across. On each shoulder strap hung a strip of white, fluffy tassel, just covering two large oval bronze pieces resembling heart protectors. The lower plates were rectangular, about ten centimeters long, sewn horizontally in contrast to the vertical five-centimeter plates above, continuing down to the skirt armor. The overall look was compact yet aesthetically pleasing.

The other knights’ armor was much less elaborate; aside from the skirt armor, it was not much different from infantry armor. It seemed that the presence or absence of skirt armor was the most obvious distinction between cavalry and infantry.

Anyone familiar with the Qin army’s organization and armor types would know that this person was a “Zhu.”

Yes, in this era, there weren’t many words. A wine cup wasn’t called a wine cup, just a “cup”; a forest wasn’t called a forest, just “woods.” People might have only a single-character name, without a surname or clan name. If someone had a surname, they were either a noble or a warrior, a scholar. Modern people might not understand, but it was a very historical reality.

“Zhu” was not the full title of this officer. His title was “Wubai Zhu”—the commander of five hundred men in the Qin military system (not a general), a mid-level officer.

As soon as the commander arrived, five centurions (commanders of a hundred men) jogged over, saluting in unison and calling out, “Zhu!”

Their salute was not the kind seen in TV dramas, with both arms extended and fists clasped. Instead, both arms were angled slightly forward and upward, palms bent inward at ninety degrees, fingers together with thumbs up, and their backs slightly inclined forward. This gesture, performed with smooth and flowing motion, looked both ancient and solemn.

Standing nearby, Brian Clark was startled to hear this title, confused as to whether he’d misheard, since “Zhu” sounded like a slave addressing a master.

See, that’s the generation gap…

After watching the brawling crowd for a moment, the commander waved his hand authoritatively: “Step in!”

With this simple and direct order, the centurions returned to their ranks and issued an even more concise command: “Drive!”

The Qin soldiers maintained their cold expressions. Almost simultaneously, they lowered their stances and stepped forward with their right feet, their boots thudding heavily against the ground. At the same time, they raised their long spears or halberds, twenty-five men forming the front squad, jogging forward in a charging posture, followed closely by the second squad in the same formation.

It was an awe-inspiring sight. The Qin soldiers barely changed their posture as they jogged, paying close attention to keeping their waists steady and doing their best not to let the long weapons in their hands wobble.

Brian Clark had tried this charging posture himself and had personally experienced its “science.” Keeping the chest and shoulder blades tense while running gave a sense of power, safety, and confidence. It allowed for tighter control of the halberd, preventing it from shaking and wasting precision or being easily deflected, while a stable lower body helped prevent stumbling during a clash.

It was important to understand what all this meant: weapon precision, the strength to keep your weapon from being deflected—these were matters of life and death. To fall on the battlefield? That was as good as a death sentence!

At the very first sign of movement from the Qin army, most of the brawling crowd seemed oblivious, still punching and kicking those around them. Some, however, who noticed the Qin soldiers charging, let out a howl and turned to flee.

Charging in formation, Brian Clark felt a surge of power throughout his body—something he had never experienced before. He knew this was called “collective strength.” It could turn cowards into warriors, and warriors into even fiercer fighters!

As they drew closer, the charging Qin soldiers began to accelerate, but they made no shouts—just a silent, relentless advance.

In stark contrast to the Qin army’s silent charge, the brawling crowd was filled with cries and wails.

It seemed these people had witnessed the Qin army’s charge more than once, and the experience had left a deep, bone-chilling terror in them.

Brian Clark knew the brawlers were surrendered captives from the Six States. Having “become” a member of the Qin army for just over three months, what was his impression of the Qin army? He had never seen them act overbearing, nor had he witnessed any bullying of the innocent during marches. On the contrary, he had only experienced their almost ruthless discipline. And the people from the Six States? They weren’t as united and ready to overthrow Qin as the textbooks claimed. Instead, there seemed to be deep divisions, with brawls breaking out every few days.

It was almost overwhelming—just one charge from the Qin army, and nearly ten thousand brawlers, without even the slightest resistance, were herded by only a thousand Qin soldiers into a tight circle, trembling like lambs awaiting slaughter.