The slave bandits were different from the other barbarian tribes invading the Central Plains—they were more cunning, more ferocious, and far more organized...

The snow at the foot of the mountain was thick. From time to time, wild rabbits darted out from beneath the snow, and occasionally, a frozen pheasant would fall onto the snowy surface. George Wood had no interest in these things; his gaze remained fixed on the dark pine forest.

No startled birds took flight from the snow-laden pines, nor did any small beasts dart out from the woods. That place was as silent as a graveyard.

The sun traced an arc across the sky, finally hanging lazily on the horizon, casting its feeble light over the world.

George Wood reined in his warhorse, wanting to go up front for a look, but was firmly held back by his deputy, John Wood, who also ordered the other guards to surround George Wood tightly.

"Young General, the slave bandits dragged branches behind their horses to sweep the snow from the path, but there are still traces to follow."

The vanguard reported loudly.

John Wood's eyes darted about like a spinning lantern. After carefully surveying the surroundings, he whispered to George Wood, "This place has a mountain on one side and open snowfield on the other—perfect for the slave bandits skilled in archery. We must not advance rashly.

We should slowly withdraw!"

George Wood shook his head. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If we withdraw now, we’ll just brush past the slave bandits. That won’t do. Pass my order: raise shields and advance!"

Seeing that George Wood would not heed his advice, John Wood immediately shouted to the vanguard, "One horse-length apart, raise shields, face the pine forest, advance!"

The previously tight cavalry formation quickly loosened under the deputy’s command. John Wood also swiftly left George Wood's side, heading straight for the front of the column.

He was a highly experienced commander, a battle-hardened warrior. At this moment, protecting George Wood was no longer the top priority—ensuring the army’s leadership wasn’t wiped out in one blow was.

The guards also spread out in turn. George Wood's armor was no different from theirs. To confuse the enemy, he was actually the first to leave the group.

The dark pine forest remained utterly silent, yet it felt as if a fierce tiger was lurking, watching them. George Wood felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Finally leaving the hillock, in just a short time, George Wood forgot the cold and fatigue, focusing all his senses to prepare for the coming crisis.

"Stay alert!"

John Wood's hoarse voice rang out again from the very front of the formation.

George Wood shivered, and suddenly, a glint of cold light appeared at the corner of his eye...

"Enemy attack!"

John Wood spotted the threat even before George Wood, let out a shout, and spurred his warhorse straight toward a small rise at the foot of the mountain.

The cold arrow was not aimed at George Wood, but at a bearded man. The man also saw the arrow, curled up on his horse behind his shield. With a thud, the arrow was blocked by the shield, but the man let out a miserable scream and toppled from his horse, a black-feathered arrow now lodged in the base of his thigh.

By the time he hit the ground, he was motionless—a black-feathered arrow had pierced his temple...

"Amka you gunka! (Well done!)"

Suddenly, the flat snowfield erupted, sending snow flying everywhere. A slave bandit, wearing a sheepskin coat inside out, sprang up from underground. Before the Ming soldiers could react, a heavy, crude mace smashed into the chest of his warhorse.

The horse’s chest was instantly pulverized, and it crashed to the ground with its rider. The slave bandit, seemingly prepared, swung his mace again at the rider’s helmet. The black helmet flew far away, and the rider’s head became a bloody mess.

George Wood thought he was already fully alert, yet war still caught him off guard.

As he raised his saber, he saw two of his guards die horribly at the hands of the slave bandits.

Proud and hot-blooded, George Wood could not bear it. He urged his horse forward a few steps and slashed down at the slave bandit with all his might.

With a clang, his long saber collided with an iron rod, sending the blade flying high. Seasoned in battle, George Wood ignored the saber, drew a short spear from his saddlebag with his left hand, and, using the momentum of his horse, drove it into the chest of the slave bandit before him.

His warhorse knocked down the dying bandit, and bursting through the swirling snow, he saw that the once-peaceful snowfield had become a bloody battlefield.

Sixty slave bandits dared to set an ambush on open ground for two hundred elite Guanning cavalry—this infuriated George Wood.

On the battlefield, anger was a useful emotion. George Wood abandoned the protection of his guards and charged toward the small hill ahead.

The greatest threat to the cavalry was not those who hid in the snow for surprise attacks, but the arrogant archers standing atop the hill.

They stood against the wind, wielding four-stone strong bows, firing three arrows at a time. As the first arrow left the string, the next was already nocked; before the first struck, the last had already flown. In an instant, a whole quiver of arrows was gone.

They could shoot down giant eagles from the clouds, slay monstrous fish in the abyss, hunt tigers and wolves as a matter of course—only heroes could be called eagle-shooters!