Tome of Troubled Times-Chapter 673: Broke the Rules? So Be It

Neither the Wang Clan nor Desolate Calamity ever anticipated that Zhao Changhe could be so shameless.

How did people fight wars in the past? Cui Wenjing and Wang Daoning fought with mutual understanding and grace. They would often meet far from the battlefield, exchanging polite conversation before leaving their subordinates to fight. Regardless of victory or defeat, they would rarely interfere in the larger conflict, adhering to a code of honor.

Even during the battle at Yanmen, Timur did not throw himself at the pass to personally lead the charge. Sure, he feared being surrounded and having Xia Longyuan descend upon him unexpectedly, but half of it was also about saving face.

For a figure on the Ranking of Heaven to descend into the fray and slaughter a group of soldiers who had not even made any way through the Profound Gate—such behavior would be ridiculed across the land. Even if the city was won, the general’s reputation would be lost. Unless faced with an absolutely desperate situation, few would stoop to such measures.

But Zhao Changhe? He not only abandoned such concerns but reveled in them. After taking out Cao Boping with a single arrow, he gleefully charged into the water strongholds, brandishing his massive saber and carving through the ranks. When the camps lay in shambles, he did not stop. He rode straight toward Juancheng and personally led the assault on its gates.

The defending general at Juancheng did not even put up a fight, surrendering immediately.

Desolate Calamity had imagined a far different scenario. Each side firmly entrenched at their respective bases, holding each other in check while their generals fought prolonged battles over months. Perhaps even the riverbanks alone could become a drawn-out stalemate, dragging on for half a year before the fight reached Langya.

Instead, in just one morning, Zhao Changhe had taken both the riverbank and Juancheng, establishing a major foothold on the eastern bank of the Yellow River.

Securing a strategic base across the river was a severe blow to the Wang Clan’s position. Any countermeasure would require pooling all available forces for an all-out assault to reclaim the city. Failing to do so would jeopardize their entire strategic front.

Yet Wang Daozhong found himself powerless to respond.

In such an official civil war, where both sides primarily consisted of former soldiers of the Great Xia, the greatest risk was always defection. The moment the tide turned, some would flee, while others would surrender on the spot, ready to be absorbed into the opposing force. Not only were deserters spared, but they could even remain in service under a new banner with minimal disruption.

Juancheng exemplified this perfectly. From the city lord to the defending general, everyone had once held official posts in the previous dynasty. Cui Yuanyong did not even imprison them. He simply suspended their duties temporarily. Key positions were handed to loyal members of the Cui Clan, while the ranks were purged of soldiers too deeply associated with the Wang Clan. The rest were integrated directly into the Han army, their commands and communications still seamlessly aligned.

The heavily fortified water strongholds on the riverbank, initially staffed with elite forces, saw part of their troops flee. At the same time, the majority switched sides and became soldiers of the Han army. Cui Yuanyong’s presence in Juancheng was less about consolidating a strategic base and more about assimilating his new recruits and reorganizing his army. The city itself, rich in supplies to support the water strongholds, had abundant grain and provisions, leaving Cui Yuanyong grinning ear to ear.

Wang Daozhong suddenly realized that what had been an overwhelming numerical advantage for his side had flipped overnight. The Han army now had the upper hand.

The battle of Puyang had followed a similar pattern. Once Puyang fell, the rear was left wide open, and the outcome became a foregone conclusion.

But the trouble did not end there. To the south, Wan Dongliu was attacking like a madman. His forces were much closer to Langya’s main camp and could reach it within two days. This was precisely why Wang Daoning had previously sought to eliminate this looming threat. He had assumed that with Wan Tianxiong dead, the Jianghuai region would descend into chaos. Surely, the prideful and unruly Canal Gang fighters wouldn’t respect a young and untested leader.

Yet, Zhao Changhe’s sudden and inexplicable return from the sea changed everything. With Black Tortoise supporting Wan Dongliu in Jianghuai, Wan Tianxiong’s fall barely caused a ripple. Wan Dongliu seamlessly took over all the forces in the region, and rather than grieving his father, he was now in a position to avenge him... and he didn’t hesitate for a single breath. The intensity of Wan Dongliu’s offensive now far surpassed anything Wan Tianxiong himself could have mustered. It was like expecting a wooden club only to be struck by a spiked mace instead.

Forced to divide their forces to fend off Wan Dongliu’s onslaught, the Wang Clan no longer had the strength to concentrate on reclaiming the Juancheng. They could only watch helplessly as Zhao Changhe and Cui Yuanyong consolidated their gains.

At this rate, within ten days, the conflict would escalate into a desperate defense of Langya itself. The once-impressive depth of Qilu now seemed nonexistent.

In his desperation, Wang Daozhong sought out Desolate Calamity. “Lord God, we can’t just sit here and wait! If we’re surrounded, the battle will be over before it even starts!”

Desolate Calamity opened his eyes from meditation, his expression tinged with frustration. He had yet to fully recover from the injuries Zhao Changhe had inflicted on him, and it had only been three or four days. Yet Zhao Changhe had already crossed the river...

“Don’t panic,” Desolate Calamity said. “I’ve been reflecting on my clash with Zhao Changhe. His true strength isn’t exceptional; his power relies entirely on divine weapons. Ultimately, the power of a divine weapon is not his own. I now know how to counter it. Even if the fight comes to Langya, I can ensure he won’t be able to leave alive.”

Wang Daozhong sighed. “If the decisive battle happens in Langya itself, the city will be ruined by the end of it. What’s the point then?”

Desolate Calamity’s tone darkened. “Even if I leave to deal with Zhao Changhe, can you fend off Cui Yuanyong and Wan Dongliu’s pincer attack?”

“No,” Wang Daozhong answered honestly.

“Then...” Huangyang’s lips curved into a sinister smile. “Since Zhao Changhe is willing to personally engage ordinary soldiers, why must my target be Zhao Changhe? Zhao Changhe rose from the wilds and hasn’t yet grasped why true Ranking of Heaven elites avoid involving themselves in mundane battles—let alone those of god-like power. When you break the rules, others will do the same, and you will bear the consequences.”

Wang Daozhong’s eyes lit up. “Lord God, you mean...”

“If I go west, I’ll only end up in a stalemate with Zhao Changhe. It’ll take me a while to get rid of him. But if I go south... the Cao Gang’s forces of 100,000 are nothing but a swarm of ants to me. What if I help you crush them instead?”

Wang Daozhong’s face broke into a wide grin. “If that happens, Langya will be safe!”

Desolate Calamity chuckled softly before disappearing in a flash.

* * *

At this moment, Wan Dongliu had already taken Tancheng. Ahead lay Lanling, the last defensive line south of Langya. His march north from Xuzhou brought him dangerously close to his goal.

Despite this proximity, he refrained from advancing further, instead setting up camp in Tancheng to regroup and prepare.

It was prudent to wait for the western front to progress and for Cui Yuanyong’s forces to join his before pushing forward. Moving alone carried the risk of being isolated and defeated. The two forces were not far apart—if Cui Yuanyong could maintain his momentum, take two more cities, and cross Weishan Lake, their armies would unite.

Even so, the gap between them left them vulnerable. A sudden assault on either force would leave the other unable to offer timely support. Aware of the risk, Wan Dongliu focused on fortifying the city’s defenses, refusing to let his guard down. He even patrolled personally late into the night, unwilling to sleep.

And so, night fell.

Wan Dongliu stood atop the city walls, gazing at the moon. The night was clear, with no snow—just a bright, sparse sky of stars.

The end of the year was near, yet oddly, the closer he got to Langya, the more he felt a strange heat in the air. It was not warmth in the usual sense—after all, the weather was still bitterly cold—but a parching dryness that left the land barren, preventing even snow from falling.

This was a time when gods and demons roamed the world, a time when the natural order often defied human understanding. Wan Dongliu was acutely aware of the dangers of this war. The enemies they faced were no longer mortal.

When the disparity in power became insurmountable, numbers ceased to matter. Even a million soldiers could not hold back the collapse of a mountain.

Zhao Changhe’s single arrow had rendered the Yellow River, once an unbreachable natural barrier, meaningless. And their enemies? Surely, they would not foolishly confront Zhao Changhe in a one-on-one duel.

No, Wan Dongliu suspected their greatest adversary might come here, and he could not shake that thought.

But he did not falter. Whether driven by his duty to avenge his father or by the unwavering convictions instilled in him since childhood, retreat was not an option.

Suddenly, the city walls began to tremble faintly as if an earthquake had struck. The officers around him tensed up. “Young Master, it feels like an earthquake! Please come down from the wall and move to an open area...”

“You all go on ahead,” Wan Dongliu said with a faint smile. He slowly pulled out a dark, blue mask from his robe and placed it over his face.

The officers: “?”

Wan Dongliu tilted his head back, looking at the moon, his voice calm and steady. “I am Water Worm of Zhen of the Twenty-Eight Mansions, under the command of the Night Emperor. Greetings, Desolate Calamity.”

The air shimmered unnaturally, and the demon materialized in the void, his expression tinged with surprise. “Surely you don’t think I’ll spare you out of deference to the Night Emperor?”

Wan Dongliu chuckled. “Not at all.”

“Then what is the meaning of this?”

Wan Dongliu’s voice remained composed as he replied, “The holy cult has already risen to prominence. There’s no need to hide anymore. This mask enhances my strength and defenses, even if only slightly.”

Desolate Calamity let out a laugh, as though he had just heard the most absurd joke in the world. “You... intend to fight me?”

“Even if I’m unable to withstand a single strike, I believe this to still be better than dying without putting up a fight.”

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“Have you not considered surrender?”

“Never,” Wan Dongliu said calmly. “Of course, the mask also holds another significance.”

“What is it?”

“As a follower of the Night Emperor, I wish to see if my god will come to save me. I wish to find out if faith in gods and demons holds any meaning.”

“Ha... Hahahahaha!” Desolate Calamity laughed so hard he bent over, his voice echoing in the night. “Don’t bother! Your so-called Night Emperor has long since perished! Hahaha!”

Wan Dongliu’s tone remained steady. “I don’t believe that a demon god who could not even defeat Azure Dragon has the right to speak on the Night Emperor’s life or death. Frankly, I doubt you were ever worthy of an audience with the Night Emperor.”

Desolate Calamity’s laughter twisted into a snarl. “Then you can ask him yourself in the afterlife!”

Boom!

With a deafening boom, the city wall suddenly crumbled, sending Wan Dongliu plummeting to the ground below. Countless stone blocks rained down, threatening to bury him alive.

Wan Dongliu twisted his body nimbly, narrowly dodging the falling stones. Above him, Desolate Calamity descended from the air, his desiccated form eclipsing the moonlight. His withered hand reached out, poised to strike. “Die, insect.”

But before the blow landed, a sudden jolt surged through Desolate Calamity’s heart. His hand veered sharply to the side, swatting away a golden arrow that had appeared silently in front of him. The force of his deflection sent the arrow careening into the rubble.

“Zhao Changhe!” Desolate Calamity bellowed, spinning around.

Under the full moon, Zhao Changhe rode a flying steed, his massive saber gleaming in his hands. With a wild grin, he roared, “I knew you’d stoop to this!”

Beneath his mask, Wan Dongliu’s face lit up with fervent exhilaration. The same fiery zeal reflected in the eyes of the followers of the Four Idols Cult behind him—and even in the expressions of the Cao Gang soldiers who were now being converted to the cult’s cause.

Zhao Changhe’s arrival made perfect sense. It was logical for Desolate Calamity to target Wan Dongliu, just as it was reasonable for Wan Dongliu to suspect an attack. Zhao Changhe, ever the strategist, had anticipated this move and acted accordingly. His appearance was not divine intervention; it was a calculated action.

But none of that mattered. The sheer morale boost was overwhelming. The sight of Zhao Changhe riding in like a storm electrified the crowd. Wan Dongliu did not even entertain the thought of Zhao Changhe losing this fight. Without hesitation, he led his forces into the city with a resounding battle cry, “There must be reinforcements on their way to fortify Lanling’s defenses! Everyone, follow me! We’ll catch them off guard!”