As the sun began to climb, the sky exploded in a spectacle of color, spreading hues of yellow and brilliant orange across the morning horizon, mimicking the vibrant, warm leaves of fall. This beauty was violently contrasted by the grim reality below.
The echoing sound of two thousand horses galloping raced toward the city. The sheer weight and speed of the cavalry shook the ground, making the damaged wall groan and release thick clouds of dust that fused with the morning air. It was the sound of overwhelming, organized power, and it was closing fast.
Generals Chong and Xue stood upon the shattered ramparts, watching the approaching wave. The air vibrated with the menace of the charge, but their eyes were fixed solely on the battlefield. They gave their archers no command, waiting for the moment the strategy's plan would come into place and justify this suicidal gamble.
General Chong squinted into the rising sun, the silhouette of the thousand charging horsemen growing monstrously large.
"Hye," Chong growled, grabbing the strategist's shoulder, "they are not stopping. They will be at the walls in moments. What is the corn for?"
Hye didn't flinch. He spoke quickly, his voice tight but steady against the roar of the charge.
"General, you will see soon enough."
On the battlefield, the Razaasia cavalry adhered to a clear, cold order: to rush toward the city wall. The rhythmic thundering grew into a deafening roar. The Ginmiao defenders on the shattered ramparts could clearly see the disciplined focus etched on the riders' faces.
The enemy's objective was not an immediate lethal engagement. Their deadly command was to rush to the one-hundred-yard line, at which point they would shoot a focused, two-hundred-arrow volley at the Ginmiao soldiers on the wall. This action was not aimed to kill, but to toy with the defenders—a show of force proving their complete mastery of the field.
As the first two hundred of the cavalry crossed the middle of the battlefield, the effect was instantaneous and baffling. The massive warhorses, smelling the irresistible, unprocessed sweetness of the dry corn—a powerful, rare treat not tasted in weeks—broke their charge. They began to slow down, bracing themselves, and soon came to a complete, disruptive stop. Ignoring the reins and the shouts of their riders, they dropped their heads and began voraciously eating the corn off the ground.
The remaining eight hundred horsemen, charging directly behind them, were forced into immediate, disastrous chaos.
The lead captain of the advancing cavalry unit saw the disastrous halt of his front line. Seeing that the horses were taking no command from the riders, he quickly halted his own mount. As he looked at the ground in front of him, he saw the cause: a thousand tiny, shiny objects spreading all over the field like gold, sparkling its vibrant hue in the sun, mixing with the morning dew.
Corn. He finally pieced together the pathetic, insulting raid from the night before. They weren't fighting; they were scattering bait.
But before he could issue a warning, the true terror of the trap was revealed. Just as he realized what had happened, the two hundred horses that had first reached the corn—the ones less than one hundred yards from the city wall—began to drop to the ground, one by one.
The remaining horses, ignoring the shouts and the frantic reins of their riders, continued their slow, compelled march forward, heads down. Their powerful sense of smell drove them onward, compelling them toward the bait. They were still advancing on the city wall, driven solely by the lure of the corn, oblivious to the fact that the horses ahead of them were collapsing, motionless, on the ground, as if they had simply dropped to their knees and died peacefully in their sleep.
"Turn your horse back!" the lead captain desperately shouted, finally realizing the devastating nature of the corn trap and trying to halt the catastrophic loss of his unit.
Just as the command left his lips, a Ginmiao arrow flew straight and struck him on the right shoulder, causing him to cry out and tumble violently off his horse and onto the corn-littered ground.
Simultaneously, a massive, concentrated wave of hundreds of arrows rained down upon the Razaasia soldiers. These elite cavalrymen, whose horses were either collapsed and dying or stubbornly marching toward the poisoned bait, were now sitting ducks. Unable to maneuver, draw their swords, or effectively raise their shields, they were completely exposed. The organized Ginmiao volley found its targets, and men began to fall in droves, screaming as they were ripped from their saddles.
As the Razaasia cavalry was thrown into complete disarray—their mounts poisoned, their lead captain wounded, and their formation shattered by the arrow rain—the Ginmiao seized the moment.
"Open the gate!" Xue's voice roared.
The front gate of Zaoging swung open once more. Leading two hundred fresh soldiers, Captains Konn and Xang charged straight at the wounded and collapsing Razaasia. The attack was swift and merciless.
The slaughter began as the Ginmiao pushed the disorganized Razaasia soldiers back toward their main camp. The enemy, focused on restoring order to their panicked horses and avoiding the collapsing mounts, were easy prey.
As Xue watched the Razaasia soldiers retreat past the three-hundred-yard line, he gave his most audacious order.
"Safe to march!"
Instantly, hundreds of civilians—men and women—rushed out immediately behind the charging soldiers. They were armed not with swords, but with knives and ropes, and they began immediately dragging the dead and dying horses back into the city.
From far beyond the immediate battlefield, hearing the shouts and screams of their soldiers—and the sudden, devastating silence where the thunder of a thousand hooves should have been—Koorush and Payam mounted their own horses and quickly rushed toward the frontline.
As they approached, they saw the nightmare unfolding. Their elite cavalry was in utter disarray, stumbling back over the corpses of their own horses, while a small, fierce unit of Ginmiao soldiers—no more than two hundred—charged at them with the ferocity of starved wolves.
But the sight that truly shattered Koorush's aristocratic composure was the spectacle behind the Ginmiao charge: hundreds of civilians, men and women, rushing onto the open field and dragging the dead horses back into the city. They weren't just fighting; they were scavenging their pride. Payam's calculated starvation tactic had been weaponized against them, turning them not into cornered dogs willing to surrender, but into starved wolves willing to risk everything for a full stomach.
Koorush pulled his horse to a sudden, wrenching halt, his face dark with a rage that bordered on madness. "The horses!" he roared, pointing at the collapsing mounts. "What's wrong with them? Payam, how could this happen?"
Payam, however, remained unnervingly calm as he surveyed the field. "My lord, when people are hungry, they do desperate things. I failed to expect that instead of surrendering, they would execute such a maneuver." He sighed, looking directly at Koorush. "I thought victory was within reach. Now... I must rethink our entire plan."
Koorush didn't argue. He looked down toward his right flank, his rage hardening into cold fury. "Tell all soldiers to return to base right now."
The sheer scale of the ambush—the loss of one thousand elite mounts and the humiliation of seeing their enemy scavenging the corpses—sent Koorush into a violent, uncontrolled fury.
Koorush and Payam immediately turned their horses around and raced back toward Koorush's tent. Koorush angrily dismounted and stormed inside. He rushed to the table and slammed his fist down onto the small, low surface, causing the ceramic bowls to click violently against each other.
Payam, on the other hand, calmly walked in and quickly dismissed the guards, ensuring they were well out of range before Koorush's blinding anger could be taken out on them like sandbags.
"My lord, why are you so angry?" Payam asked, his composure a stark contrast to Koorush's fury. He calmly picked up the kettle on the ground, poured a bowl of water, and slid it toward Koorush.
"How could I not be angry when a thousand of my men were killed?" Koorush snarled. "Not just that—we lost a thousand horses. Who knows what those people want with dead horses?"
"To eat," Payam said with a calm, analytical smile.
"To eat?" Koorush looked at Payam in confusion, the idea shocking his aristocratic sensibilities.
"You heard me right," Payam confirmed.
"I've never heard of Ginmiao eating horses," Koorush said, finally beginning to cool down as he picked up the bowl and took a deep drink.
"My lord, we should be happy that the battle turned out this way, as it reveals exactly how desperate they are," Payam replied, a calculated smile settling on his face.
"What do you mean?" Koorush asked, leaning forward intently.
"With this desperate move, it tells us two things," Payam said, picking up the kettle and pouring himself a bowl of water. "First, it tells us that they are running out of food. Second, it tells us that our big fish is arriving, and all we need is confirmation that she did actually arrive."
Payam put down the bowl of water and continued, his voice dropping to a low, chilling certainty. "We don't even need to advance on Zaoging. Once our big fish is confirmed, our mission is complete, and her fate will be sealed with a reward that will be handed to her on the execution ground."