The South Camp Eight Great Kings failed to notice the faint tremor buried in Zhang Xianzhong's voice.
He only heard one thing:
The ships are yours.
His eyes lit up instantly.
"Good!" he roared with laughter. "Excellent! Then those strange boats belong to me!"
He swung his arm forward.
"Men! After me! Seize those ships!"
His flagship turned sharply, charging straight toward Gao Family Village's flat-bottomed cargo ships.
Zhang Xianzhong, meanwhile, had already hopped back onto his own flagship.
He gave a cold snort.
His gaze drifted once more toward the opposite riverbank—where Beach Landing Battle 1632 was still unfolding—and then to the massive flat-bottomed ships slicing through the water like iron beasts.
That familiar unease crept up his spine.
He leaned close to a trusted subordinate and murmured, "Go. Disable the rudder."
The subordinate stiffened—then nodded without hesitation.
Moments later, he rushed to the stern, shouting at the top of his lungs:
"Commander! Disaster! Disaster! The rudder's broken! We can't steer!"
The crew instantly caught on.
"It's broken!"
"We can't control the ship!"
"Oh heavens—we're drifting!"
And just like that, Zhang Xianzhong's flagship obediently surrendered itself to the current.
With the commander's banner still fluttering proudly atop the mast, his entire contingent—seeing their leader's ship retreat—followed without question.
No orders were needed.
The West Camp Eight Great Kings quietly exited the battlefield, drifting farther and farther downstream.
On the other side of the river, South Camp Eight Great Kings charged headlong into disaster.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of small boats swarmed Gao Family Village's cargo ships like ants around a carcass, so densely packed it made one's skin crawl.
"Fire!"
At Bai Yuan's command, the core Gao Family Village Militia unleashed hell.
This was not the New People's Militia from the shore.
These men had trained for years.
Their rifles were forged, not cast.
And the moment they opened fire—
"CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!"
Dense rifle volleys tore through the air.
Small boats shattered under impact. Bandits pitched backward into the river one after another, arms flailing, screams swallowed by the Yellow River.
Bai Yuan burst into laughter.
"These fellows are worse on water than the Xiaolangdi bandits!"
At least the Xiaolangdi bandits knew how to launch rockets, lie flat to evade fire, or weave their boats erratically.
These ones?
They were just targets.
It was simple.
Southern men grew up with boats.
Northern men grew up with horses.
Most of these bandits came from Shaanxi and Shanxi. Many had learned to row only days ago. Swimming was a luxury skill.
Rifle fire didn't stop.
Grenades followed.
One grenade per boat.
Boom.
Fish received their meals early.
From the moment contact was made, the outcome had never been in doubt.
South Camp Eight Great Kings finally sensed something was terribly wrong.
Earlier, when they had swarmed government warships, it had been effortless.
So why—
Why were these merchant-looking ships turning his men into floating corpses?
"Damn it!" he roared. "That bastard Old West wasn't giving me spoils—he was throwing me into a pit!"
Only then did he turn his head.
Only then did he realize—
Zhang Xianzhong's fleet was already gone.
Retreating.
Drifting.
Escaped.
South Camp Eight Great Kings nearly spat blood.
Eight of Gao Family Village's cargo ships rampaged freely across the river, crushing resistance wherever they went.
Bandits screamed for their parents.
For their ancestors.
For anyone who might be listening.
South Camp Eight Great Kings looked back toward the riverbank—
And his heart sank.
The vanguard troops who had landed earlier were almost completely wiped out.
Only now did he truly understand.
Riflemen defending a riverbank… are monsters.
There was no cover. No maneuvering.
The shore was a shooting range.
No matter how many men you sent, they would only die faster.
"Retreat!" he roared. "RETREAT!"
But once again, the river swallowed his voice.
Orders meant nothing here.
Desperate, he beat the gong on his ship with all his strength.
Clang—clang—clang!
The signal for withdrawal.
With his retreat, both vanguard generals were effectively gone.
The rebel assault collapsed.
Zijing Liang and Chuǎng Wang's main fleets finally arrived.
Merchant ships.
Tower ships looted from government forces.
At a glance, they looked imposing.
But before they could even stabilize—
South Camp Eight Great Kings' men fled past them, screaming.
"We can't win!"
"Their firearms are terrifying!"
"Run!"
Panic spread like fire through dry grass.
In the age of cold weapons, once morale broke, defeat followed swiftly.
Gao Family Village's cargo ships surged forward again.
Black spheres landed on rebel decks.
BOOM.
Men flew.
Rifles cracked.
Bodies fell.
Boats jammed together—some trying to flee, others trying to advance.
Northern soldiers, already poor sailors, now completely lost control.
The congestion became fatal.
Then—
Impact.
The flat-bottomed ships plowed straight through the mass of small boats, capsizing them one after another.
Men fell into the river.
Bubbles rose.
Then nothing.
Zijing Liang and Chuǎng Wang could only stare in horror.
They no longer dared to fight on water.
"Retreat!" they shouted.
Their forces fled back to the north bank in complete disarray.
Silence slowly returned to the river.
The rebels abandoned every boat they had.
They stood far from the shore, staring helplessly.
Bai Yuan waved his hand calmly.
"Take them."
Gao Family Village soldiers boarded the abandoned boats and rowed them away—one after another.
The bandits watched, eyes red with fury, but could do nothing.
Only when the last boat was claimed did Bai Yuan give the order.
"Withdraw."
The cargo ships turned back toward Xiaolangdi—now accompanied by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of captured vessels.
On the opposite bank, the landing battle had ended in total annihilation.
The New People's Militia also began to withdraw.
On the Yellow River's edge, only Zijing Liang, Chuǎng Wang, and the remnants of South Camp Eight Great Kings remained.
They stared at the river.
At the empty water.
At nothing.
After a long time, Zijing Liang finally sighed.
"So… the other side has aquatic monsters."
"All our ships are gone."
"There is no way to cross the river."
He looked at the others.
"Gentlemen… what should we do now?"
No one answered.
Behind them lay Shanxi.
Ahead of them—the Yellow River.
And somewhere behind them, Xu Dingchen's pursuing army was closing in.
The situation was no longer dire.
It was grim beyond words.