Chapter 368 Enforcing Family Rules

Chapter 368: Setting the Family in Order

No one dared to volunteer for battle again, yet no one could swallow this outrage sharper than any blade.

In this suffocating atmosphere, a voice as steady as it was almost eerie came from the side: "General Zhao."

It was not loud, but it struck like a piece of ice dropped into still water, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

Zhao Cheng and the others turned sharply to see Han Zhen, who had somehow already donned his armor.

His worn-out Mingguang armor had been wiped clean of dust, reflecting a cold, hard gleam under the overcast sky, with his shoulder guards and chest plate perfectly in place.

In his hand, he held a brand-new spear—the shaft perfectly straight, the tassel as red as blood.

The two guards assigned to watch him stood behind, lips trembling as if wanting to speak but daring not to step forward, clearly having failed to stop Han Zhen.

Han Zhen did not look at the two guards, nor at the stunned, complicated, hesitant expressions of the surrounding officers.

His gaze swept calmly over the city below, passed over Zhang Yun's not-yet-cold corpse, and finally fixed on Han Meng.

His face was equally expressionless, save for the old scar at his temple, which seemed especially deep under the shadow of his helmet brim.

Then he turned to Zhao Cheng and spoke slowly, word by word: "General Zhao, this guilty officer Han Zhen requests permission to go."

The moment these words were spoken, the city wall fell into a silence even more profound and eerie than the one that had followed Zhang Yun's death.

Everyone's eyes widened, staring at Han Zhen in disbelief.

A father... volunteering for battle... to kill his own son?

The collapse and reconstruction of national law, military discipline, family rules, and the bonds of kinship behind this nearly shattered their very worldview.

Zhao Cheng trembled violently, looking into Han Zhen's calm, unrippling eyes, his throat as if an iron hand had seized it.

After a long moment, he barely managed to squeeze out a strained whisper: "Old General Han... you..."

He wanted to stop him, to persuade him, to say this was too cruel, to suggest there might be another way.

But the words caught in his throat. Because he saw in Han Zhen's eyes that this was not a request but a declaration.

This old general had already chosen the only, and final, path for himself, for the Han family, and for the crumbling morale of the army.

Purging the family's disgrace, washing away shame with blood.

Han Zhen said nothing more, merely looking quietly at Zhao Cheng, awaiting the final permission—or perhaps, a symbolic nod.

The new spear in his hand hung low, its tip pointing at the ground, unwavering.

The wind grew fiercer, sweeping up the blood and chill from the city wall. Father against son, the moral order crumbling.

This battle, before it even began, was already doomed from the start.

Zhao Cheng's hand finally fell slowly. He averted his gaze from Han Zhen and turned toward the city wall's edge.

Out there lay the bloody battlefield, Cui Ji clinging to life, the crumbling morale, the national grievance—and the family blood-debt this old general could not escape.

No war drums, no cheers. The city gate creaked open for the third time, the sound setting teeth on edge.

Han Zhen rode out on an aging dappled gray horse, its gait steady but no longer swift.

He wore no helmet, his graying hair tied in a neat bun at the back of his head, letting the cold wind buffet him.

His polished Mingguang armor reflected a glimmer that was almost tragic under the dim sky.

His new spear held level, its tip glinting coldly, pointed at Han Meng.

On the walls and below them, tens of thousands of eyes focused on this scene.

The clamor from the Northern Di camp had gradually died down, replaced by a cruel curiosity and amusement.

The Great Zhou soldiers held their breath, as if stones weighed on their chests, their faces a tangle of unspoken emotions.

This had transcended an ordinary duel before the ranks—this was a ritual sacrifice of morality itself.

Han Meng squinted against the light, and when he recognized who had ridden out, the pupils beneath his mask contracted sharply.

His iron-still frame swayed almost imperceptibly, and the hand gripping his curved blade went white at the knuckles.

He seemed to want to pull his horse back, or wheel away, but in the end, he only tightened the reins, holding his horse steady.

Han Zhen advanced unhurriedly, his horse stepping through Zhang Yun's blood that had not yet cooled, stopping ten zhang (about thirty-three meters) away from Han Meng.

The two faced each other across the blood-soaked ground. Han Zhen's gaze rested calmly on Han Meng.

From head to toe—from the garish Northern Di attire, to the blood-stained curved blade, to the only part of him left uncovered, his eyes.

He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but every word landing like hailstones on frozen ground.

"Unfilial son Han Meng, who betrayed his country, defected to the enemy, and murdered his comrades—his crimes are unforgivable.

Today, I, Han Zhen, as a father, with the duty of a general, execute national law and enforce family discipline."

As his words fell, he twisted his wrist sharply, and the spear gave a low hum, its tip cutting through the air to point directly at Han Meng.

"Come and fight." No further words, no emotional entanglement—this was the final ultimatum, and the ultimate reckoning.

On the city wall, Zhao Cheng closed his eyes, unable to watch any longer. Master Qin wept openly, turning his head away.

Below the city, Han Meng's frame seemed to stiffen further at the words "unfilial son."

His breathing beneath his mask grew heavy and rapid, and the hand gripping his curved blade trembled slightly.

Those eyes, which had been hollow all along, finally erupted with turmoil.

There was struggle, pain, and perhaps a hint of panic—and... bewilderment?—at being so utterly unmasked.

But in the end, he said not a single word. He simply dug in his heels and lashed his horse forward.

Charging toward that spear pointed at him, toward the father who had given him life and raised him, and who now came to end him personally!

The curved blade rose, slicing through the northern wind and the stench of blood, tracing a bleak arc of light.

The spear thrust forward, embodying the resilience and sorrow of the Central Plains, bursting into a single deadly point of cold light.

Father and son—two figures against the backdrop of corpses and blood, under the gaze of tens of thousands—collided like two meteors on a collision course!

The thunderous clang of metal shattered the last illusion of calm on the battlefield.

In the instant their horses crossed, Han Zhen's spear shot out like a venomous dragon, thrusting straight for Han Meng's throat!

This thrust condensed all his lifelong martial skill and the resolve to purge his own clan. The spear tip tore through the air with a piercing shriek, leaving only a blur in its wake.

Han Meng's pupils contracted sharply. The icy killing intent in his father's eyes struck like solid ice daggers, making his heart skip a beat.

At the brink of life and death, he let out a guttural, beast-like roar. His curved blade swept upward at an impossible angle to parry, his body leaning back desperately!

"Clang—rip!" The spear tip grazed past the blade, missing his throat, but tore a long gash across the leather armor from the left side of his neck to his collarbone. Blood burst forth instantly!

The frigid spear edge nearly skimmed his skin, the chill of death making his hair stand on end.

As they passed each other, Han Meng's neck burned with pain, but that pain was like a spark in a powder keg, instantly igniting all the pent-up venom and madness suppressed in his heart.

Father... truly wanted to kill him! If that was the case... then he couldn't be blamed for showing no mercy.

He wrenched his horse around, eyes bloodshot and wild, letting out an inhuman roar, and charged at Han Zhen once more!

This time, the curved blade hesitated no longer. His blade swept out like a blizzard, every stroke aimed at a mutual kill!

Han Zhen's face was as cold and hard as iron. His spear danced, its shadow looming like a mountain range.

He no longer held back. His spearwork grew ever more vicious and cunning, thrusting into the gaps between Han Meng's attacks.

Han Meng narrowly twisted aside from a thrust at his ribs, then slashed down to deflect a spear thrust at his leg. The blade slid up along the spear shaft, aiming straight for Han Zhen's fingers!

The move was vicious and swift! Han Zhen twisted his wrist, the spear shaft whipping like a snake's tail, and slammed it outward.

"Clang!" As he knocked the blade aside, the spear's butt swung like a hammer, smashing into Han Meng's lower back.

The counter was lightning-fast and heavy. Han Meng could not fully dodge and could only twist his waist and take it.

"Thud!" The spear butt slammed into the leather armor at his side. Even with the armor's protection, it rattled his organs and brought a coppery taste to his throat.

The ferocity in his eyes grew. Ignoring the pain, he twisted with the momentum, the curved blade carving a bizarre semicircle as it swept up from below, slashing toward Han Zhen's lower abdomen.

The angle was utterly treacherous—a pure trade-a-wound-for-a-wound gambit.

Han Zhen was startled. No time to retract his spear. In the split second of crisis, he kicked hard against the left stirrup, leaning sharply right until he was almost flat on the horse's back!

"Rip!" The blade tip grazed past the armor plates on his abdomen, throwing off a blinding shower of sparks. It carved a deep gash into the belly armor, splitting the inner garments beneath, the wind of the pass scraping his skin raw.

They separated once more, both soaked in cold sweat. In that split second, both had grazed death.

Han Meng's breathing was ragged, his waist and gut screaming in pain, but his madness only intensified.

He gave Han Zhen no time to catch his breath, charging again in a frenzy! His blade wove into a dense net, engulfing Han Zhen entirely.

Han Zhen fought desperately, spear shadows crisscrossing wildly, but age had drained his strength. His stamina drained far faster than the prime-aged, crazed Han Meng's.

Though his spearwork was still exquisite, his speed could no longer keep pace with the frenzied blade onslaught.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!" After a rapid series of collisions, a flicker of hesitation finally showed in Han Zhen's blocks.

A vicious gleam blazed in Han Meng's eyes. Seeing an opening, he swept aside the now-heavy spear shaft with his blade, and the blade shot out like a venomous dragon striking, thrusting straight at the exposed gap under Han Zhen's raised left arm!

This strike was fast, ruthless, and precise—carrying the certainty of death! Gasps erupted from the city walls!

At the critical moment, Han Zhen displayed the astonishing resourcefulness of a veteran general.

He didn't dodge or flinch. Instead, his left hand suddenly released the spear shaft, turning his hand into a blade that chopped viciously at Han Meng's wrist holding the blade!

At the same time, he shifted his body slightly, using his shoulder armor to take the killing blow head-on! It was a mutual-destruction move!

"Thud!" "Crack!" Two muffled thuds rang out almost simultaneously!

Han Meng's curved blade pierced into Han Zhen's left shoulder armor. Though the palm strike had deflected it from a vital spot, it still sank inches into the flesh, blood spraying!

And Han Zhen's palm blade slammed heavily into Han Meng's wrist, the faint crack of bone audible! Han Meng grunted in pain, his wrist throbbing, his blade's momentum stalling.

Seizing the chance, Han Zhen's right hand whipped the spear back like a snake, thrusting straight at Han Meng's chest, exposed by his wince.

Han Meng was alarmed. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist, he yanked the reins with his left hand, and the warhorse reared!

"Thud!" The spear tip plunged into the horse's chest. The beast let out a terrible scream and toppled sideways!

Han Meng rolled off with the motion, tumbling several times in the snow, battered and bruised.

Han Zhen was also dragged off balance by the falling horse, almost thrown off, blood pouring from his left shoulder wound.

Han Meng scrambled to his feet, curved blade in his left hand, eyes bloodshot like a beast's, glaring at his old father, who had also dismounted, leaning on his spear and gasping for breath.

Both had abandoned their horses, facing off in the snow. Without a moment's hesitation, Han Meng lunged again.

His left-handed blade work was less agile than his right, but it carried an even fiercer, death-defying frenzy. Every stroke was a life-for-life trade, hammering at Han Zhen in a relentless assault.

With wounds to his shoulder and leg, Han Zhen's movements had slowed. He could only hold his ground with his spear, the circle of his defense shrinking smaller and smaller.

Another clash of steel, and Han Zhen's breathing grew ragged. A tiny flaw showed in his spearwork.

Han Meng caught it! He braved a sweep of the spear shaft across his ribs, throwing himself into Han Zhen's embrace.

His left-hand blade abandoned all pretense of technique, gathering every ounce of his strength, driving the blade like a spear, thrusting straight at Han Zhen's heart!

It was the simplest and most lethal strike of all! The two were inches apart—Han Zhen's spear was far too late to block!

As the blade tip neared, a flash of grim resolve crossed Han Zhen's eyes.

He didn't retreat. Instead, he shifted his body slightly, deflecting the blade a few inches away from his heart, and let go of his spear at the same time!

His right hand shot out like a steel clamp—not to grab the blade, but to seize Han Meng's left elbow with all his might, shoving it up!

"Thunk!" The curved blade sank deep into Han Zhen's right upper chest, near the shoulder blade, sunk to the hilt! Blood gushed like a fountain!

Han Meng had landed his blow, but with his arm trapped, the blade's force was spent. A twisted sense of satisfaction had just begun to rise in him.

But before he could react, he saw his father's iron-cold face suddenly lunge toward him!

Han Zhen's left hand had somehow seized the middle of the spear shaft—which, with his body turned, now had its tip pointed at Han Meng's abdomen!

Using Han Meng's forward momentum and his grip on the arm, Han Zhen's waist and core exploded with power.

Like a drawn bow letting go, he poured every last ounce of his strength and the full weight of his body into his left arm, driving the spear forward—

"Thunk—!" The icy spear tip pierced deep into Han Meng's abdomen with unstoppable force, angling upward through his gut, and burst out of his back, slightly to the right!

Blood and shredded flesh sprayed across both men.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that moment, then froze solid.

All of Han Meng's movements, all his madness, all his expressions—froze.

He slowly lowered his head, staring at the blood-stained spear tip protruding through his abdomen, his eyes filled with utter bewilderment.

With immense difficulty, he raised his head to look at his father, who stood so close.

Han Zhen's right chest still had his curved blade embedded in it, the hilt trembling slightly.

Blood flowed steadily down the blade and over his father's fingers gripping his left arm, dripping onto the snow between them, quickly pooling into a stark patch of crimson.

His father's face was pale as paper, twitching slightly from the searing pain, cold sweat beading on his forehead—but those eyes... those eyes still stared at him unwaveringly.

Gone was the icy killing intent from before, replaced only by a bottomless depth, mingled with endless exhaustion and a tearing, rending agony, and a hint of... an indescribable sorrow that bordered on release.

"Fa..." Han Meng's lips trembled, trying to speak, but only large gushes of frothy blood poured out.