Once again, the group tried to imagine that. There were more than a few grimaces as their imaginary scenarios played out. Big, swinging attacks, especially for those who wielded polearms, would be contraindicated. It might patch the hole fast, but then none of their reinforcements could take over. Same with big movements with the intention to reposition.
“For those acting as the vanguard or as shock troops to break a line, you’ll need to learn how to do that. That means training against massed volleys of arrows and how to break a shield or pike wall,” Chao Kun said. “Flanking is a little easier, though individual tactics there are somewhat different. Your goal will not be individual fatalities but disrupting the formation. In some cases, powerful and shocking attacks will be more important. The best flanking teams can break right through a formation, hopelessly disrupting an entire side. Again, you’ll have to learn what works best for you, depending on your styles.”
“We should learn that,” Tou Hei said, elbowing Wu Ying.
“Yes, yes,” Wu Ying muttered. It would certainly add to that experience Elder Cheng had spoken of.
“For the elite cultivators—those who have shown their ability—the generals often have another task for us. The most dangerous task.” Chao Kun swept his gaze over the group, making sure he had their attention. “Cultivator hunting.”
“Hunting?” another of the martial specialists muttered.
“If we are sending groups of cultivators to disrupt and bolster our men, don’t you think the enemy will want to stop that?” Chao Kun said rhetorically. “Of course they will. And we will too, on our side. So we hunt their teams of cultivators, and they ours. Generals craft special teams and send them to fight or delay other hunting or disruptive teams.”
Wu Ying nodded. That made sense. But… “What do Core cultivators do then?”
Chao Kun looked at Wu Ying before he shrugged. “It depends on the number of Core cultivators the enemy has.”
Wu Ying raised an eyebrow in further query.
“If we have more, we send those who are in surplus to fight and disrupt,” Chao Kun said. “In those cases, either their Core cultivators come out to fight and are beaten—or at least injured. Or they retreat until the numbers match. And we do the same.”
Wu Ying nodded, recollecting the fights he had witnessed that involved Core cultivators. Alone, they could easily devastate an entire division. Even an Energy Storage cultivator could injure multiple soldiers with a single strike. But a Core cultivator not only had more chi, but also could expand the size and range of their attack. A single strike could consume an entire platoon. And while Core cultivators were still mortal, they were much harder to injure since their flesh and bone were strengthened by the chi within. A Core cultivator that studied Body Strengthening exercises would be a nightmare for an army.
Already, Wu Ying could see how a war could be—would be—fought between the armies. Keeping the number and presence of Core cultivators hidden in each army would be of vast importance. Intelligence—drawn from cultivators and spies—would play an important part in clashes.
“Any further questions?” Chao Kun said. “If it’s nothing important, we’ll begin. Some of you will need to play the soldiers. Others will take the part of the cultivators.” When some grumbled, Chao Kun glared at all the martial specialists who had opened their mouths. “You’ll all get the chance to play the hero.”
Seeing that his last pronouncement had the group silenced, Chao Kun grinned and clapped his hands together. “Good. Then let’s begin. Gao Fei. Lu Feng. Wu Ying. You can be the cultivators. Everyone else, grab a polearm.”
***
Two hours later, Wu Ying was bouncing on the balls of his feet at the back of the line of “soldiers” as he waited for the signal. At first, there had been just over a dozen of them learning aspects of the fight. There had been a lot to learn, from the various flag signals and meaning of barked commands, to the most effective forms. The first hour had been a terrible mess, and within ten minutes, Chao Kun had made everyone slow down to reduce injuries.
Perhaps the clumsiness of their actions was what had attracted the first of the crowds. It was unusual to see the vaunted martial specialists failing at anything combat-related. At first, only a few inner sect members had come to watch. Then as word spread, more and more Sect members arrived. The group had grown nervous and self-conscious, making even more mistakes—which Chao Kun pounced upon and berated the group for in ever more creative language. Just before the entire group dispersed in disgust, Elder Hsu appeared.
The eccentric Elder, best known for studying a Northern snail-style grappling art, had been attracted by word of the training. Seeing the pitiful number of members on both sides, he had taken over from Chao Kun and proceeded to order the gawking crowd to join as new “soldiers.” Freed from playing the soldiers, the martial specialists were split, with Chao Kun and Elder Hsu receiving equal numbers. Then the training had begun in earnest.
Wu Ying found himself grinning in a predatory fashion, his entire body poised forward as he waited. Waited for the flags to change. For the soldiers in front of him to part. Or for the drums—drums which had magically appeared in the last fifteen minutes—to signal another change. Behind, Chao Kun stood on a raised platform, focused on the lines.
A pink flag in the side of Wu Ying’s vision moved. He turned, watching the flag holder’s hands. Up-right, down-down, down and left. Wu Ying took off, closely followed by Tou Hei. The pair loped left and wide, passing behind their own soldiers at a distance even as Wu Ying counted the raised taps of the pink flag. One. Two. Three. Three cultivators looking to flank their party.
“Right two,” Wu Ying called to Tou Hei.
“Heard.”
And then they were around their own people and coming within sight of the enemy team. Wu Ying drew and exhaled, sending a flash of power—more a push of wind than a serious attack—at his targeted opponents. This was the Dragon’s Breath attack Elder Cheng had told him to practice, though much reduced in strength. Tou Hei kept running, passing behind Wu Ying and going wide. His staff was ill-suited for fighting close to the soldiers, thus leaving Wu Ying to stay tight to the army and defend them.
The blast of chi-soaked air struck at the enemy. The closer of the two was more wary, bringing his dao[2] in a cut to destroy his portion of the attack in defense. His partner, less cautious, was caught out and stumbled back. Growling in frustration, the second martial specialist stopped running and moved warily off the field of battle, crossing behind the third member of the team, who was busy trading blows with Tou Hei. The pair paid little attention to the “dead” cultivator as they fought, wide sweeping attacks of staff against shield and mace.
Wu Ying had no time to focus on their battle, caught up in his own fight with the dao wielder. For once, Wu Ying had to admit, his favored weapon might be less than perfect. In a battle as fierce as this, with his movements restricted, the dao—whose only requirement was to cut—beat out the finesse of the jian. Frustrated and unable to move away, lest he open the soldiers to an attack, Wu Ying went on the defensive, blocking and throwing light cuts in return. Each blocked blow sent shocks down his arm.
A flicker of motion in the corner of his eyes. Wu Ying flicked his sword to intercept it but was too late. The sand-filled bag attached to the arrowhead smacked into Wu Ying’s chest, leaving him with a bruise. Surprise filled Wu Ying for long enough that his opponent had to pull back a strike or risk injuring Wu Ying further.
“Arrows?” Wu Ying said, looking around. On the top of Elder Hsu’s viewing platform, a semi-familiar cultivator stood, arrow nocked to bow and firing on the opposite end of the field now. “Bao Cong? That’s not fair!”