Chapter Thirty-Four: The Battlefield of the Yellow Turbans

He opened his eyes and glanced around; besides himself, there were four others. Two appeared nearly indistinguishable from ordinary humans—one short and stout, the other tall and bald, with colorful tattoo-like markings on his skin. The remaining two were not purely human: one was a beast man, resembling an upright rabbit; the other’s race was unclear, with deep blue skin, unusually long arms, reverse-jointed legs, and a short tail ending in a small, curved blade.

“Main quest: The Yellow Turban War. Before the conflict ends, accumulate a total of one thousand merit points. Note: Participating in the battle without killing enemy commanders or above may earn a maximum of ten merit points. Defeating ordinary commanders grants ten points, elite commanders fifty, generals one hundred, and special figures between two hundred and five hundred. Completing faction side quests will be rewarded based on your performance.” The system prompt faded, and the curtain of light at the tent’s entrance vanished.

Stepping outside, Sun Meng received another system notice: his appearance and power would be automatically masked to match the local power system. Relieved, he glanced at the other four, now adapted to this world. “Shall we act together or split up?”

In this world, regardless of how much one’s power system advanced, the grand scheme would not change; the people he knew would remain as they were, events would unfold as before. That meant there was much to plan, and teamwork might not always be the best choice.

“This must be a battlefield. Even those of Tier Two will struggle against crowds. I suggest we cooperate,” said the only woman among them—the rabbit beastman.

“Without understanding the broader mission context, I agree. Cooperation is best,” said the blue-skinned man.

“Cooperation is fine. I am a Blood Warrior, Tier Two at the beginning stage but capable of mid-tier bursts. You should center your tactics around me,” declared the bald giant, making it clear he wanted to lead.

“I don’t mind. Since you’re Tier Two, I’ll follow you. My name is Luno, a Shield Warrior—expert in axe throwing, late Tier One, close to breaking through,” said the shorter man.

All four looked at Sun Meng, awaiting his answer. At that moment, the horn sounded. Sun Meng smiled. “Sorry, I’m an archer. I’ll act alone. If fate allows, we’ll meet again.” He sprang forward, heading swiftly for a corner tower on the city wall.

“What’s that about? An archer acting alone—does he intend to assassinate the enemy’s commander?” scoffed the bald man. To him, archers only served if protected during battles. “Looks like we’re defending the city. Let’s get to the wall!” the rabbit beastman prompted. Around them, soldiers were rushing toward the battlements, and they followed. Meanwhile, the barrage of messages had begun.

This period was part of China’s history, with legends of heroes and even artistic reinterpretations, so many viewers wanted Sun Meng to help them meet historical figures.

On the other hand, the official observers were more reliable; they urged Sun Meng to identify the battle’s location and commander to clarify the situation. Most importantly, the barrage highlighted: “Contestant, the quest only requires participation and killing certain targets for merit; it doesn’t specify a faction. You must choose your own side in this battle.”

“I understand,” Sun Meng said, now atop the city tower. He looked down; the Yellow Turban banners bore the character ‘Yu.’ Those storming the wall were mostly peasants armed with farm tools, while a few thousand wore leather armor and maintained some formation, indicating this was not a major force.

He scanned the wall again, searching for obvious signs, but the city gate’s name remained unclear.

“Contestant, based on current information, the Yellow Turban commander is likely Yu Du. He’s average in martial strength, somewhat cunning, treacherous, and ambitious. According to history, he survived and later fought alongside Zhang Yan on Changbai Mountain against Yuan Shao, eventually dying in a power struggle with Zhang Yan,” a red message floated past. Sun Meng nodded.

He observed the gaunt, feverish eyes of the peasants below, recognizing their sole thought: “Take this city and seize the grain.” He gathered energy into his eyes, activating the Spirit Sight.

Scanning the crowd, he spotted several disguised soldiers beneath their tattered clothes—makeshift armor of scattered leather. These men were the main attackers, hidden among the weaker rabble. If they managed a surprise attack and breached the defenses, the hopeful peasants would charge forward, risking everything.

As a hidden elite neared the top of the wall, Sun Meng loosed an arrow, piercing the man’s throat just before he could strike down a defender. Sun Meng clearly saw the unwillingness in the soldier’s eyes, but he was finished off by a responding defender, tumbling into the crowd below.

Where there was one, there was another—not only these hidden elites, but also frenzied peasants. If any managed to climb halfway over the wall for more than three seconds, Sun Meng’s arrows would find their throats.

Two archers beside Sun Meng kept handing him arrows, all drawn from the city wall’s reserves. They were of average quality, but not wasted here.

Gradually, Sun Meng tried more elaborate shots—three arrows at once, piercing three men in a single volley. If the system tracked skill proficiency, it would show his archery rapidly advancing.

Naturally, the system offered no such prompt. Sun Meng had already been imbued with archery skills; now he was merely refining them—an unexpected benefit.

After two hours of fierce assault, the Yellow Turban rebels withdrew. Their goal: drain the city’s manpower and supplies, paving the way for their main force’s attack. The soldiers on the wall breathed a sigh of relief—they hadn’t fought such a battle in ages. Even the new recruits, after a month of harsh warfare, had grown into relatively seasoned veterans.

There were no unqualified soldiers; those had died.

Unlike the rank and file, the city’s commanders, officials, and prominent families knew the gates would eventually fall unless the enemy leader was eliminated. Only then could the crisis be resolved.

Meanwhile, in the Yellow Turban camp...

“Chief, the brothers who mingled with the refugees suffered heavy casualties today!” A sub-leader spoke with grief; many of his men had died, and his standing in the army was bound to slip.

“What happened?” Yu Du asked, his expression unchanged.

“There was a master archer—he fired at least a hundred arrows today!” the sub-leader said through gritted teeth.

Yu Du narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like a skilled inner-energy practitioner, but as an archer, he’s only a nuisance, not a true threat.” He glanced at the sub-leader. “Tomorrow’s main assault—your unit will join the flank.”

The sub-leader bowed repeatedly, gratitude in his demeanor. “Thank you, Chief, for your mercy!”

Yu Du nodded. “Rest well tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll enter the city and feast!”

“Chief is wise!” The sub-leaders chorused and departed the tent.

Yu Du stared at the map on the table. “Once we take this place and join up with Zhang Niujiao, we won’t risk being swallowed up. That fellow, relying on his innate spell, looks down on the rest of us. I’ll need to rally some allies…” His face grew darker in the firelight, eyes flickering, plotting unknown schemes.