Chapter 226 

Outside the Sanghuo Tribe’s camp.

The horned beastman warriors were making their final battle preparations.

The Zhanxiong warriors under Xiong Han were positioned due south of Sanghuo. All of them remained in human form, hidden within the forest a few kilometers away from the enemy camp.

The overall attack plan against Sanghuo had been set by Lang Ze, and not even Xiong Han raised an objection.

After all, this wasn’t their first clash with Sanghuo. In fact, they had already been inside Sanghuo’s territory for three days.

In those three days, under Lang Ze’s leadership, they had defeated three different Sanghuo patrol teams. The warriors of Zhanxiong, Julu, and Yungu had been utterly convinced by Lang Ze and the Heishan tribe.

Ambushes, diversions, direct clashes—methods that opened the eyes of beastmen who until now had only known how to charge blindly in beast form and fight head-on.

During these three days, the phrase Xiong Han repeated most in his mind was: “So you can fight like this? It’s possible to fight like this?”

If it had been hunting season, Xiong Han suspected they wouldn’t even need a pitched battle. Just camping around Sanghuo’s perimeter would’ve been enough to bleed half its fighting strength away without notice.

But unfortunately, it was the frozen winter. Game was scarce, and so Sanghuo’s warriors didn’t go out often.

In the end, they had only managed to kill about three hundred so far.

Still, Xiong Han’s assessment wasn’t entirely correct.

Lang Ze hadn’t staged those skirmishes just to weaken the enemy. The main purpose was to quickly gauge the fighting capabilities of each allied tribe.

Even though they had gathered elites, without proper organization this temporary coalition would be no better than a pile of loose sand. No matter how strong they were individually, it would mean nothing if they couldn’t fight as one.

And Sanghuo weren’t fools either. With three patrol squads vanishing in three days, the tribe was surely on alert by now.

So the assignments each tribe had now received were carefully chosen by Lang Ze, based on their beast forms and fighting strengths.

• The physically powerful, brawling Zhanxiong were stationed at the south, guarding Sanghuo’s main entrance.
• The swift, ambush-oriented Yungu were spread across the north and east sides.
• And the less offensively strong Julu were placed in the west.

Wolf Ji and Quan Nan’s scouting had already confirmed: Sanghuo’s western defenses were weakest.

Because that was where the slaves lived.

Unlike Heishan’s workers, these slaves received no decent treatment. Forget warm houses—even Sanghuo’s own clansmen only had slightly thicker tents.

The slaves huddled in drafty grass huts. Some of the newly captured or disobedient ones were locked inside wooden pens.

Judging by the pens’ construction, Sanghuo had copied the Armu tribe’s method for penning two-legged sheep.

Though the slave quarter occupied only a small corner in the west, their numbers were staggering—easily two or three thousand.

And counting those already wiped out at Heishan and those killed in recent skirmishes, Sanghuo now likely had fewer than two thousand horned beastmen left able to fight.

Learning from past mistakes, Lang Ze wasn’t about to ignore these slaves. Who could guarantee they wouldn’t strike from behind once battle began?

So Julu’s task was simple: before the fighting, secure the slaves. With most already penned up, they only needed to guard the exits.

As for Heishan’s warriors—they had already infiltrated Sanghuo’s main camp, unseen.

Above, the twin cold moons gave off a chill light. A thick bank of clouds drifted across, swallowing the last glimmers of brightness.

The Sanghuo camp stank of rot and dung. Hide tents stood scattered and messy, making the place feel even more cramped and suffocating.

Two sub-beastman slaves staggered along the rutted dirt path, carrying a stag larger than themselves.

Behind them followed a fat Sanghuo clansman, whip of vine in hand, striking them lazily from time to time.

“Hurry up!”

At that moment, a one-eyed beastman came by, dragging a young sub-beastman slave.

His lone eye rolled, and he hurried forward obsequiously.

“Xi, it’s late—you don’t need to tire yourself. Let me handle the work. I was just delivering this sub-beastman to the honored lord’s tent.”

The fat man called Xi preened at the flattery. Tugging at the folds of his face, he grunted, “That envoy is here at Sang Xu’s invitation. For us Sang Meng beastmen, being allowed to roast meat for such a great lord from the Upper City is an honor.”

The one-eye nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Outwardly submissive, inwardly full of disdain.

These damned monkeys—just because they’d invited the envoy, they lorded over everyone else, forcing even Da Yan beastmen to bend and scrape.

Still, One-eye knew they had to endure. Once the city was built, Da Yan’s leader Zhu Qi would surely become its city lord. Then today’s patience would mean nothing.

Xi didn’t notice his thoughts. He glanced at the sub-beastman and clicked his tongue.

“This one’s too old.”

One-eye shoved the slave with some disgust, then smirked.

“The lord demands a new one every day or two. The younger ones are already mostly dead. This is the best we could find. More warriors have been sent out—new slaves will be brought soon enough.”

Xi chuckled dismissively.

“Just slaves. Once the city is built, we’ll have as many as we want. This is nothing. Hahaha!”

Their vile laughter faded into the distance. Neither noticed the three horned beastmen watching silently from behind a nearby tent.

Heishan’s warriors had infiltrated in teams of three, spreading out quietly.

Under cover of night, they slipped into tents echoing with snores.

Sanghuo was far from wealthy inside. Their beastmen crammed into shared tents—seven to three per tent—the farther out, the more packed.

Conveniently, this made Heishan’s work easier.

Sanghuo warriors never imagined enemies could pierce so deep into camp. Without a shred of vigilance, they snored on, drooling in their sleep.

The Heishan warriors crept close. One hand clamped a sleeper’s mouth and nose, the other slid a bone knife across his throat.

Without a sound, entire tents fell silent forever.

Lang Ze, Wolf Ji, and Hu Qiao moved as a team. While they too cut down a few tents, their true mission was different. By now they had reached the camp’s center.

Naïve country boy Hu Qiao frowned, whispering, “Boss, what were those guys saying? Why were they laughing so nastily?”

Lang Ze didn’t even glance at him, eyes fixed on the tent those men had entered.

It seemed—the envoy from the Upper City was inside.

Wolf Ji had understood the talk, and hearing how the envoy tortured young sub-beastmen to death in a day or two filled him with revulsion.

He whispered, “Commander, do we really need to meet this envoy?”

Their true enemy was Sanghuo, but this envoy was a complication.

The destruction of the Yinyue tribe had seemed tied to envoys from the cities. But there were many cities across the continent. Declaring all as enemies would be foolish.

Lang Ze had intended to meet the envoy, perhaps draw out information—or at least persuade him to stay out of tribal affairs, in exchange for protection.

But now, it hardly seemed worth it.

Waiting until the guards had entered the tent, Lang Ze said coldly,

“Leave them alive.”

Wolf Ji and Hu Qiao perked up.

“Got it.”

Deep into the night, the camp’s outskirts were eerily quiet. Only a few campfires crackled.

The sentries sitting nearby slumped with heads down, as if asleep.

A drowsy beastman stumbled out of a tent, relieved himself on the ground, then looked around oddly.

Something felt… wrong. Too quiet.

He spotted the sentries, cursed, and went over to kick one.

He was ready to berate them—only to see the beastman he kicked stiffly topple sideways.

“Quit pretending, get up!”

He kicked over several more—only to see dark liquid pooling beneath them.

Blood.

At last his sluggish brain registered it—the thick stench of blood was everywhere. And the camp, usually roaring with snores, was far too silent.

“ENEMY!! We’ve got ENEMIES!!!”

His shrill cry shattered the night, spreading across half the camp. But the camp was vast, and by the time the sound reached its center, it was faint and indistinct.

At that very moment, Lang Ze’s team arrived at the envoy’s tent.

Footsteps approached inside. The three exchanged a look and slipped to the back.

One-eye threw up the flap, snarling, “What’s all this yelling in the middle of the night?”

Another beastman rushed over nervously.

“Seems some beasts broke into camp!”

One-eye frowned. At this season? Beasts breaching a beastman camp? Impossible.

He glanced back at the tent, then muttered, “I’ll check.”

The flap lifted again.

Inside, aside from the four who had entered, two figures sat above.

One was a haggard beastman, pinning down a struggling sub-beastman—the same one One-eye had dragged earlier.

The other was a pockmarked female beastman, who didn’t even look up.

“What’s happening out there?” she asked flatly.

But before she got a reply, Xi shouted, “Who are you?!”

Startled by the scene, innocent Hu Qiao blurted furiously:

“I’m your grandfather!”

Meanwhile, Lang Ze and Wolf Ji wasted no words.

They leapt onto the dais. Each slammed a hide soaked in liquid over the faces of the pockmarked woman and the haggard beastman.

Before either could react, their eyes rolled back—they collapsed unconscious.

But it wasn’t over. Lang Ze and Wolf Ji each pulled out a bundle of blackened herbs, pried open their jaws, and shoved it in.

Hu Qiao winced. He recognized those herbs—wu grass, the potent plant Qi Bai and Lang Ze had brought back from the Amo tribe.

He’d used it on his own wounds before. Just a whiff could knock someone out. And now these two had swallowed handfuls—they wouldn’t wake for two or three days.

Even as he thought this, Hu Qiao’s hand never faltered.

His knife flashed—and Xi’s head rolled across the floor, bouncing like a ball before coming to rest by the fire.

“AAAAHHHH!!!”

“AAAAHHHH!!!”

The two sub-beastmen roasting meat froze, staring into Xi’s wide, dead eyes, and screamed.

But their cries never carried outside.

“Woooo~ Woooo~ Woooo~”

The blare of war horns suddenly thundered, drowning all else.

Ignoring the three terrified slaves, Lang Ze and Wolf Ji each hoisted an unconscious captive.

With Hu Qiao covering their retreat, the three vanished into the chaos.