Chapter 274

A white mist blanketed the land. Low, withered grasses and mosses thrived here, patches of white ice faintly visible between them. Compared with the barren ground behind, this place seemed unusually calm and peaceful.

But Qi Bai was not deceived. The soil structure of a swamp was treacherous. Even if the surface water was frozen, it didn’t mean safety.

This land was like a giant beast lying in wait, jaws agape, silently awaiting prey. Any unwary animal or traveler would be swallowed into the depths, becoming its nourishment.

Qi Bai and Lang Ze did not recklessly step onto the swamp. After all, it was only a landmark, not their destination.

The great white wolf sniffed the ground, studied the terrain, then turned his gaze southeast.

“Awooo~”

The wolf gave a low call, brushing Qi Bai with his tail, nudging him back onto his back.

Qi Bai, as if he understood, scrambled up onto the wolf’s head. “That way?”

“Awoo, awooo~”

Once Qi Bai was seated firmly, the giant wolf bolted southeast.

They had prepared two possible routes.

The first came from Ma Li of the Tidalwater Tribe. But since Ma Li’s mental state had been unstable when they left the City of Ten Thousand Bones, the route wasn’t precise—still, it confirmed the city lay to the south.

The second route was from Ji, who had described in detail the way from the City of Bones to the Eastlands. That was the road Qi Bai and Lang Ze now followed.

So far, all landmarks matched Ji’s account. And now, with this distinctive swamp before them, Qi Bai knew Ji hadn’t lied.

They continued southeast for two more days. As dusk fell, they found a wind-sheltered cave to camp for the night.

Qi Bai cleared the ground, laid out their down sleeping bags.

These were his own design: outer and inner layers of long-haired beast hide, stuffed in between with soft down from wild ducks and mountain pheasants.

With such thick bedding, even in minus thirty or forty degrees, they’d stay warm if they blocked the draft and curled together.

Of course, if Lang Ze stayed in beast form, he’d be even warmer. But Qi Bai could never make a sleeping bag that big, and even if he could, they couldn’t carry it. So, Lang Ze slept human-shaped—far more practical.

Sitting on his bedding, Qi Bai bit off his thick hide gloves, revealing wool fingerless ones, and began jotting route notes.

“This swamp is endless. We’ve walked for so long and still can’t see the edge.”

“As long as we find the mountains Ji described, we don’t need to cross it completely,” Lang Ze replied, quickly drilling a fire and tossing sparks into the waiting kindling. Flames flared. He reached for a food basket. “What do you want to eat tonight?”

Qi Bai tucked away his notebook and hurried to the fire, fingers swollen red after just minutes in the open.

Holding his hands near the flames, he peered into the basket. “Let’s grill some tofu and meat strips, wrap them in flatbread. I’m sick of soup after all this time.”

For months, to save water, they had boiled food into salty stews, filling and hydrating at once. But now, with the swamp’s waters nearby, supplies were easier to find. Qi Bai wanted a richer meal.

“Alright.” Lang Ze skewered tofu and meat, set them over the fire.

Qi Bai, warming up, busied himself too. He put a small iron pot over the fire, tossed in ice chunks, boiled them into water, then poured most into their bamboo flasks. Into the remainder, he added tea leaves, a chunk of milk curd, and butter.

He sipped from his flask, stirring the milky tea.

Here, tea wasn’t for taste alone—their bodies needed the calories to endure.

“Do you think there’s game around here?” Qi Bai asked. Their stores, no matter how much, couldn’t last forever.

Lang Ze handed him a skewer of roasted tofu. “There will be. I saw signs of beastman activity—there’s likely a tribe nearby.”

Qi Bai’s eyes widened. He craned his neck, scanning. “Where? Where? I don’t see anything.”

Lang Ze tugged him down. “Not here.”

Qi Bai chuckled, realizing—if they were that close, Lang Ze wouldn’t have camped here.

They ate flatbread stuffed with grilled meat and tofu, washing it down with bowls of milk tea, then drew the fire deeper into the cave and slipped into their sleeping bags.

Covered with thick hide cloaks, they lay side by side, gazing at the stars through the cave mouth, murmuring softly.

If not for the bitter wind, it might have been idyllic.

Qi Bai drifted into sleep. At some unknown hour, he felt Lang Ze stir. Instantly, Qi Bai awoke too.

He squeezed Lang Ze’s hand. What is it?

Lang Ze unzipped the bag, mouthed: A beast nearby.

Then he leapt out, shifting into wolf form, charging off.

Qi Bai couldn’t just sit idle. He threw on his coat, grabbed crossbow and arrows, and bolted after.

But soon he halted. Chasing a wolf’s speed was futile. Instead, he veered up a small slope—a shortcut.

The pre-dawn fog thickened. Mist rolled like spreading claws.

Qi Bai scrambled up the hill—and froze.

A few hundred meters ahead, the giant wolf battled a monstrous serpent.

It was over ten meters long, with centipede-like legs down its belly, fin-like wings along its head and back. Its body was massive—almost as thick as Lang Ze’s wolf form.

Terrifying to look at, but not a true threat to Lang Ze.

They clashed fiercely. The snake’s legs were clumsy. It tried to coil and crush, but each time the wolf slipped free, tearing bloody chunks from its vulnerable underside.

Wounded and bleeding, the serpent roared silently, jaws agape with dripping fangs.

Qi Bai’s tension eased slightly. Whatever this thing was, today it would die.

But he didn’t stand idle. Raising his crossbow, he flanked closer until within range.

As the wolf sank his fangs into its belly again, the serpent reared, shrieking. In that instant Qi Bai loosed—an arrow struck its eye, then another.

Green blood spurted. Enraged, the serpent thrashed, desperate to drag the wolf down with it.

But Lang Ze crushed its chest, shattered its heart.

With a crash, the monster collapsed.

Qi Bai rushed down. The wolf dropped the carcass, wagging his tail-tip as if to ask, Do you want snake meat?

Qi Bai grimaced at the green-oozing body. “But… can we even eat that?”

Before he could decide, the wolf sniffed the air sharply. He swept Qi Bai onto his back, bristling into a defensive stance.

Clinging to the thick fur, Qi Bai scrambled up between Lang Ze’s ears—just in time to see why.

From the mist emerged an antelope, three meters tall, halting thirty meters away.

A beast?

No. Qi Bai soon saw: it had three horns—two natural antelope horns, and a third in the middle.

This was no beast—it was a horned beastman.

From its back, a brown-skinned female beastman leaned forward.

“Who are you?” she called.

Qi Bai didn’t answer right away. He stared at the ridges on the antelope-man’s horn, then touched Lang Ze’s.

As Lang Ze grew stronger, the rings on his horn had multiplied. Now, two and a half complete. Soon, a third would form.

And he wasn’t the only one. In recent years, more than a dozen warriors—Wolf Ji, Bear Feng, Badger Ping, Niu Shuo—had developed similar markings.

Long before Wolf Key had come, Qi Bai and Lang Ze had guessed: these rings signified strength.

Wolf Key had confirmed it.

“Silvermoon warriors were the fiercest on the plains,” he had said, eyes shining. “But a powerful beast form alone isn’t enough.”

“Their training methods?” Qi Bai had asked.

Indeed. Passed down through generations, even those without royal blood could become marked warriors. In ancient times, many had. But by Silvermoon’s fall, only twelve remained.

The more rings, the stronger the warrior.

“Your father bore three,” Wolf Key had told Lang Ze. “He was Silvermoon’s strongest. My child—you will surpass him.”

Qi Bai had once thought training alone birthed the rings. But then he saw exceptions. Bear Han had one ring—yet she’d never trained.

So, the rings weren’t only from training—they were a manifestation of strength itself. Training simply accelerated it.

That meant the antelope before them—whose horn bore marks—was powerful, perhaps Bear Han’s equal.

Qi Bai studied them, and they studied him in turn.

The sub-beastwoman on the antelope’s back trembled. Not from fear, but excitement.

A horned beastman as massive as an elephant.

And more—he had killed a venom-serpent. Alone.