Chapter 282

Beneath the bone-and-stone city walls, a line of lifeless figures shuffled slowly forward. Their stooped bodies were wrapped in tattered hides, heavy fur bags slung across their shoulders.

At the gate stood beastmen clad in blood-bone armor, long whips in hand, eyes cold and predatory as they watched every person in line.

At the center of the gate, a beastman in a heavy cloak sat atop a slave, craning his neck to watch as three beastmen approached.

The three laid their fur bags on the ground. A blood-bone warrior immediately stepped up and tore them open. All their supplies spilled out:

One frozen hare.
One frozen rat.
Chunks of roots and strips of bark.

That was all they had managed to gather in three days.

“Click.” The cloaked beastman prodded the pitiful pile with his whip. “So little?”

A blood-bone warrior scowled and kicked the foremost beastman hard. The frail orc crumpled instantly, only saved from smashing his head when a companion caught him from behind.

“My lord!” he gasped, ignoring the pain as he scrambled upright. “There really is so little food outside. We used every ounce of strength. We didn’t even dare eat—we brought back all we could!”

“Oh? So you ate it yourselves.” The cloaked one pretended to realize, then drew his whip across two-thirds of the pile—including both the hare and the rat. “The Envoy is merciful to even let you live inside the city. Yet you show no gratitude, stealing food? Such sins are unforgivable.”

“But since it’s your first offense, the Envoy grants you a chance. This food will be taken as punishment. Go in. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Qi Bai forced himself to steady his breath, tamping down the fury in his chest. He had known Wangu City treated its inhabitants harshly, but he hadn’t expected such shameless cruelty.

It was obvious to anyone—there was no “stealing.” This cloak-wearer was simply extorting them.

Not just these three. Every group before them had half—or more—of their food seized. Excuses came easy: hoarding, theft, laziness… all fabricated at will.

When the blood-bone warrior reached for the rat, one of the three—an ashen-faced female beastman—suddenly screamed:

“No! That’s ours! Half the food we gather belongs to us—you can’t take my rat!”

“Let go!”

She lunged like a madwoman, clawing at the cloaked beastman.

The blood-bone guard tried to shake her off, but to his shock, the frail sub-beastman was stronger than the horned warriors he’d faced earlier.

Snarling, he lashed his whip across her back.

“How dare you steal from the city’s stores? You deserve death. Your whole tribe deserves to be slaves—let’s see who else dares resist!”

Blood sprayed. The gate’s black stones darkened further with her crimson.

“My lord!” One of her companions threw himself at the guard’s legs, pleading. “She didn’t mean to defy the city—her cub is dying! My lord, he only wants one bite of meat! Please—give us just one bite!”

The cloaked man sneered. “It’s been three days. That cub is probably dead already. Meat for the dead? Don’t make excuses.”

The woman trembled, forcing herself upright.

Qi Bai saw her eyes, hollow with despair, and knew something terrible was coming.

A heartbeat later, she lunged at the cloaked man, stone knife flashing.

“Ahhh!” He screamed, tumbling from his throne of slave-flesh.

Too fast to stop—her blade drove into his neck. She had aimed for his throat, but her weak arm only pierced the side.

Before she could strike again, a bone blade rammed into her chest.

Her head fell. Even in death, her body leaned forward in attack.

“Quick! Quick!”

“Get the Envoy’s attendant back to the Temple!”

Chaos erupted inside the gate. Outside, the beastmen only watched in silence.

The woman’s two companions no longer begged. They crouched at her side, shielding her body from the wind.

“Thunk.”

Bone knives pierced them both. All three lay still, gone from the frozen world.

The turmoil lasted until another cloaked beastman stormed out—his cloak a dark brown, unlike the red of the fallen attendant.

“Which tribe were they from!” he bellowed.

No one dared answer. He seized a blood-bone warrior. “Speak!”

“T-they… the Rabbit Tribe.” The once-fearsome warrior stammered.

The brown-cloaked beastman roared: “Bring every last one of their tribe to me!”

“Yes, sir!”

As two ran inside, another asked nervously, “Lord Wuzi, what about the rest here?”

The brown Wuzi snarled at the line outside: “Piao the Envoy’s aide has been stabbed. You are all implicated. All supplies—confiscated!”

The crowd stirred in panic.

“Anyone who resists,” the Wuzi growled, “can join those three in death.”

Even the most numbed beastmen couldn’t contain themselves now. They were allowed to gather food only once every nine days. What had begun as giving half, then more than half, had now become everything.

How could they live?

But with their kin trapped inside the city, none dared defy. Backs bent, they carried their meager bags to the pile, surrendering all.

Passing the three corpses, they instinctively averted their eyes.

They all knew the truth. The Rabbit Tribe had no others. These three had been all that remained. Their “dying cub”? Dead five days ago. The mother had cradled the frozen corpse since, half-mad.

From the start, they had been ready to die. Only no one expected the food tax to take even their last shred of hope.

Now the inspections grew harsher. Soon, it was Qi Bai’s group’s turn.

Among the gaunt line, Lang Ze and Lang Zhan’s tall figures stood out, and Qi Bai’s bundled form caught the guard’s suspicion.

Normally, as long as the amount was enough, the guards wouldn’t bother. But now, with an Envoy’s aide stabbed and a Wuzi watching, they dared not be lax.

“Stop. Why so heavily wrapped? Remove the hides.”

Eyes turned to the four.

The Wuzi himself glanced over, then looked away, uninterested.

The leading beastman lifted the hide covering his head, revealing a face no different from the rest—filthy, sallow, unhealthy. A face one glanced at only once.

The guards checked the others—tall, but equally wan. Their tone eased. “What tribe? When did you enter the city?”

A rasping voice answered: “My lord, we are Yanlang Tribe. We entered in autumn—allowed in by Wuzi Zhao.”

The guards gave them a few more glances, then waved them on impatiently. “Go in.”

Pulling the hides back down, Qi Bai followed the line into Wangu City.

Through a hole in his hood, he glanced back at the wall.

This was the wall that had haunted Ma Li’s nightmares. Yet it was barely ten meters high—far shorter than imagined.

But height had never been the true terror.

It was the wall’s oppression. This vast cage. That was the real “height.”

The line led them to a district of low grass shelters.

Foul. Dark. Cramped. That was Qi Bai’s first impression.

Eyes—wide, hungry, numb—stared out from every hovel at those returning.

Covered in their ragged hides, Qi Bai, Lang Ze, and Lang Zhan followed Lang Shi to one of the outermost shelters.

Inside were four more beastmen. They had watched all day, waiting.

At the sight of Lang Zhan, they froze—but quickly moved aside to let them in.

The doorway was blocked with hay. Three kept watch inside.

A gaunt horned beastman asked, “Captain, why are you back? Has something happened at the territory?”

Because of constant blood-bone patrols, movement was difficult. Those in the city rarely changed—only eight Silver Moon beastmen stayed, passing messages when the gatherers returned.

This time, Lang Shi had brought in Qi Bai, Lang Ze, and Lang Zhan. The other three waited with Lang Sheng outside.

After leaving the Ancient Tree Beastman, Qi Bai and Lang Ze hadn’t lingered. Together with Lang Zhan and Lang Sheng, they’d bypassed Sheng Ling’s land, crossed the canyon, and checked the Shi Jin camp.

Then, at a hidden cave, they’d met Lang Shi’s gathering party.

“All is well at the territory,” Lang Zhan said, clapping his thin comrade’s shoulder. “Cheng, you’ve worked hard.”

Lang Cheng waved it off. “Don’t say that to me.”

Smiling, Lang Zhan brought him before Lang Ze and Qi Bai, saying solemnly:

“You’ll never guess who has come to the territory.”