Chapter 288

When Qi Bai and Lang Ze returned to the slums, three young horned beastmen were secretly boiling vegetable roots inside a grass hut.

“Little Chieftain, Great Priest, you’re back,” one horned beastman said happily. “Come, eat something.”

He used a chipped stone bowl to ladle soup for them, while another ran to a corner of the hut and dug out strips of meat wrapped in animal hide.

Qi Bai thanked them, took the rough bowl, and soaked the meat in the hot soup until it softened, then chewed it with effort.

There was no other choice. The huts of the slums were crammed close together, and the surrounding beastmen were all so starved their eyes gleamed green. Even the faintest aroma of food could draw notice and escalate into a brawl or looting.

So even when secretly cooking, no one dared prepare anything fragrant—only tasteless root soup.

Before long, Lang Zhan and the others returned as well.

Over the past few days, Lang Cheng and Lang Shi had almost mapped out the guard rotations on the city walls, identifying one particularly weakly defended section. They had been closely watching that spot.

Lang Shi said, “Today something was off near the walls. The guards left early—it didn’t look like their usual slacking. We worried there was a major change, so we didn’t linger and came back early.”

After days of staking out the blood-bone warriors, Lang Shi and Lang Cheng could only shake their heads.

For the Silver Moon people, discipline was both the foundation and the honor of being a warrior. Yet Wangu City’s blood-bone warriors were so lax it shocked them.

By rights, the night guards should hold their posts until relieved at dawn. But in practice, every night they abandoned their stations to sleep or warm themselves elsewhere.

And today’s situation was worse—in Lang Shi’s view, if there had been a real rotation, at least there should have been handovers between shifts.

But in Wangu City, none. On their way back, nearly half the posts they passed were unmanned.

Qi Bai and Lang Ze weren’t surprised. Qi Bai said, “Looks like Xun Wuzi’s men pulled out early.”

Lang Cheng and the others exchanged puzzled looks, not understanding.

Lang Ze explained about the emissary group’s arrival, outlined their next steps, then said finally, “In the coming days, city defenses will definitely change drastically. You must be even more cautious while staying inside.”

“Don’t worry, Little Chieftain,” the men said, patting their chests. “We’ve survived in Wangu for half a year already. We’ll be fine.”

Lang Cheng added, “We’ll also keep an eye on the other five Wuzi.”

Lang Ze warned: “If before we return, there’s major unrest in the city, seize the chance to escape and wait in the gathering cave.”

“Yes.”

With the five left behind assigned, Qi Bai, Lang Ze, and Lang Zhan headed to the eastern wall the others had scouted.

It was utterly silent—indeed, not a soul in sight.

Qi Bai shifted into beast form, scrambling up the uneven wall to the top.

The little snow leopard pressed flat against the parapet, tail stiff, round eyes sweeping the surroundings. Seeing nothing unusual, he gave a soft “awoo.”

Receiving the signal, Lang Ze and Lang Zhan vaulted the wall cleanly. Once they had left Wangu’s range, both shifted into beast form.

The little snow leopard leapt lightly onto the white wolf’s head and perched steady. One white wolf and one gray wolf dashed toward the Mana Mountains, quickly vanishing into the night.

When Qi Bai and Lang Ze appeared again, Saint Antelope tribe’s chieftain Ling Qiu and priest Ling Xun were surprised.

It had been over ten days since the two outsiders entered the forest. Both Ling Qiu and Ling Xun had assumed they’d vanish like other lost beastmen, never returning.

They hadn’t expected them not only to find beastmen living in the forest, but even persuade them to fight alongside the Saint Antelope.

“This… isn’t it too hasty?” Ling Xun’s face was still full of shock.

They had wanted allies against the Gold Devourer beastmen, yes. But the Saint Antelope had always fought defensively, never daring offense. And now, upon their first meeting, these outsiders asked them to strike jointly. It was beyond Ling Xun’s tolerance.

Lang Zhan had grown thinner, but his spirit blazed. Sitting upright on a fur rug, he looked every inch a general ready to march:
“This is the best moment to deal Wangu a heavy blow. Miss it, and who knows when we’ll see such internal discord again.”

Ling Xun still wavered: “But if we fail, we’ll utterly enrage Wangu. The blood-bone warriors will never spare us.”

Ling Ping stepped forward: “I want to fight with them.”

This time Qi Bai and Lang Ze hadn’t hidden their trail. They had gone straight to Ling Ping and Ling Ta at the Saint Antelope camp.

Crossing the misty forest together, Ling Ping and Ling Ta had seen the Silver Moon warriors with their own eyes. Though few in number, they were formidable. She knew—they were strong allies.

“Priest, Chieftain,” Ling Ping said firmly, “we’ve been trapped in the Mana Mountains for two years. The Gold Devourers have an entire city behind them—endless supplies, tireless strength. But we? We only have one tribe. Our warriors can’t hunt. Our stores dwindle. One day soon, we’ll have nothing left.”

“And now they’ve acted again. Days ago, they forced us back with the serpent Huishi. Less than ten days later, when we returned, we found many of their warriors already wounded.”

Her gaze hardened. “If this goes on, we’ll collapse first. Then we’ll lose even the right to resist. This is our last chance to strike back.”

“This…” Ling Xun glanced between Ling Ping and Ling Ta, who stood silently behind her, supportive. Clearly, they shared resolve.

The Saint Antelope chieftain lifted his head, usually bowed, and straightened his back.
“How many do you need?”

Hearing this, Lang Zhan knew the man’s heart was moved.

Truthfully, Lang Zhan felt they didn’t even need outside help.

The forest folk were under four hundred, but nearly three hundred were Silver Moon elites. Even the newly come-of-age horned warriors hadn’t slackened in training.

As former deputy captain of Silver Moon’s hunting squad, Lang Zhan had more training experience than even Lang Ze. His confidence in his men was absolute.

Less than a thousand in that Gold Devourer camp? His wolves could annihilate them.

But since the Little Chieftain and Great Priest had reasons for seeking allies, his task was to carry out their will.

“Seven of your squads will suffice,” Lang Zhan said.

Saint Antelope squads were fifty warriors—but different from most tribes.

Their standard teams were made of horned beastmen paired with half-beasts—twenty-five fighting units of rider and mount.

By nature, antelopes weren’t as offensively fierce as tigers or leopards. But the Saint Antelope had created a unique combat style: horned beastmen charged, while half-beasts on their backs slashed with bone blades.

The Black Mountain tribe had once used a similar method, though with differences. Black Mountain half-beasts favored flexible, long-range fighting.

The Saint Antelope, by contrast, were like heavy cavalry—close combat specialists, each half-beast wielding a long-handled blade, striking with brutal weight.

This was why, though antelopes by form, they could withstand the Gold Devourers.

The chieftain looked at Lang Ze and thumped his chest.
“I will lead ten squads. In this battle, the Saint Antelope can only win.”

For some reason, though the forest beastmen’s chief was the burly man before him, his instincts said this wolf—Ze—was the one who could bring victory.

Ten squads, nearly five hundred warriors—almost the tribe’s full strength. Lang Ze felt the weight of their resolve.

He saluted solemnly. “For victory!”

The short council ended, and the Saint Antelope immediately began mobilizing.

Back in the tent, Ling Qiu sat with a long-handled blade across his knees, carefully wiping the bone edge with hide.

“You’re really going to the battlefield yourself?” Ling Xun asked, worried.

He had reason. Ling Qiu’s mate was dead. He hadn’t fought outside in years. And this battle was perilous.

Ling Qiu caressed the blade, silent a long while. Then he stood.
“The children are too young. Only if I watch them myself will I be at ease.”

He hung the blade back on its rack.
“Ling Ping is clever but impulsive. Ling Ta is steady but lacks decisiveness. I’ll leave them behind. If I do not return, choose one of them as next chieftain.”

Perhaps because they were always battle-ready, the Saint Antelope assembled fast.

Outside, over seventy antelopes lined up. On their backs, half-beasts strapped packs and weapons, ready to depart.

At the chieftain’s command, the hundred-strong force charged into the forest.

The wolf clan merged into them, their killing intent burning. Without pause, they ran west, across the misty forest, reaching the Saint Antelope’s camp beneath Mana Gorge by nightfall.

With the three hundred already stationed there, the combined host was complete—two tribes united.

That day, the east side of the Mana Mountains fell silent. Even the mist seemed to still.

But to the west, the endless sound of digging rang from beneath the earth, on and on into the night, until finally quieted.

That silence lasted only until just before dawn.

Then, a resounding horn split the darkness like a blade.