The sun had yet to rise in the morning, and the weather was exceptionally pleasant.
Stepping outside for a stretch after a sound night's sleep, the gentle morning breeze carrying the slightly astringent fragrance of bitter thorn blossoms from afar, it was the most comfortable and agreeable time of the day.
Yet the Gale Wolf tribe had no heart to enjoy this beauty, having fallen completely into panic.
The warriors who set out yesterday had not sent back a single message since their departure, and only a few stragglers returned in wretched condition by the early hours of the morning, trembling like malaria patients and refusing to open their mouths.
Their appearance said it all, and news of the defeat spread through the tribe like winter wildfire.
Now even the women and children knew the warriors who followed the shaman had suffered a defeat, and the men were fiercely arguing whether to run or wait, yet not a single person could make up their mind to choose.
So they turned to mutually attacking each other's direct female relatives.
Losing nearly eighty percent of their fighters in a single day was tantamount to a slash across the main artery for the Gale Wolf tribe. Whichever choice they made, the fate awaiting them next would be crueler than a hungry tiger.
Near noon, centaurs began pacing back and forth around the tribe, occasionally drawing their bows to loose a couple of arrows into the settlement, slowly tightening the encirclement.
They were cautious and skilled, not rushing to plunder this defense-lacking tribe.
This display was enough to show they were seasoned warriors, making the Gale Wolf tribe feel as though they had plunged into an ice cellar.
And when the werewolfs spotted with their exceptional eyesight that a group of burly wildlanders was also stealthily spying on the tribe, their resolve to resist instantly shattered into a pile of debris.
Richard had not expected the werewolves, long famed for their tenacity, to choose surrender so easily.
"My lord, the werewolves are wild wolves after all, why must they necessarily have the disposition of wild wolves?" Nehru, tied to a wooden pole and carried by two wildlanders, complained with great grievance. "You Pompeii folks really mix far too much prejudice and discrimination into how you view locals."
"But from where I'm standing, you kobold clearly have prime sycophant potential." Richard ungraciously took the lead in walking into the tribe's encampment.
Pompeii commoners always viewed werewolves as blood-sucking monsters who gnawed on bones, capable of using dark arts, and even believed they could transform into giant wolves on a Full Moon Night.
Yet what Richard saw were merely three or four hundred herdsmen, at best a bit shorter and more rugged, with cattle and sheep in the animal pens and living in hide tents, far different from the legends.
High Mountain Keep as a territory was actually quite imperfect, with everyone being a warrior and completely lacking commoners, much like a weapon with only a blade and no back.
Richard had once pondered how he could make Pompeii commoners abandon their warm and fertile homeland to live in this desolate and cold land, and the conclusion was to go to sleep quickly since anything was possible in dreams.
At this moment he suddenly realized his perspective was far too narrow; why restrict himself to Pompeii? These werewolf herdsmen could similarly become subjects of High Mountain Keep, tilling the land and herding cattle and sheep.
Richard had Hert lead the centaurs to drive the werewolf tribe in relocation, and those women and children, not knowing what was about to happen, cried out in loud terror as chaos erupted everywhere. According to the wilderness rules they were familiar with, being collectively beheaded was entirely possible!
Richard watched all this with cold eyes, his heart stirring no ripples. After all, it was a tribe that had once drawn blades against him, and not reducing everyone to slaves was the full extent of his mercy.
"Boss, what are we doing?" Gunther thrust his throwing spear back into the leather holster on his back, feeling there was no room for him to play a part.
"Go rummage through and see if there is any loot." Richard was unsure whether there would be a harvest, after all, this tribe looked entirely synonymous with backwardness.
"I know the Gale Wolf chieftain's tent! Inside are the savings of several generations! I know where it's hidden!" No one hung upside down on a pole would feel comfortable, so Nehru hurriedly seized the opportunity to report loudly, hoping to get a bit of attention so he could be taken down.
"As if we needed you to tell us!" Gunther gave a kick with his leg, the wildlanders holding such spineless creatures in utter contempt.
The two wildlander porters intentionally played a dirty trick, lifting the pole slightly so that Gunther's toe squarely struck Nehru's liver region, hurting him so badly his entire body tightened into a trembling shrimp.
"What I'm saying is true!" The kobold pinned his final hopes on Richard. "Their chieftain died yesterday, and only I know there is a large ox skull in the chieftain's tent, with gold nuggets in a box buried underneath."
"Stop, Gunther." Richard waved his hand to signal Gunther to halt.
"Let's go take a look."
The chieftain's tent was very easy to find, the most spacious one in the best location.
After all, most wildlanders lacked the habit of maintaining hygiene, and a foul, pungent stench drifted from the tent. A few wildlanders went over to cut the ropes anchoring it to the ground, hooked the bottom edge of the tent, and exerted force together, flipping it right over.
The interior furnishings revealed were very cluttered, a pallet piled with hay and furs, and several large clay jars of unknown purpose. Right in the center was a millstone-sized rock, upon which rested an especially massive ox skull.
The wildlanders busied themselves moving away the stone and skull, drew their longspears, and began digging into the earth with heavy grunts.
Richard suddenly smelled a strange odor, seemingly originating from those gray, dusty large clay jars not far away, so he gave Nehru a light kick and asked, "What is inside those?"
"The liquor belonging to the chieftain and myself, we hadn't managed to open it yet, and I don't know if it succeeded."
"Liquor?" Gunther's eyes lit up, and he rushed over to smash open the mud seal of the jar's mouth with a single slap. He glanced down, and the excited expression on his face instantly collapsed.
The clay jar was packed full of a deep brown, translucent liquid, with large, pitch-black clustered clumps of small round particles floating on top. Because the moisture had evaporated, it left thick black residue on the jar walls, and more importantly, there wasn't the slightest hint of a liquor smell at all.
"Boss, this fellow is definitely lying; I reckon it's eight-tenths witchcraft ingredients."
The moment he smashed open the mud seal, Richard's state suddenly became very strange. His whole body went slack, as if he had lost his soul, half-opening his mouth and standing motionlessly.
Gunther rambled on about how to deal with Nehru to vent his hatred, and only after a long while did he dully realize the atmosphere was wrong, hastily shutting his mouth.
Richard walked over, dipped his fingers into the deep brown liquid in the clay jar, and brought them to his mouth to suck.
He suddenly sighed.
Such a familiar, yet so unfamiliar taste.
He had thought those distant things were long forgotten, but he never expected they had always remained hidden deep within his memories, never once fading.
His entire former life: familiar friends, intimate lovers, taciturn partners, magnificent sunset glows, winter night scallion noodles... Incredibly real, yet seemingly like flowers in a mirror and the moon in the water, with nothing left behind remembrance except a great void.
Sometimes Richard could not help doubting, living two lifetimes, was Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly or the butterfly dreaming of Zhuang Zhou?
The sunlight shone on his face, wistful and calm, as if he were waking up in a daze from a profound dream.
"Boss, what is this?" Gunther asked cautiously.
It is soy sauce.
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