The envoy party spurred their horses into a gallop, racing all the way toward the Xiutu Tribe's main camp. Hoofbeats shattered the grassland's deathly silence, yet not a single person came into view.
There should have been scattered herdsmen's felt tents along the way, or at least traces of their lives. But now, there was nothing but an empty expanse of grassland.
There should have been signs of cattle and sheep grazing on the grass, or droppings from livestock. But now, only blades of grass lay flattened in the wind.
It was too quiet—so quiet that it made their hearts pound with dread.
The already vast grassland, devoid of human figures and living creatures alike, seemed unbearably empty, as though they had entered another world where no life existed.
The closer they drew to the main camp, the more stagnant the air became. Even the wind seemed to fear something, gradually weakening until only the horses' labored breaths and the pounding of hearts intertwined.
Cold sweat seeped across everyone's backs, and their hands unconsciously tightened around the reins.
The party galloped into the River Valley where the Xiutu Tribe's main camp had stood, but the sight before them forced them all to rein in. They stared blankly into the distance, frozen where they stood.
The sprawling clusters of felt tents that had once stretched for miles, their cooking smoke curling skyward, had all vanished. All that remained were densely packed stake holes across the ground, like countless hollow eyes gazing up at the sky.
At the watering place beside the river valley, the hoofprints of livestock overlapped layer upon layer. Fresh cattle and sheep droppings had not yet dried, and scattered horse feed and worn leather boots discarded by herdsmen could still be seen.
Yet as far as the eye