Three wisps of wolf smoke surge towards the firmament, the remnant cavalry, bearing hatred, deliver an urgent dispatch

The Blood-Clad Army's hoofbeats gradually faded into the distance, dwindling from deafening thunderous roars to faint, scattered echoes before vanishing completely beyond the grasslands and hills, as though they had never been there at all.

That bitter, chilling aura of blood and slaughter was slowly scattered by the fierce winds of the prairie. As the dark ranks disappeared completely, it gradually faded, leaving only the thick, almost congealed stench of blood in the air—a reminder that this land had just endured a devastating massacre.

The wind swept withered grass across the fortifications, making a sound like muffled sobbing and rendering the battlefield ever more deathly still.

The surviving Gaolin Tribe soldiers hiding deep within the hills remained taut from head to toe, trembling with fear. They clamped their hands tightly over their mouths and noses, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid that even the slightest breath might alert that demon-like army.

Their eyes remained fixed on the direction in which the Blood-Clad Army had departed. The horrific scenes of being crushed and slaughtered still lingered in their pupils; their hearts pounded wildly in their chests, their fingertips were icy, and every muscle in their bodies had stiffened with utter terror.

No one dared say for certain whether that army, powerful enough to inspire despair, might suddenly turn back and slaughter every last one of them who had slipped through the net.

No one knew how much time passed. Only when the sun had slanted westward, when not the faintest hoofbeat could be heard and not a trace of those dark figures could be seen, when even the lingering air of slaughter had faded to the point of near imperceptibility—

Did some of the bolder survivors cautiously poke their heads out. After looking around for a moment, they bent down to listen