The troops began advancing toward the village.
The soldiers crossed the fortifications, their faces alight with excitement.
Suleiman couldn't help shaking his head. These soldiers thought just like Roslyn had before.
They believed they should have launched an offensive against the Burned Men Wildlings long ago.
As if they could simply walk in, take the money, and get rich.
Suleiman wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. If the strategic situation weren't so dire,
he might have used turtle tactics for half a month, until the Wildlings fell ill and collapsed.
Suleiman walked between the two formations, watching Lushen and Roslyn follow close beside him.
He snapped, clearly displeased. "Lushen! Roslyn!"
"What are you two doing!"
The two seemed not to understand what he meant. They drew even closer, guarding him warily from either side.
"What are you doing!" Suleiman frowned. "Get back to your units! Stand with your soldiers! Take your places in the front ranks!"
"At a time like this, you're not my bodyguards! You're officers in my army!
"The soldiers need to see their officers beside them! They need to know you're sharing their fate! Understand!"
Lushen said nothing. He gave Suleiman a solemn look, saluted, then turned and headed for the squad under his command.
Roslyn had no choice but to salute Suleiman as well, then follow and organize the other squad.
In the age of cold weapons, the most important thing was for soldiers to be able to see their officers.
To hear their officers' voices and know they were sharing their fate.
The troops advanced very slowly, every step cautious.
The air in the village reeked of charcoal and rotting corpses, making their stomachs turn.
The soldiers seemed at last to snap out of their excited, dreamlike state and gripped their weapons tightly.
Everywhere they looked, they saw nothing but ruins.
Charred wooden beams, collapsed earthen walls, and rubble scattered across the ground.
A dozen villagers' corpses lay in pieces, so badly decomposed that it was impossible to tell whether they were men or women.
Silence stretched over the village, broken only by the buzzing of flies circling the bodies.
"Stay alert!" Lushen barked in a low voice. "Keep your weapons ready!" His formation was at the front.
Even he thought the reminder was somewhat unnecessary.
In surroundings like these, even the slowest person would be on edge.
The closer they got to the center of the village, the worse the destruction became.
Ruins burned by flames were everywhere.
Clearly, the Burned Men Wildlings of the High Mountain Clans had carried out a thorough raid and massacre here.
The village had been utterly destroyed.
As they neared a relatively intact farmstead deep within the village,
everything changed!
"Ah—!" A piercing scream rang out from the front of the troops.
A soldier at the head of the column staggered and fell, a throwing axe buried in his head.
Lushen, standing at the very front, reacted at once.
"Ambush!" he roared. "Hold the line!"
More wooden javelins came flying from behind the farmstead's ruined buildings. They weren't very deadly, but they threw the front ranks into confusion.
Suleiman could sense how weakened the Burned Men Wildlings inside were. Otherwise, they would never have responded so feebly.
He gave his orders at once. "Roslyn's squad, hold your position!"
Then he drew the Myr Sword, its blade flashing silver in the gloom.
"Lushen! Lead your squad! Charge in and kill them!"
Lushen faithfully carried out Lord Suleiman's command, even if the way ahead led through a mountain of blades and a sea of fire.
He didn't say another word, only shouted, "Follow me!"
He drew his sword and charged in at the head of the squad.
Seeing how fearlessly Lushen charged, his soldiers quickly followed.
They stormed into the granary!
Suleiman was somewhat surprised by the Burned Men Wildlings' fighting ability.
The clash of blades rang out inside the granary, accompanied by the Burned Men Wildlings' furious roars and the shouts of Suleiman's soldiers.
He saw the Wildlings inside, many of them already terribly weak.
Their infected wounds had turned a sickly color. Some even bore festering, worsening sores that reeked of rot.
Every movement must have brought them excruciating pain.
By all logic, they should have been incapable of fighting, waiting to be captured or killed.
Suleiman regretted that he hadn't been cautious enough.
He looked at Roslyn and pointed in a certain direction.
Roslyn had no idea what he meant, but firmly followed Lord Suleiman's command. He quickly led his men into formation, facing the direction Suleiman indicated.
Seven men were lying in ambush amid some ruins on the flank. They weren't there to escape. They were there to kill Suleiman.
They had used the Wildlings inside the granary to draw most of the army's attention, planning for an elite squad to seize the chance to behead the Flatlander army's commander—Suleiman himself!
Then they would join their clansmen and die gloriously in battle!
Suleiman sneered to himself.
Clearly, the seven Wildlings lying in wait for the attack had failed to account for one thing.
His senses were far beyond those of ordinary people, and he had seen every disturbance in the village from the very beginning.
Realizing they had been discovered, Walker, Son of Nego, and the seven warriors threw off the crumbling walls they had used to conceal themselves.
They had never planned to run. They would not run. They would return to the High Mountains with the souls of their clansmen.
"Walker, Son of Nego, will not hide! Walker, Son of Nego, will not run!"
"We are the Mountain Wolves!"
"Clansmen! Kill that Flatlander!"
They no longer feared death. They wanted only to drag Suleiman, who had tormented their people, down to hell with them.
Fueled by boundless fury and hatred,
they charged forward like arrows loosed from a bow!
They had only one target, and it was unmistakable—Suleiman!
But what Walker, Son of Nego, never could have expected was that when he charged at Suleiman, brandishing his battle-axe and wearing a savage look,
the figures rushing to meet them were Flatlander warriors who showed no fear at all. They surged forward like a tide!
There was not a trace of hesitation in the Flatlander warriors' eyes. Instead, they gleamed with a fervor and hunger unlike anything they had ever shown before.
Like hounds on the scent of prey, like sharks who had smelled blood, they fixed their burning gazes on him!
Walker, Son of Nego, charged at the front. He swung his fearsome battle-axe, cutting down one Flatlander soldier and forcing another back.
Yet a deep bewilderment rose within him. Why were these Flatlanders different from the ones he had encountered before?
Why were they unafraid, even of death?
Who were these Flatlanders?
He didn't know that hanging over him was a sky-high bounty, enough to change the fate of any low-ranking soldier.
In the eyes of these Flatlanders, he was no longer a terrifying enemy. He was walking wealth, a fortune that could change their lives!
The soldiers cared nothing for how powerful their enemy was. All they saw was a moving beauty, a mountain of gold, a chance at a life unlike the one they had always known!
There was only one thought in the soldiers' minds—only one!
"Kill him! Take his body!"
"Kill him! Take his body!"
"Kill him! Take his body!"
Before you continue