Sudden Epidemic

In the village shrouded by the night, the uninjured Wildlings of the Burned Men sat huddled inside the Barn.

The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, a stark contrast to the triumphant, excited mood in the Flatlanders' camp.

Beside the burning bonfire, the uninjured Burned Men sat in a circle, the fury and frustration on their faces clearly visible.

They had expected to unleash their brute strength and deal a crushing blow to the weak Flatlanders, but they never imagined it would end like this!

Walker, Son of Nego, sat above the bonfire, his face clouded with gloom.

The rout during the day was a failure and humiliation he had never experienced since descending from the Mountains of the Moon.

Those feeble, shameless Flatlanders had used nothing but a pile of wood and a trench to render the fierce charges that the Burned Men Warriors prided themselves on completely useless.

"Those Flatlanders! Weak cowards! They didn't even dare to chase us out!" A burly Burned Man slammed his fist into the ground repeatedly, venting the rage in his heart.

Another Burned Man chimed in:

"The Flatlanders hid behind the wood! Hid behind the trench! Holding spears! Bows and arrows! Just like rats! The Flatlanders are no Warriors at all!"

Other Wildlings echoed his sentiments, letting out angry roars and waving their weapons as if the air itself were those cowardly Flatlanders.

Their pride had been severely wounded.

They were accustomed to chasing prey in the mountain forests and ambushing unsuspecting Flatlanders.

They had never imagined being so passively trapped before the enemy's crude fortifications, poked by spears like animals and shot at like targets.

What they found even more incomprehensible was why these Flatlanders were not like the ones they had encountered before.

To these Wildlings, such a tactic of holding their ground was an act of extreme cowardice and shame!

Even after they had retreated, this group of Flatlanders was still reinforcing their fortifications! They had no intention of attacking whatsoever!

Walker, Son of Nego, did not speak; he realized how foolish his decision, made in the heat of anger, had been.

He listened in silence to the complaints of his Warriors.

Anger was only natural; even his own heart was filled with fury and humiliation.

But he had to think calmly; he had to think, for he was responsible for these clansmen.

It was his anger that had foolishly led his Warriors to charge at the fortifications the weak Flatlanders had already constructed.

One clansman had been ambushed by the shameless Flatlanders, and four had been shot in the eyes by the weaklings.

They had fallen in this foreign land! They would never be able to return to the high mountains again!

And over thirty Warriors were wounded and suffering.

He stood up, picked up his battle-axe, and began to consider the next course of action.

Should he organize another charge? But everyone was injured, and the Warriors' morale had hit rock bottom.

Besides, even if they launched another charge, it would only be a repeat of what happened during the day.

This group of weak Flatlanders had not let their guard down after winning the battle; they were even reinforcing their damned fortifications!

Just as Walker, Son of Nego, was thinking about what to do, he was suddenly startled by a voice.

Val, Son of Nango, a Burned Man Warrior so angry he was in tears, rushed out: "Walker, Son of Nego! You must come and see!"

Walker, Son of Nego, rushed in, and a horrific sight met his eyes.

The wounds of the clansmen who had been injured during the day were actually beginning to show signs of festering!

It wasn't just the deep wounds; even the grazed flesh was beginning to swell, fester, and emit a foul odor!

The situation for the clansmen who had been struck by arrows was even worse!

One by one, the wounded Warriors began to moan and wail.

Their bodies were burning hot, their consciousness was fading, and they were delirious.

That heat was different from a normal wound infection; it was more intense and spread more rapidly.

Their pain and despair spread among the Burned Men, and everyone could feel it; everyone felt a chill run down their spines.

Walker, Son of Nego, walked over to a Wildling who had been shot by an arrow and looked at the wound on his arm.

It had originally been a minor laceration; after the arrow was pulled out, they had cauterized it with a red-hot iron sword to burn away the wound.

This was the healing method of the Burned Men.

But now, it had swollen to the size of a stone, hard as rock, and turned a purplish-black color.

He could even smell the stench of rot permeating the air.

Walker, Son of Nego, stood frozen in place, as if struck by lightning.

He recalled the day, the arrows that had flown, the spear tips that had thrust out.

Those Flatlanders! Their weapons!

Shameless cowards! Worse than beasts!

But he was powerless! A cold despair instantly gripped his heart!

This was no simple wound infection! Those Flatlanders—they had smeared something on their weapons!

This method of warfare filled him with absolute fury.

The Warriors of the Mountain Clans feared neither bloodshed nor death!

But they should never die like this!

A Warrior should die by the blade! Not by the humiliation of rot and poison!

The entire camp of the Burned Men seemed shrouded by the Grim Reaper.

As the Warriors watched their companions groaning in agony, nothing but despair remained in their eyes.

The bravery and strength they took such pride in appeared so fragile when faced with such shameless and insidious tactics.

Walker, Son of Nego, felt his heart sink to the bottom of an abyss.

He knew what those shameless, beastly Flatlanders were waiting for! The Flatlanders were waiting for his raiding party to completely collapse due to the attrition caused by the sickness!

Only then would they launch their assault!

Walker, Son of Nego, knew he could wait no longer; time would cause his raiding party to disintegrate entirely!

"Gather all Warriors capable of fighting!"

He summoned every Warrior still able to stand, having them gather around the campfire.

The firelight reflected off their weary and desperate faces, yet there was no panic to be found!

Walker, Son of Nego, stood before them, but for a moment, he did not know what to say.

Any words intended to boost morale seemed pale and powerless in the face of the cruel reality before them.

Unexpectedly, it was the Burned Men Warriors who were injured but still able to stand who spoke first.

Though their faces were etched with pain, their eyes burned with a frantic, resolute determination.

A Warrior whose arm was swollen and blackened, yet still able to grip his axe, shouted in a hoarse voice:

"Walker, Son of Nego!"

"What are you still waiting for!"

"Why do you not speak!"

"We can still take up our weapons!"

Following this, the Warrior looked around at his other injured companions; their eyes were all equally calm, filled with a willingness to die.

They looked at one another, then turned in unison toward Walker, Son of Nego, and began to laugh!

"Wait for the weak and shameless Flatlanders to launch their attack! We will remain here to hold the line! We will draw the attention of those weak and shameless Flatlanders!"

"We will slaughter those shameless Flatlanders!"

"And you!" another Warrior continued, his voice tragic and resolute!

"Take the healthy clansmen and find a chance to escape! Return to the mountains! Return to our homeland!"

Another Warrior looked toward Val, Son of Nango, one of the uninjured Warriors in the crowd, and smiled to express his apology:

"Val, Son of Nango! Return to the mountains! Do not come down again! Fighting does not suit you!"

"You are meant for hunting! Your skill in ambushing prey is second to none in the tribe!"

"If not for you, the clansmen would have nearly starved many times over!"

He did not mention that Val, Son of Nango, had hidden in the rear during the fighting.

But his gaze left Val, Son of Nango, feeling unbearable shame; he lowered his head tightly and remained silent.

Walker, Son of Nego, was also silent, looking at the seven Warriors who remained unscathed.

He then looked at the injured Warriors; their eyes were filled with fury and resolve!

"Good!" Walker, Son of Nego's voice was low and powerful!

He said nothing more! His clansmen had already made their decision!

He looked at the seven uninjured Warriors.

Their eyes held anger and heaviness, but not a trace of despair!

"You seven! Follow me!"

There were no superfluous words.