Shock

The mountain path was rugged, loose stones digging into the soles of his feet.

Timett Son of Timett panted heavily, sweat and dust caking his cheeks.

His chest heaved violently, every breath stinging with a burning pain.

Never before had he been so frantic.

He dared not stop; Flatlanders had been tracking his party, clinging to them like shadows.

This meant one thing: the main force of Flatlanders behind them had no intention of letting him go!

The Mountain Clans had lived in the high peaks for generations, masters of movement across rugged, pathless, and dense forest terrain.

Yet now, a vanguard of Flatlanders was actually keeping pace with his tribesmen.

A vanguard of at least a hundred men.

The moment his party paused or showed a weakness, those soft Flatlanders would swarm them.

And once the main army arrived.

They would tear them limb from limb!

He knew how he had treated the Flatlanders!

And he knew just as well how the Flatlanders would treat him!

"Red Hand! Let the tribesmen rest for a moment!" a Burned Men Wildling rasped, his lips cracked and his eyes bloodshot.

Timett Son of Timett whipped his head around, his gaze as fierce as a maddened bear: "Rest? Do you want those Flatlanders to catch up to us!"

He raised his voice, his tone growing even more volatile: "The Flatlanders are right behind us! Like hounds, they won't shake off! Won't shake off! Won't shake off!!!"

He did not know how the Flatlanders were doing it!

Moving faster than even he could across rugged, pathless, and dense forest terrain!

He had never experienced such a thing, and he felt a helpless rage clogging his chest!

Timett Son of Timett looked toward his party.

The line was straggling, many of the Wildlings bearing wounds.

Everyone kept their heads low, morale at an absolute nadir.

To facilitate their flight, they had abandoned the spoils of this massive raiding war.

They had left it all beneath the walls of Stone City, unable to carry it away.

They were the wolves of the mountains, viewing the Flatlanders as sheep.

But now they had become the sheep, and the Flatlanders were the hunting hounds.

They had failed!

A total, utter failure!

"Timett Son of Timett!" a Burned Men Warrior stumbled over, his face etched with panic:

"The Stone Crow Tribe and the Black Ears Tribe are not in the party!"

"Some tribesmen say they took the chance during the chaos of the siege to run off on their own!"

Timett Son of Timett's pupils contracted sharply; he grabbed the Burned Men Warrior and hoisted him into the air:

"What did you say? Say it again to Timett Son of Timett!"

Among the Mountain Clans, the Burned Men were the most powerful, with the Stone Crow Tribe and Black Ears Tribe following behind.

He was shocked by the two tribes' unannounced departure during the siege, followed immediately by boundless fury.

The Burned Men Warrior, suspended in the air, gasped for breath and stammered incoherently:

"They left while we were attacking the city!"

"They said nothing! They left without a word!"

"And they took their share of the loot with them!!!"

"Cowards!! Traitors!!!" Timett Son of Timett slammed the reporting tribesman hard against the ground, his chest heaving, veins bulging on his forehead, his blood-red single eye looking even more terrifying!

Timett Son of Timett roared in a maddened frenzy: "Cowards!! Traitors!! Traitors!!!"

It was one thing that the Stone Crow Tribe and Black Ears Tribe had not put their backs into the fighting.

But they had also preserved their own tribal strength.

And even!

They had let the Burned Men become the target that drew the Flatlander army toward them!

Buying time for themselves!

Allowing them to successfully carry their share of the spoils back to the mountains!

While the Burned Men had gained nothing at all!

He looked around; the eyes of his remaining tribesmen were filled with exhaustion and bewilderment.

"How many men do we have left?" he roared.

The battered Wildling stood up and replied with a tremble, "Red Hand! The Burned Men have only a hundred or so left! Counting the other clans, there are only three hundred!"

"Only three hundred!" Timett Son of Timett muttered to himself.

This number felt like swallowing a cup of boiling water.

It scorched his body and his very innards.

He remembered the scene when he led over a thousand Mountain Clans champions down the mountain!

The Mountain Clans had never been so united.

Such a massive army.

Now, only these fewer than four hundred remnants remained.

The immense disparity and sense of defeat drove him nearly to madness.

He could not answer to the clans!

He tilted his head back and let out a roar of unwillingness: "Ah—!!!!"

The massive roar echoed through the mountain forest, startling countless birds and beasts.

Just then, a Wildling scout running ahead scrambled back in a panic:

"Timett Son of Timett! Ahead... ahead, there are iron-skinned Flatlanders from the Vale blocking the road!"

"The markings on them are exactly the same as the Flatlanders who sought us out before!!"

"How many!" A fierce light flashed in Timett's eyes, his rage ignited once more.

He was furious now, wanting to tear the Vale Flatlanders who had fed him false information into a thousand pieces.

"Only four! Riding horses! Wearing iron skins!"

Timett Son of Timett was so angry he nearly laughed out loud; they actually dared to come looking for him!

A rage born of extreme humiliation surged in his heart: "Go! Drag them here! Timett Son of Timett will burn them alive!!"

Though the Wildlings were exhausted, hearing an opportunity to vent their fury, a glimmer of savage light reignited in their eyes.

They had been failing for too long.

They needed to vent!

A moment later, the four Flatlanders, clad in luxurious armor and riding sturdy horses, were yanked from their saddles and dragged roughly before Timett Son of Timett!

"Timett Son of Timett!!" the one who looked older and clearly led the Flatlanders shouted out, "What are you doing!!!"

"Light the fire!!!!" Timett Son of Timett sneered. "This is the consequence for deceiving Timett Son of Timett!"

The Wildlings excitedly tied the four Flatlanders to thick tree trunks.

Soon, dry firewood was piled at their feet.

Torches were brought close, and the dry branches and leaves ignited rapidly, crackling loudly.

"No! Don't burn us!" The leader of the Flatlanders lost his previous composure, and urine seeped from his luxurious armor.

"I came to bring you news! Timett Son of Timett!" The flames scorched his thighs, forcing a shrill scream from him. "Timett Son of Timett! Spare us! Spare us! You were deceived! You were all deceived!"

"Deceived?" Timett Son of Timett frowned, signaling for the man to speak quickly: "What do you mean!"

The fire grew larger, and the four men wailed in agony.

But desperate to grasp at a chance to survive, the lead Flatlander shouted at breakneck speed as if clutching a life-saving straw:

"The Riverlanders!"

"There is no great army at all!!"

"House Deddings only sent a young noble of sixteen years to come!!"

"His name is Suleiman!!!"

"He is only sixteen years old!!!!!"

"The men under him! From beginning to end, there were only three hundred! All of them are farming peasants!!"

"The Riverlands never sent any reinforcements!"

Timett Son of Timett froze, and the surrounding Wildlings fell silent as well.

Only the sound of burning firewood remained in the air.

Silence reigned.

Save for the screams of the four wretched men being scorched by the flames.