Tu Fang had suffered devastating losses.
"What are we to do?" Seeing Tu Fang steadily losing ground, Wu Li could not help asking Yi Shangxie, the tribe's wise man.
Yi Shangxie could do nothing about the situation either. Who could have predicted that King Zhou would be more barbaric than the barbarians, so utterly without principle that he dared kill people at an alliance meeting?
The chief held absolute authority in Tu Fang. Otherwise, killing eight men without asking why before their march south would have sparked a mutiny long ago.
Yi Shangxie could only say, "Let the Shamans intervene."
Wu Li frowned. "The chief said we must not deploy them lightly..."
The world of investiture of the gods was, after all, a world of myth. Both Shang and Zhou had cultivators, and naturally, the barbarians did too.
Their Shamans were different from cultivators, however. They had no formal lineage or masters, only haphazard methods, much like monsters from the mountain wilderness.
Yi Shangxie said, "Once the Shamans intervene, the cultivators among the Shang will certainly do the same. Only when the battle descends into chaos will we have a chance to escape north."
Yi Shangxie had already given up on winning. Running away was the only way forward.
Trading the Shamans' lives for those of tens of thousands of tribesmen and their mounts was a better bargain.
Wu Li understood. Seeing that the situation was beyond saving, he sent a trusted subordinate to order the Shamans at the rear into battle.
Wearing feathered garments made from unknown birds and beasts, the Shamans carried wolf fangs and hide drums as they advanced toward the fighting with strange movements.
At the sight, the Tu Fang cavalry moved as one to cover them. Horse heads surged together, and hoofbeats thundered.
Wu Li's