Daqin Zhentiansi

Chapter 1129 The White Frost Clan: When Did They Become Like This?

A dozen or so wild bulls charged into the horde of monsters side by side, their horns whipping up the monster wolves and sending them flying several feet.

The wolf, sent flying, howled in mid-air, its four legs kicking wildly before crashing heavily to the ground, its spine broken, unable to get up again.

The cow's hoof crushed the lizard's bone plates.

"Click, click—"

The sound of the bone plates cracking was as crisp as breaking dry firewood.

The cavalrymen on the bull's back pierced the demon ape's throat with short spears.

"laugh--"

Black blood flowed down the spear shaft.

Tuoba Shan's short spears thrust out from the back of the ox, each spear precisely piercing the wolf's throat or eye socket.

His movements were extremely fast.

Thrust out.

Retracted.

Then stab again.

The rhythm was as steady as a blacksmith forging iron.

The bull beneath him was even more excited than he was, its nostrils flaring, its hooves pawing the ground, and bits of meat still clinging to its horns.

The hundred-foot-tall war beast crushed through the horde of demonic beasts.

The war beast was so big that everyone on the cliff had to look up at it.

Its mane billowed in the wind, and its limbs trod in the void.

Each step sent boulders tumbling down the cliff face.

Its eyes were a hazy gray, with a silver glint deep within its pupils.

It opened its massive maw, and a shockwave exploded, blasting the surrounding demonic wolves into the air, where they bled from all seven orifices before landing.

The hunters on the cliff stared in disbelief.

Someone knelt down.

It's not surrender.

My legs are weak.

Tuoba Shan jumped off the back of the bull, strode up to Yan Ping, and clasped his hands in a salute.

His face was covered in wolf blood, but his eyes remained steady.

The leather armor was splattered with the black blood of the monster.

Blood was still dripping down the gaps in the nail plates.

Behind him, the Frost Warriors were clearing out the remaining monsters.

Amidst the flashing swords and the agonizing cries of dying monsters, the battle raged.

"The Tuoba tribe, descendants of the White Frost clan, have been ordered to come and meet you. Can you still leave?"

His voice was clear and melodious, like a bell ringing in a valley.

Yan Ping looked at him, his lips moved, but he didn't say anything.

Yan Xiaoshi, who was standing next to him, asked for him.

"Are you descendants of the White Frost Clan?"

"Correct."

"Which White Frost Clan descendant?"

Tuoba Shan smiled: "Tuoba tribe. Descendants of the White Frost clan, the Tuoba tribe."

Yan Xiaoshi stared at Tuoba Shan with his mouth agape, then looked at the soldiers behind him who were crushing the magical beasts.

He is sixteen years old this year. He has been hunting with Yan Ping for three years. He has seen the light cavalry charge of the Gale Camp, the heavy infantry formation of the Stone Fortress, and the hunting teams of the Flowing Cloud Village.

He believed that this was the most elite fighting force in the Qing Song Realm.

Now, he feels that what he saw before might not have been true.

He opened his mouth, then asked again, "How many of you came?"

"Three thousand."

Yan Xiaoshi fell silent.

He looked down at his severed arm, wrapped in tattered cloth, and then at the short spear in Tuoba Shan's hand, which was still dripping blood.

The spearhead was engraved with patterns he didn't recognize.

Even after being stained with blood, the veins continued to flow on their own, bouncing off each drop of blood.

He thought for a long time, then looked up and asked seriously, "Can I learn it?"

Yan Ping leaned against the cliff, looking up at the hundred-foot-tall war beast rolling over the hillside, watching the horde of demonic beasts being cut down like wheat in front of the battle formation, and watching the white frost battle flag fluttering in the morning light.

He didn't ask any questions. He simply placed the broken spear on his knees and sighed softly.

That tone carried the exhaustion of two days and one night, the grief of watching seven old brothers die, and something else that was hard to explain.

It felt like a huge rock that had been pressing on my chest for two days had suddenly been removed.

He waited for two days and one night, hoping to die, but what he got was not death.

It is a flag.

Yan Ping is one of the oldest hunting team leaders in Liuyun Village.

He is fifty-seven years old this year and has been hunting for forty years. He has seen all kinds of storms.

He has been surrounded by monsters seven times, broken three ribs, and had his left leg bitten through by an ironback lizard once, so he still walks with a limp.

He never submitted to anyone, and sometimes he even had to argue with Yan He's orders.

But now, watching the Frost Warriors crushing the monsters, watching the zigzag formation change so smoothly, watching the archers firing in three waves with fluid grace, watching the hundred-foot-tall war beasts shattering the monster formation with their bare feet, only one thought crossed his mind:

When did the Bai Shuang descendants become like this?

The sounds of fighting on the battlefield gradually subsided.

The remaining monsters began to scatter, some fleeing up the hillside, only to be pinned down by archers with arrows, one by one, in the pile of rocks.

Some rushed towards the valley entrance, only to be blocked and overturned by the horizontal line of soldiers.

Yan Ping stood up, leaning against the cliff face. His legs were a little weak, and his lame leg was even more lame.

He walked up to Tuoba Shan, looked at the young man who was only a few years older than his son, and said, "Is your uncle Yan He still alive?"

"Alive." Tuoba Shan nodded. "Uncle Yan is in charge of logistics at the camp."

Yan Ping was silent for a moment, then nodded.

He planted the broken spear in the ground, turned around and waved to the remaining soldiers behind him: "Those who can walk, help the wounded. Those who can't walk, two people carry each one. The White Frost Clan has come to pick us up."

Scattered cheers echoed from the cliff.

The sound wasn't loud, but many people had already lost their voices from shouting.

But those were the voices of living people.

Yan Xiaoshi was helped to his feet and looked back at the corpses covered with tent cloth on the cliff.

"Uncle Yan, Old Zhou and the others..."

"I can't take it with me." Yan Ping didn't turn around. "Remember the location. We'll come back for you after the war."

Yan Xiaoshi nodded, wiped away his tears with his right hand, and followed the crowd down the cliff.

As he passed by a White Frost Warrior, the warrior glanced at him, took a water pouch from his waist, and stuffed it into his hand.

Yan Xiaoshi was stunned for a moment. He wanted to say thank you, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something, and he couldn't say it.

The soldier patted him on the shoulder, said nothing, and turned to leave.

The rescue teams began to withdraw.

The White Frost warriors led the way, the remaining soldiers were in the middle, and the archer battalion provided cover from behind.

The wounded were placed on makeshift stretchers and carried by those who were still able to walk.

There weren't enough stretchers, so some people took off their leather armor and put the wounded on it to drag them along.

The line was long, but it moved at a fast pace.

Yan Ping walked in the middle of the group, leaning on a newly whittled wooden stick.

His broken spear was already stuck in the cliff.

He didn't turn around.

It's not that I don't want to turn back, it's that I'm afraid to.

He knew that if he turned around, he would remember those seven people.

……

That afternoon, the hunting party from the Gale Camp in the south was also brought out.

The Swiftwind Hunting Team was trapped in a canyon.

The canyon is very narrow, with steep mountain walls on both sides and only a narrow passage about ten meters wide in the middle.

They waited in the canyon for a day and a night, losing most of their horses.

Without their horses, the light cavalry became infantry, using scimitars and short spears to block the gaps.

The leader was a cavalry captain from the Gale Battalion named Han Xiao. He was young, but had fought in tough battles.

He led all the horses that could run to the deepest part of the canyon, using their bodies as cover, and placed the archers behind the horses to fire arrows.

This tactic is stupid, but there's no other way.

The canyon entrance was too narrow, and when the monsters rushed in, it was all melee combat. His light cavalry were not good at melee combat, so he could only rely on archers to hold off the first wave, and then the swordsmen and axemen would go up to finish them off.

The arrows were fired very quickly, and by yesterday evening they were all used up. (End of Chapter)