Lord: Starting with Summoning the Regular Army of Earth

Chapter 115 Offense and Defense Easier

"Tonight!" Sharna's voice, like a drawn blade, severed all hesitation and fear. "At this very moment! We will no longer hide, no longer endure! The eagle will guide our course! Thunder and fire will clear our path! And we—the warriors of White River Valley, the descendants of our ancestors—will use our swords, our crossbows, and the rage and blood feud we have suppressed for half a year, to deliver the final blow!"

She suddenly raised her staff high above her head, and the milky-white gemstone suddenly shone with a soft yet penetrating light, which complemented the golden flames burning in her eyes.

"Three thousand warriors, follow me on this expedition! Crush Blackrock Pass, cut off Balu's head, and use the blood of the Giant God Tribe to appease all our fallen souls! Let the Wind-Eroded Highlands remember once more that the eagles of White River Valley not only soar through the sky, but also tear apart any invading enemy with their talons!"

"Hoichi"

"Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!"

The three thousand warriors erupted in a roar as powerful as a collapsing mountain or a tsunami.

They pounded their chests, struck their shields with their swords, and stomped their heels on the ground.

The pent-up grief, humiliation, and hatred erupted completely at this moment, transforming into the most primal and violent fighting spirit.

The entire basin seemed to tremble as if it were roaring!

The thousand soldiers, women, and children who remained behind also wept as they shouted and raised their weapons high.

"Bah-bah-bah-"

In the night sky, five giant eagles responded with long cries.

Matthew stood beside Sharna, watching the primal and powerful oath-taking ceremony, feeling the almost tangible killing intent and determination, and a surge of emotion welled up within him.

He knew that this was not only a war of revenge, but also a phoenix-like rebirth of a dying civilization after gaining new power, a fire powerful enough to burn away all the shadows of the past.

Sharna gave him one last look, their eyes met, and without a word, everything was understood.

Then, she turned around, facing the direction of Black Stone Pass in the east, and pointed her staff forward.

"Marching out!" With Sharna's command, three thousand elite troops, like a flood bursting its banks, led by their leader, split into several streams and silently and swiftly surged out of the various exits of Stone Forest Cliff, merging into the boundless darkness.

To avoid being seen by the Titans, they chose to detour to their designated location and lie in ambush, waiting for the general offensive to begin.

Leading the charge was the "spearhead team," composed of goblin engineers and the most elite hunters of White River Valley.

Under the cover of night, they stealthily made their way towards Black Stone Pass, like water droplets seeping into sand.

Meanwhile, dozens of miles away, at the Black Stone Pass military camp, four thousand main forces of the Giant God Tribe were stationed.

A huge bonfire burned in the center of the camp, roasting whole cattle and sheep. Fat dripped into the fire, sizzling and the aroma mixed with cheap liquor and sweat, filling the air.

The warriors of the Colossus, clad in variegated leather and chainmail, sat around the fire, roaring as they cut into the scalding hot meat with their scimitars and drank the murky wine from their wooden bowls.

Many of them bore fresh bloodstains and wore oddly shaped "trophies" strung together with straw ropes around their waists.

Those were ears, fingers, and even braids with scalps cut off from the warriors of White River Valley.

At the edge of the camp, some prisoners, mostly women, were held in makeshift wooden cages. They huddled in filth, their eyes vacant, indifferent to the noise around them.

Meanwhile, from the tent next door, the heart-wrenching screams of women and the lewd laughter of men could be heard continuously.

Further away, inside a massive log enclosure, dozens of giant wolves were devouring the mangled carcasses of many horses, their blood staining the ground and filling the air with a stench.

The entire camp of the giant tribe seemed to be filled with a sense of arrogance and domineering confidence.

At the very center of the camp, the largest tent was made entirely of thick black yak hide and leather from an unknown behemoth, with a menacing black flag hanging at the entrance.

The top is painted with dark red pigment, depicting the head of a terrifying monster with curved, massive horns and bared fangs—the totem of the Colossi, "Roaring Bafimon."

The noise inside the tent even drowned out the commotion outside.

Its interior space is extremely large, and the floor is covered with thick, rough animal hides.

Sitting on the huge stone chair at the head of the table, covered with a complete snowstorm bear skin, was none other than "Bloodclaw" Balu.

He looked like a small mountain of muscles, over 2.2 meters tall, and was taller than many people standing just sitting down.

His bare upper body was covered with twisted scars and eerie dark red totem tattoos, and his muscles were as gnarled and twisted as old tree roots.

He had a square face, a rugged appearance, and could even be described as somewhat ferocious. He had a stubble of thick, bristly hair on his chin, and his hair was shaved down to a single tuft in the middle, which was braided into a thick plait that hung down the back of his head.

What was most unsettling were his eyes; his pupils were a deep, dark red, like cooled, congealed blood, and he showed almost no emotion when looking at people.

He was toying with a wine glass made of metal inlaid with a human skull, filled with a dark red liquid.

Below, several people sat, all of whom were the core leaders of the Giant God Tribe.

A bald, giant man with three parallel scars on his face, almost ruining his entire left cheek, was shouting with spittle flying everywhere.

He is one of the Wolf Rider captains, "Bloodfang" Gondor.

"Those spineless wimps of White River Valley run faster than frightened ibex when they see my wolf riders! I lead my men to chase them down, one slash at a time, like cutting grass targets! In the past few days, my underlings have already amassed this many!"

He stretched out his large, fan-like hand, fingers spread wide, and triumphantly surveyed his surroundings. "Fifty! Fifty heads of White River Valley warriors, hanging before my tent—hahahaha!"

Opposite him, a middle-aged man with a relatively lean build but eyes as cold as a viper and white ash stripes painted on his face sneered.

He was the tribe's executioner and headhunter, "Bonesbreaker" Hag: "Only fifty? You dare to boast about that? Gondor, don't forget my bonecrusher squad. Fifty men wiped out a hundred cavalrymen from White River Valley. I used their heads to make a tower of skulls, forcing out White River Valley's main force. We fifty men weren't afraid of their five hundred, but faced with my utter humiliation, they were finally scared away."

"Tch, you just got lucky and ambushed their team in an open area. If you're so capable, why don't you lead your men to storm that Stone Forest Cliff and let's see if your Bone-Scraping Team can come out alive?" Gundor said with a look of dissatisfaction.

"Why wouldn't I dare!" Nahag retorted.

"You two stop trying to provoke each other," said another burly man, wearing relatively complete chainmail and with a hideous scar running diagonally from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth.

Wolf, one of Balu's deputies and in charge of scouting and harassment, took a swig of wine and continued, "Stone Forest Cliff is a place that is easy to defend and difficult to attack. A direct assault would result in the loss of many warriors. The chieftain's intention is to slowly wear them down, deplete their food supplies, and erode their courage. The harassment these past few days has seen them put up a fiercer resistance, indicating that they still have strength. However—"

A forced, ugly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It also means they're almost at their limit. We've cornered them so much they can't even hunt anymore, they've probably started killing livestock or even—"

"Then isn't now the perfect time to charge?" Gundor turned to Balu, his tone becoming respectful, yet still tinged with restlessness. "Chief, if you ask me, let's not wait for the right moment! Give me three hundred wolf riders, and I'll set off tonight, while they're starving and dizzy, and charge straight into Stone Forest Cliff. I'll drag that little wench leader to you. Sharna is as beautiful as a moonflower on the grasslands, and she's also a shaman with spiritual powers. Capturing her as a stepping stone for the chief is definitely much better than these trembling cowards!"

He gestured with his chin to several female slaves huddled in the corner, their clothes disheveled and their eyes vacant.

"Yes! Capture him and give him to the chief!"

"That young woman has such delicate skin, I wonder if she can withstand any rough treatment."

"Those few hairy beasts of hers, we'll pluck their fur and roast them for a snack with our drinks!"

Several of the lower-ranking leaders, emboldened by alcohol, let out lewd laughter and vulgar shouts.

Balu listened in silence, his dark red pupils unfathomable in the firelight.

He slowly raised the skull-shaped wine cup in his hand, took a sip of the dark red "blood wine" inside, and his deep voice, like the scraping of a rolling stone, instantly drowned out the noise inside the tent: "Stop arguing."

The voice rang out, and the tent immediately fell silent.

The arrogance on the faces of Gundor, Hag, and the others subsided somewhat, and they looked at their chief with awe.

"Even a lion uses its full strength to hunt a rabbit. White River Valley is a caged beast, but a wild beast's last-ditch effort can still tear off a piece of your flesh." Balu's voice was calm and unhurried, yet carried an undeniable power.

"What I want is not a shattered, corpse-strewn Stone Forest Cliff. What I want is to completely devour the last strength of White River Valley, their warriors, their women, their heritage—including that little shaman chief."

He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over his generals: "Sharna—she's no ordinary woman. After the old shaman died, she was able to quickly subdue those chieftains and hold out against me for half a year with a group of defeated soldiers. She has some ability and some value."

"So I want her to live, to witness the fall of the last warrior of White River Valley, to hear the wails of her people, and to willingly kneel before me, offering up the tribe's totem and heritage, acknowledging me—Bloodclaw Balu—as the sole ruler of the Wind-Eroded Highlands. Then, I will give her a position, the noblest among slaves, so that she may serve me with her shamanic knowledge."

His tone was calm, without much emotional fluctuation, but his words were full of a desire for control, conquest, and ruthless killing intent, which sent chills down the spines of his fierce subordinates.

This is not just simple killing and plundering; it is about utterly crushing the backbone and dignity of a tribe, from body to soul.

"The chief is very shrewd!" Wolf was the first to react, patting his chest and bowing his head.

"Yes! I was too hasty!" Gundor quickly bowed his head.

Hag chuckled sinisterly, "The chief has a better eye. It's more fun to play it slowly. Watching your prey slowly succumb to despair is far more satisfying than killing it with a single blow."

Baru stopped speaking, picked up his wine glass again, and looked into his dark red eyes at the flickering firelight outside the tent and the dark night sky in the distance, as if he could already see the White River Valley collapsing in despair and Sharna kneeling at his feet.

The corners of his mouth curved upwards very slightly, an arc filled with absolute confidence and cruel anticipation.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere became lively again. The leaders continued drinking, boasting, and planning how to continue "hunting" the next day and how to torture the poor White River Valley warriors in a more "refined" way.

But they didn't know that the "trapped beast" they saw as destined to become a plaything and a slave had already sharpened its claws like never before.

Under the cover of night, deadly "ghosts" and "seeds" are being quietly laid.

In this hunt, the roles of hunter and prey are about to undergo a bloody and complete reversal.

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