Chapter 37: Warriors of the Rong and Di

"Squad leader, what's wrong?" Luo Datong asked, looking puzzled as he saw Zhao Ergou standing there, completely motionless.

"Nothing." Zhao Ergou snapped back to reality and shook his head. He sheathed his long blade and turned to face the captives from the Red Mastiff tribe.

"Continue! Bring all the young boys over!" Zhao Ergou ordered again, his voice frigid. He was determined to try one more time; he had to figure out what was going on.

The soldiers moved again, dragging the boys from the crowd one by one. The cries of the children and the wails of the women intertwined, echoing across the grasslands like a mournful dirge. Zhao Ergou took a deep breath and drew his blade once more. He approached a boy who looked to be no more than seven or eight years old, frail and trembling with terror. Zhao Ergou raised his sword and brought it down—another life extinguished.

Yet, still, there was no kill count!

Zhao Ergou’s heart sank completely. He finally understood where the problem lay. He was not killing enemies; he was slaughtering unarmed children. The system would not acknowledge such killings. A wave of helplessness washed over him. He had thought that simply killing would make him stronger, but it appeared things were not that simple.

He looked toward the horizon, his eyes lost and confused. He did not know which path to take next. On the steppe, the wind grew stronger, making his clothes snap violently. The sun, slanting toward the west, stained the clouds on the horizon red, like fresh blood. Zhao Ergou stood there like a statue, unmoving, his heart filled with conflict and struggle. He wanted to grow stronger, to slay enemies, to expand the borders for the Great Qin. But he did not want to slaughter the innocent; he did not want to become a cold-blooded butcher.

"Brother Gou, should we keep killing?" Luo Datong’s voice jolted him from his thoughts.

Zhao Ergou turned to look at Luo Datong, at his soldiers, and at the captives of the Red Mastiff tribe. His gaze gradually sharpened with resolve.

"Kill! Why wouldn't we?" Zhao Ergou said, his voice low. "But we will not kill the children."

"Only kill the men who can hold a weapon!" Zhao Ergou’s voice rose, commanding and firm.

"Understood!" The soldiers responded in unison, their voices booming. Though Luo Datong was somewhat puzzled, he executed the order without hesitation.

A new slaughter began, but this time, the victims were the grown men of the Red Mastiff tribe. Zhao Ergou stood aside, watching quietly. His heart remained conflicted, but he knew this was a choice he had to make. On this brutal battlefield, there was no right or wrong—only life and death. All he had to do was survive, and then, grow stronger.

Night fell, and bonfires were lit across the steppe. Zhao Ergou sat by a fire, tearing into a piece of roasted meat. His face was smeared with blood and dust, and he looked somewhat disheveled, yet his eyes were brighter than ever. He knew he had found his path—a path filled with thorns, but also with hope. He would follow this path until he became the most powerful force on these plains.

"Brother Gou, where to next?" Luo Datong asked, leaning in.

"To the Gaoque Pass of the Yiqu royal tribe! We are going to break that fortress!" Zhao Ergou declared, his voice resolute. It echoed in the night air, lingering long afterward. The flickering firelight played across his face, half-hidden in shadows. A smile curled his lips—a smile full of confidence and anticipation. He believed that one day, he would be the master of this grassland. He would make sure everyone knew the name Zhao Ergou; he would make this entire steppe sing his name.

***

North of the Helan and Yin Mountains, the vast land of Monan stretched for five hundred miles. After Zhao Ergou burned the tribes in his path, the survivors lit signal fires. A pillar of smoke rose straight into the air like a sharp dagger piercing the heavens.

This sudden signal immediately alerted a scout stationed in the watchtower of a mountain fortress. His sharp gaze, like a hawk of the plains, locked onto the distant smoke. He did not dare show the slightest negligence and quickly summoned a guard, issuing brief orders. Then, like a gust of wind, he sprinted down the tower toward the fortress drill ground.

The alarm shifted the atmosphere on the drill ground instantly. A military officer clad in black armor, sturdy and cold-faced, was in the midst of a fierce sparring session, wielding a long staff against three royal guards armed with wooden clubs. Though alone, the officer moved like a tiger descending a mountain, pressing his opponents relentlessly. Under his assault, the three guards retreated, completely suppressed.

"Guduhou, there is military intelligence." The scout’s voice was like a thunderclap, shattering the tension.

Hearing this, the three guards faltered, exposing their defenses. In that split second, three muffled thuds echoed as the officer’s staff, moving as if alive, struck them precisely across the face.

"How have I taught you?" the officer’s voice was cold and harsh. "As long as the enemy is not dead, you must not take your eyes off them! On the battlefield, such negligence will cost you your life!"

"Yes! We have learned our lesson!" the three guards replied in low voices, clutching their faces in shame.

The armored officer, the Tugebu, was the commander of the Yiqu royal forces guarding Gaoque Pass and the deputy general of the Right Worthy Prince’s personal guard. Ever since the Right Worthy Prince had captured Gaoque Pass, he had stationed Tugebu there with several hundred Rongdi soldiers.

"Guduhou, there is an alert from the east," the scout reported again, his voice tinged with urgency.

"I know. What is the situation?" Tugebu tossed his helmet aside, shaking out his sweat-drenched hair to reveal a young, heroic face. He was surprisingly young, looking not even thirty.

"It is a signal fire," the scout replied, bowing his head respectfully. Though he was a high-ranking scout, he could not help but lower his pride in the presence of Tugebu, a young talent deeply favored by the Right Worthy Prince. This was not submission to power, but reverence for strength.

Tugebu, the most brilliant genius of the younger generation among the Right Worthy Prince's tribes, had burst onto the scene like a dazzling meteor at the age of seventeen. Since then, he had dominated the Royal Court’s martial arts tournament four times in a row, unchallenged like an eagle of the plains. His combat prowess was known across the entire steppe. It was even rumored that the Right Worthy Prince’s two daughters had fought so fiercely over him, like two lionesses vying for territory, that the Prince had no choice but to betroth both of them to him.