Empire calendar year 540, autumn.
[Note: Winters was two years old, 18 years ago.]
The Great Wilderness, the Black Sheep Tribe’s pasture, an unnamed river valley.
The Parlatu 1st Piaoqi Cavalry was "recruiting".
Two sentries brought a disheveled teenager before Colonel Alpad.
The teenager’s arms were twisted behind his back, and he was still struggling desperately and shouting loudly; the two adults could barely restrain him.
Alpad, annoyed by the noise, gave a look to Lieutenant Haug.
The lieutenant walked over and delivered a hard punch to the teenager’s stomach.
The latter curled up in pain like a shrimp, finally quieting the onlookers’ ears.
"What’s going on?" Colonel Alpad asked.
"This kid was sneaking around outside." The sentry answered, "He shouted ’Alpad’ upon seeing us. We didn’t understand anything else he said, so we brought him to you."
"He shouts Alpad, and you bring him to me," Colonel Alpad rebuked displeased, "If he shouts out your father’s name, would you bring him to your father?"
The sentry didn’t dare to say a word.
"Bring the Translator!"
Soon, the Translator rushed over in a fluster.
"Ask him," Alpad commanded impatiently, "which tribe does he belong to? What was he sneaking around for? How does he know about me? Ask him clearly!"
The Translator leaned down and communicated with the teenager,
and after a few words, reported helplessly, "Sir, this kid just keeps repeating the same thing."
"What is it?"
"He says if you give him his mother, sister, and brother, he will exchange his life for yours, to become your ’Haha’er’."
"Mother? Sister? What is he talking about?" Alpad was confused, "And what is this Haha’er?"
The Translator thought for a long time in pain, unable to find a suitable adjective, "It’s like joining the army but more loyal... much more loyal."
Alpad raised his eyebrows, "Which tribe is he from?"
"He won’t say."
"Say it or die, tell him that."
The Translator bent down to question the teenager, then reported, "Wenduoer—it means hillock or ridge. He says he’s a person of Wenduoer."
"The Wenduo Tribe? Hasn’t the Wenduo Tribe been wiped out?" Alpad remembered something.
The Translator listened then translated, "He says the Wenduo Tribe was annihilated like scattered ashes. His father died; his pregnant mother, carrying him and his sister, gathered fruits to eat by the Wolan River, and then she gave birth to his brother…"
"Stop! What is all this nonsense? I didn’t ask for his family tree!" Alpad flared up in irritation, "Focus on the main point!"
The Translator scratched his head, asked the teenager a few more questions, and said, "He says his family was plundered by the ’Zhar Chikuot’ Tribe, and his mother, sister, and brother were all kidnapped by the people of Zhar Chikuot. He heard that you are going to attack the Zhar Chikuot Tribe, so he came to join you."
Alpad looked puzzled, "Join me? I was the one who led the troops to suppress the Wenduo Tribe, doesn’t he know that? Doesn’t he care?"
The translator relayed, "He says he only cares about his family."
Alpad laughed loudly, looking at the teenager, "Wants to trade his life for his family members... at least he has some spirit. Ask him, does he have a warhorse?"
"He does, the old horse he rode in on," the sentry rushed to reply, "Yellow-haired, very old."
Alpad clapped his hands, "Having a horse is enough. We need men anyway; one more won’t hurt. Issue him a knife and take him along."
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
Lieutenant Haug promptly acknowledged.
"Release him!"
The sentries let go, and the teenager regained his freedom.
He didn’t run, but stood tense on the spot, warily scanning his surroundings with a pair of brown eyes.
Alpad approached and asked, "Kid, how old are you?"
The Translator acting as the go-between: "Seventeen."
"Seventeen? Old enough to bear arms," Alpad asked casually before leaving, "What’s your name?"
"Yasin," the Translator replied, "White Lion."
...
Empire calendar year 542, spring.
[Note: One and a half years later.]
On a pitch-black night where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, a warhorse carrying two people ran desperately east.
The sounds of pursuing hooves and war cries were faintly audible, and not far behind, flickering flames could be seen.
One side had underestimated the enemy and pushed forward rashly, while the other was well-prepared.
The outcome, therefore, was hardly surprising.
"We haven’t lost yet! I haven’t lost yet! I will regroup the routed troops!" Alpad, lying on the horse’s back, was uncontrollably furious, "Let me down! Yasin! Let go of me!"
"No!" The rider with brown eyes answered in a rough common tongue.
Alpad’s left calf was twisted in an unnatural angle, obviously broken, and roughly set with sticks and hemp ropes.
His jacket was soaked with blood, and scabs had glued the cuts on his shoulder and back to the fabric.
Furthermore, Alpad himself was tied down to the horseback, looking utterly disheveled.
He screamed hysterically, "I’d rather die than suffer this humiliation!"
"No!" The rider with the brown eyes spurred the warhorse even harder.
The horse foamed at the mouth, breathing heavily, its belly nearly grazing the tops of the grass.
"You Herd barbarian! Bastard! Mongrel! Yes! I get it now! You want to betray me! You want to take me to your master for the reward! I’ll kill you! Ah!!!"
Silence was the only response to Alpad.
Not knowing how far they had run, the warhorse suddenly stopped and collapsed, bending its hind legs to the ground.
The two men on its back, like sacks filled with grain, tumbled headfirst from the horse’s head to the ground.
The rider with the brown eyes quickly got up, shouldered Alpad, and continued eastward.
Alpad, weakened from too much blood loss, mumbled indecipherably, "Give me a knife; I don’t want to be a prisoner, nor do I want to live in shame…"
The moment he accepted the fact that he was defeated, he stopped denying reality, stopped being angry; all that was left was shame and despair.
"You can’t carry me, Yasin. Save yourself."
With his last bit of strength, Alpad fell into unconsciousness.
The brown-eyed Herder struggled to step forward, saying word by word, "I am your comrade."
...
Empire calendar year 548, summer.
[Note: Ten years ago]
At Kingsfort, the headquarters of the Parlatu Army, sat a dozen people in a small conference room.
Brigadier General Alpad was among them.
"Here, the Sule Die Tribe." Alpad drew a circle on the map: "The land of the Sule Die Tribe is very close to the buffer zone. A year ago they defeated the Wagan Tribe and began expanding quickly. Now they claim the land from Wolan River to Kurgan River."
Alpad summarized, "The Sule Die Tribe is dangerous, and they’re becoming more dangerous."
General Yanosh flipped through the documents and asked, "What do you mean?"
"The chief of the Sheep Enclosure Tribe is senile and not much of a threat. The leader of the Sule Die Tribe is the exact opposite; he’s popular, and many small tribes are even defecting to him in droves." Alpad laid out his plan: "I suggest we maintain the pretense of attacking the Sheep Enclosure Tribe, but the legion should bypass the Wolan River and strike at the Sule Die Tribe."
"An old wolf, and a cub," General Yanosh said with a smile as he put down the documents. "Then let’s hit the cub first, and the old wolf later."
Brigadier General Sekler took the documents and casually asked, "Sule Die, what does it mean?"
"Red River." Alpad said emotionlessly: "The chief is called White Lion."
A month later, the Palatine Army swept through the Great Wilderness; the White Lion barely escaped with his life.
...
The time returns to the present: Empire calendar year 559, February. Read exclusive adventures at Freewebnovel
The "Allied" Herder forces had not combined their camps. Each tribe set up its camp several kilometers apart from the others.
On the one hand, the horses needed space to forage; on the other hand, the various tribes were keeping a wary eye on each other.
To the north of the Red River Tribe camp, a dozen riders were speeding towards them, kicking up a trail of brown dust in their wake.
The guard on the watchtower squinted to make out who it was, then suddenly shouted with joy, "White Lion has returned! And the Little Lion too!"
The people of the Red River Tribe cheered and jumped for joy.
The guard moved aside the gate, and the riders galloped into camp, stopping only when they reached the large tent.
Every warhorse was drenched in sweat, as if washed with water.
The Little Lion watched his elder brother dismount agilely and head straight for the large tent.
He also hurriedly dismounted, following closely behind his brother.
The guards all stood outside the tent, while only the two brothers entered.
No sooner had they been out of sight of their people than White Lion, who had been striding firmly, suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground.
"Brother!" the Little Lion called out softly, rushing forward to help.
He helped his weak brother up and laid White Lion on the fur blanket.
"White Lion, what did the grey-eyed say?" The tent flap was lifted again, and the elder chief of the Eagle Forest Tribe, Tie Feng, walked into the felt tent.
[Note: Tie Feng, previously translated as "Tie Duo". Herder language pronunciation "qǐ tiěyá", meaning lots and lots of iron, "ch" and "ya" both indicate plural.]
Upon hearing of White Lion’s return, Tie Feng immediately came to the large tent.
He had intended to inquire about the situation, but upon entering he saw his nephew fallen, and hurriedly turned to lower the tent curtain.
The Little Lion, flustered, untied his brother’s armor and robe to help White Lion breathe more easily.
Anxious, Tie Feng walked in circles, hitting his thigh and scolding the Little Lion, "You two brothers! The Great Shaman said he could heal bleeding wounds, but your brother still needs to rest for ten days. What now? What do we do now?"
Without a word, tears swirled in the Little Lion’s eyes.
The Little Lion heard his brother say weakly, "I’m fine. Help me up."
With Tie Feng’s assistance, the old and the young helped White Lion to a bed.
White Lion had two light red marks on his left abdomen, looking like birthmarks, or like new, tender skin that had just healed and lost its scabs.
The two "birthmarks" didn’t look very alarming, for White Lion’s body was covered in scars far more terrible than these.
Bold Palatians disguised as Herders had pushed cannons to within a hundred meters of White Lion.
In the nick of time, Owl Hawk used his life to shield from most of the grapeshot, but still, two lead balls hit White Lion.
If it weren’t for the Shamans of all tribes giving their all, White Lion would have perished long ago.
The Little Lion felt something touch his shoulder—it was his brother’s hand.
He looked up and saw his brother manage a faint smile.
"I’m fine," White Lion said.
The Little Lion nodded and dried his tears.
White Lion sat up with difficulty and slowly buckled his belt.
"What did the grey-eyed say?" Tie Feng asked anxiously. "What about the other chiefs?"
"The Palatians want to negotiate peace."
Tie Feng was astonished: "What? The two-legged want to make peace? The Haidong Tribe and the Suz Tribe won’t be deceived, will they?"
White Lion shook his head.
To the Herders, negotiation meant a year’s truce, and they understood this all too well.
Seeing White Lion struggled to speak, the Little Lion spoke up, "My brother brought back the families of our warriors."
Tie Feng slapped his thigh, "Good! Being able to bring them back means the tribes still consider us their banner."
The wind swept through the tent, making a wailing sound.
The Little Lion also sat on the bed, saying indignantly, "The glutton’s greed is bigger than his belly. When he heard that the grey-eyed and my brother didn’t choose the war leader, he swooped like a vulture smelling scent! Aren’t we the ones who contributed the most?"
"The tribes nominated the glutton as the war leader?" Tie Feng widened his eyes at White Lion, "You didn’t object? Becoming the war leader is halfway to the Khan’s throne!"
"There are no such foolish dogs in the world that fight over who gets to eat the prey first without having caught it," White Lion said slowly. "There’s no point in fighting a war if you quarrel over the spoils before winning. Let’s defeat the Palatians first; the rest can be sorted out."
Tie Feng sighed, "We suffered heavy losses, and so did the Terdun Tribe. Only if our two houses stick together do we have the right to share the spoils. I just hope the Fire-tender is on our side."
"Although the Fire-tender is quick to anger, he is not stupid."
"What did the glutton say?"
"He wants to fight."