Chapter 69: Chapter 61: A Fortress of One
In the Dudu Mansion of Jizhou, He Xiqing sat in the seat that originally belonged to Liu Yanran, resting with his eyes closed.
He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for ten days.
As an experienced warrior, he understood the importance of rest. If he couldn’t eat well and sleep well, no matter how strong he was, his combat power would certainly decrease — but there was nothing he could do; the villain who killed his brother was truly detestable.
When the soldiers were eating, the villain would come to ambush; when the soldiers were drinking, the villain would come to assault; even when the soldiers were sleeping or relieving themselves, the villain would still raid.
Although He Xiqing reacted swiftly every time, and the villain would be forced to retreat without killing more than a few people, those who died could never come back to life.
"He’s draining my strength, he’s tormenting my spirit."
He Xiqing clearly realized this.
Like cunning coyotes, they never confront other beasts head-on but follow behind the prey, occasionally lunging to take a bite until the prey loses too much blood and becomes exhausted, only then do they feast at their leisure.
As a man from the grasslands, He Xiqing had killed more than a hundred coyotes, but he never imagined that he would one day be treated in such a manner.
Even a cornered beast will fight, and he considered risking everything. He remembered where the villain came from, and he was determined to slaughter this beast.
But when he finally mustered his strength and led a surprise attack on the Yang Family Fortress, the village surrounding the Dock Fortress was already deserted.
The enemy had anticipated his actions, leaving him no chance to set a trap.
"Cunning southerners..."
With a sigh, He Xiqing could only lead his troops back to Jizhen.
He wasn’t even able to scavenge any useful supplies; the enemy had left him nothing.
A scorched earth tactic, commonly used by southerners. For grassland people, who rely on battle for sustenance, it’s indeed an effective strategy — but just as the enemy could use it, so could he. Following the enemy’s lead, He Xiqing decided to clear out all the southerners in Jizhou to enhance his own strength.
However, the scouts he sent out returned with no useful information.
They only brought back the corpses of their comrades, bodies marked by scorch marks.
Clearly, this was the true scorched earth. Now that both sides knew they could grow stronger by killing, a preemptive cleanup became a necessary measure — and now, he couldn’t kill a single southerner, while the other side could continuously grow stronger by hunting his scouts.
Moreover, the enemy could still hunt the Qingyang Tribe’s army.
He Xiqing had considered the possibility of the Qingyang Tribe causing trouble, but he also guessed that the elders of the Qingyang Tribe had some tricks hidden up their sleeves — for now he remained on standby, entrenched in Jizhen, partly intending to let the enemy clash with the Qingyang Tribe.
If the Qingyang Tribe won, he would be rid of a major threat; if they lost, he would at least understand the elders’ true strength.
Who could have known that the elders would be so useless?
Ten days ago, twelve of their wizards had been consecutively killed, and since then, the Qingyang Tribe’s army had been harassed countless times — seeing an entire army being beaten down by a mere individual, was a first for He Xiqing, yet this ludicrous situation had persisted for ten days.
Yet this feeble Qingyang Tribe, which seemed to him as fragile as tofu, still dared to order him around.
"Big brother, I think it would indeed be better to retreat."
Next to He Xiqing, Mo Ershu, nine feet tall, spoke up.
"With the battle going this way, staying in Jizhen makes us passive. Instead, retreating to the Qingyang Tribe and merging with the army will make us more..."
"It’s not the same."
He Xiqing merely shook his head.
Indeed, in theory, retreating to join the main army was the better choice. With their forces united, they could handle the enemy more effectively.
But some things can’t be judged by theory alone.
The headmen of the Qingyang Tribe had long viewed him unfavorably; even a blind man could feel it. And in the current situation, if he dared to retreat, those old schemers would undoubtedly seize his military power.
Indeed, changing generals before a battle is not a sensible decision, but should he risk his life and fortune on the hope that those on the brink of death would act rationally?
He didn’t trust Herai Jiao Hu, Bulu Guniu, or any of the headmen of the Qingyang Tribe.
Just as those headmen didn’t trust him.
"Furthermore, those twelve wizards were meant for me, weren’t they..."
He Xiqing forced a wry smile.
To deal with the military governor of Jizhou Liu Yanran, twelve wizards seemed excessive. The remaining few were clearly meant for him — whether to intimidate him or to finish him off depended entirely on the headmen’s mood.
Perhaps if he submitted, if he begged for mercy, those headmen would spare him, turning him into the Qingyang Tribe’s watchdog.
But he didn’t want to be a dog.
Blue is the color of the sky, his father had told him when he was alive.
"The sky..."
He Xiqing opened his eyes, looking upward to the ceiling, as if he could see through the roof to the blue sky beyond.
Beneath the grand sky, the sound of horns echoed, he and his brothers galloped across the grassland, with parents awaiting their return in the distance.
"...The sound of horns?"
He Xiqing suddenly snapped back to reality.
"Where’s that horn sound coming from? Who’s blowing it?"
"Big brother, we don’t use that kind of thing... Wait, I hear it too!"
Mo Ershu, beside him, was about to say something but also began to hear the distant horn sound in his ears.
The melodious horn brought the winds of the grassland, with drums that were rousing and cheerful, the melody of home.
So, to return home, he must kill.
"Big brother... something’s wrong..."
The nine-foot-tall Mo Ershu clenched his fists, struggling to maintain consciousness.
"The Blood Evil Power is overwhelming! I want to kill now! Those are the wizard’s horns and drums!"
"...Does the Qingyang Tribe truly want me dead?"
Knocking Mo Ershu out with a punch, He Xiqing gritted his teeth and immediately stood, exiting towards the city wall.
On the city wall, He Xiqing finally spotted the figure beating the war drum.
Their eyes met.
Even across such a distance, He Xiqing already felt that deeply embedded killing intent.
"How can he control the wizard’s war drums?"
Gazing at the all-too-familiar figure in the distance, at the brazen maniac who killed his brother, his mortal enemy who had driven him to such desperation, He Xiqing’s eyes turned blood red.
"Who! Who leaked it? Was it the Qingyang Tribe? Was it Herai Jiao Hu?"
But by this time, no matter how He Xiqing guessed, it was already too late.
The figure beating the war drum had already raised a large blade and charged forward on horseback.
