Xuanqing Guard

Chapter 348: Chapter 348: Tongue

Old Rat had never imagined that one day he’d be strung up on a tree as bait.

His mouth was stuffed with a rock, then tied tight with rope so he couldn’t spit it out or make a sound, only muffled nasal noises escaped—riddled with unmistakable fear.

Looking closer, Old Rat’s body bore plenty of bloodstains—shallow cuts made with a small blade—scary looking but far from fatal, most wounds already dried and only a few on his lower legs still oozing a little.

A sparse copse of trees surrounded him, deathly quiet save for Old Rat’s whimpering.

Old Rat had been hung there an hour earlier—Tan Bin and his men’s handiwork. They’d circled around through the night, overtaking the Barbarian troops, found this spot and set it up to test whether yesterday’s plan would work.

As for the bloodletting—that was to lure the enemy in. After all, the Wolf Race’s sense of smell far surpassed that of the Human Race; even from afar, they could pick up special scents, like blood.

They’d put great thought into choosing this location, too—not blocking the main enemy route but not too far off to be ignored. Close enough to draw notice, but not so much attention as to arouse suspicion.

Of course, all this was Tan Bin and his comrades’ scheme—whether it would go as planned, they couldn’t say.

The sun was climbing high; heat swelled, wafting the smell of blood from Old Rat’s body with the wind...

Around early noon, Old Rat, dangling from the tree, glimpsed three riders approaching from the distance through the leaves. Within a few heartbeats, he could see clearly—they were three Wolf Riders!

The Barbarians’ mounts were nothing like those of the Human Race.

The Human Race mostly used horses for carrying loads and speed. Horses had stamina, could bear weight, were docile and easy to train, and feed was easy to find, enabling large-scale breeding.

But the Barbarians’ mounts were all sorts of strange creatures, depending on the tribe.

Their largest tribes, like the Cow Race and Elephant Race, were giants, so big it was hard to find suitable mounts—they mostly fought on foot. But the Wolf Race, similar in size to humans, pursued mobility. Their mounts weren’t horses, though; they were wargs.

Wargs were giant wolf-like beasts, canines, shoulder-high as a man standing on half a story, incredibly fast, and much fiercer and more aggressive than horses. On the battlefield, they could attack directly, maim enemies, or take out enemy mounts in a fight.

The only drawback: wargs lacked endurance, could only sprint at top speed for half as long as horses, and unlike horses, they had to eat meat. With such bulk, one could only imagine the meat they devoured daily. Rearing them was a whole other challenge, so even among the Wolf Race, Wolf Cavalry were a rare elite.

Hanging from the tree, Old Rat’s heart pounded. He cursed the three bastards who’d strung him up, but he feared his fate even more. If he ended up in Wolf Race hands, it’d mean real trouble—getting skinned alive was no joke.

Soon, the three Wolf Cavalry arrived at the grove’s edge. After some snarling, snapping words in the wolf tongue, they dismounted, drew their weapons, and under the wargs’ watchful guard, stepped cautiously into the trees.

Soon enough, the three wargs spotted Old Rat hanging in the tree. Howling and circling beneath him, they sniffed constantly, glancing between their masters and the man hanging above, as if asking whether to bite him down.

At a height of three or four meters, it would have been easy for wargs of that size to leap up and grab him.

Old Rat understood that too—his nasal whimpers grew rough and desperate, terrified a warg would jump up and take a chunk out of him—he’d surely lose a leg at least.

The three Wolf Race men cocked their heads, cautiously studied the scene from afar, then, sensing no danger, crept forward, still wary. They hesitated again, shouted a few commands—and the three wargs began ramming the tree.

The trunk was only slightly thicker than a bowl; it couldn’t withstand the wargs’ battering. In no time, they snapped it, and Old Rat crashed to the ground, pain flipping his eyes white. But before he could recover, he went rigid—right beside his head, not a foot away, was a giant, reeking wolf maw, fangs bared, ready to snap his skull like a twig.

At that moment, Old Rat desperately wished the three bastards hidden nearby would hurry and make their move—wait any longer, and he’d be warg chow for sure.

No matter how urgently Old Rat screamed inside, the warg’s jaws closed around him. But instead of biting down, it just held him in its mouth, turned, and brought him to the three Wolf Race men.

The Wolf Race looked more beastly—unlike the Fox Race or Cat Race, there was nothing pleasant about them. Pure savagery.

One Wolf tribesman drew a curved saber, seeming ready to cut the rope binding Old Rat’s mouth.

But in that split second—everything changed!

The silent copse abruptly seemed to "morph," instantly drawing everyone including Old Rat and the three wargs into an Illusion Realm.

Then, three figures seemed to appear out of nowhere from clumps of grass at the edge—blades flashing, and in moments, all three wargs were stabbed from eye to brain, killed instantly. Without pause, the trio lashed out with daggers again and again—not aiming for the kill, but severing hands and leg tendons.

The whole thing took only seven breaths—done in moments.

"Stick a talisman on him—this bastard knows True Qi!"

"All right. Tie them all up! Move out as planned!"

Tan Bin and his team didn’t stop for a second after succeeding—they packed their gear, tied Old Rat to the back of a horse, and the three Wolf Race prisoners, with their hand and leg tendons slit, were tightly bound and heaved onto horses as well.

They already had spare horses. The ones previously owned by three dead slave traders accompanied them, rotated for riding—now, perfect for carrying prisoners.

As for making their trail vanish completely? Not likely—so they’d just make the best of the situation.

They ran all the way from morning till dusk. If the horses hadn’t been ready to drop, Tan Bin and his crew wouldn’t have stopped at all.

"Rest for an hour, then walk north, leading the horses. Fourth Brother, tend to the horses. Fifth—come with me, let’s start the questioning."

"Got it, boss."

Three, Four, and Five—these weren’t just aliases they gave Old Rat; Tan Bin and his companions called each other that too. They were secret agents—best if nobody but their handler knew who they really were.

"Fourth Brother" went to care for the exhausted horses, some foaming at the mouth—unloading them, giving water, letting them graze.

"Fifth Brother" joined Tan Bin. They hauled one Wolf tribesman up, propped him against a tree, and began the interrogation.