The war horns did not merely blow; they assaulted the atmosphere.
It was a low, mournful resonance produced by the rank 1 Thunder Rhino Horn, a sound that vibrated against the ice walls of the valley and rattled the teeth of every living soul within a mile. It was a frequency designed to bypass the ears and strike directly at the soul a command that overrode the instinct for self-preservation with the singular, chemical urge for violence.
From my vantage point on the high ridge, shrouded by the grey mist of the ravine entrance, I looked down.
The main engagement had begun.
It was exactly as I had understood during the planning councils—a slaughter of industrial proportions.
"Charge!"
The cry went up from ten thousand throats. The mortal army of the Ju Tribe surged forward across the open expanse of the frozen river. From this height, they didn't look like men. They looked like a chaotic, dark fluid spilling across a pristine blue canvas. They were screaming, a collective roar of terror and manufactured rage, their breath venting into the freezing air to form a massive, rolling fog of desperation.
They wore mismatched leather armor hardened with animal fat. They carried spears tipped with bone or cheap iron. They ran with the frantic, stumbling gait of men who knew that stopping meant death, either by the enemy's hand or by the executioners waiting in their own rear guard.
Across the valley, the Hei Tribe defenders watched them come.
They stood atop the fortified ridges of the bottleneck, a line of black and blue uniforms that stood out starkly against the black rock. They were calm. They were disciplined. They were Gu Masters.
A Hei Tribe elder raised his hand. He didn't shout. He simply dropped his fingers.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
The sound was like a thousand heavy canvasses ripping at once.
The first volley was released. It wasn't arrows. It was a curtain of Rank 1 Ice Spike Gu.
These were expendable, single-use Gu worms. When activated with a pulse of primeval essence, they transformed instantly from a dormant grub into a jagged, spinning icicle as long as a man's forearm. They accelerated through the air, catching the tailwind of the canyon, screaming as they descended.
There was no strategy to the bombardment. There was no need for aiming. It was simply a deluge of sharp, frozen death saturating a target-rich environment.
Thud. Crack. Squish.
The front lines of the Ju mortal army didn't fall; they evaporated.
I saw a man running with a wooden shield take an ice spike through the chest. The force of the impact lifted him off his feet and pinned him to the frozen river behind him. Before his body could slide down, two more spikes struck him.
I saw heads explode like ripe melons. I saw limbs sheared off by the spinning, serrated edges of the magical ice.
The blue ice of the river vanished, covered instantly by a carpet of broken bodies. The heat of ten thousand gallons of spilled blood began to work against the permafrost. Steam rose up, smelling of copper and bowels. The ice surface melted, creating slick, red pools of slush.
The soldiers behind the front line slipped on the gore of their comrades. They fell into the red slush, only to be trampled by the wave of men behind them or pinned to the ground by the second volley.
"Wasteful," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper against the gale.
I watched the carnage with the cold, clinical detachment of a surgeon observing an incision. There was no pity in my eyes, only calculation.the large amount of blood was the greatest blood path materials at hand but I had no refinement recipe to use them on .I promised myself I'd be ready next time.
"But effective."
Across the valley, I could see the subtle glow of auras fading among the Hei Tribe defenders.
Every Ice Spike Gu required primeval essence to activate. Every defensive Ice Wall raised to block a stray arrow consumed energy. The Hei Tribe Gu Masters were expending their apertures' reserves at a terrifying rate to maintain that impenetrable barrage.
A Rank 1 Gu Master has limited essence. Once it is gone, they are no better than a mortal.
My father's strategy was working. It was a brutal, Darwinian exchange rate: trading the cheap, renewable resource of human life for the expensive, slow-recovering resource of enemy primival essence. He was clogging their meat grinder with so much gristle that the gears would eventually jam.
"The patient is bleeding," I analyzed, watching the red river expand. "But the fever is breaking." It was a inspiration in itself.
The Hei Tribe was focused entirely on the frontal assault. Their scouts were watching the crushing mass of humanity. Their commanders were screaming for more essence stones to replenish their troops. Their attention was fixed on the blood.
"Now," I signaled mentally.
I turned my back on the slaughter.
"While the eyes of the world are fixed on the spectacle... we move."
I reached into my aperture and poured my Red Steel essence into the Rank 2 Battle Disk Gu.
Hummmm.
The bronze plate hovered invisibly in my chest. In my mind's eye, a spectral, topographical map unfolded. It was wire-frame and glowing with data. The complex terrain of the ravine appeared in jagged lines of white light.
Twelve hundred green dots appeared on the map—my wolves.
"Right Flank. Ravine Sector. Silence Protocol."
I pushed the command through the link of my 30-man Soul.
It felt like pressing a heavy, wet blanket over the minds of the beasts. The natural instincts of the wolves—to howl at the smell of blood, to growl at the tension in the air, to fight for dominance within the pack—were suffocated.
My soul acted as their collective nervous system, overriding their biology with my will.
"Forward."
I nudged my Steel-Back Wolf King. Its metallic fur clinked softly like chainmail as it stepped into the shadow of the ravine.
Behind me, the pack followed.
We slipped into the narrow cut in the rock that ran parallel to the main battlefield. The walls of the ravine were high and sheer, blocking out the pale sun and the sight of the dying army. The ground here was treacherous—loose shale hidden beneath deceptive layers of snow, deep crevasses that could swallow a horse whole.
But for wolves, this was a highway.
The Lightning Frenzy Wolves moved with twitchy, suppressed energy, their paws placing delicately on the rocks to avoid dislodging stones.
The Wind Wolves padded silently, their bodies aerodynamic, cutting through the canyon drafts without a sound.
The Steel-Backs formed a heavy, grinding column in the center, their weight settling the loose earth.
We moved like a liquid shadow, flowing uphill.
To my left, Yue Yin rode her Night Wolf. In the shadows of the ravine, she was practically invisible. Even with my Unlucky Gambling Eye, I had to focus to see the outline of her form.
"The noise outside covers our movement," she whispered, her voice projected directly to my ear. "But if we are spotted by a patrol, the alarm will be raised instantly."
"There are no patrols," I replied, my eyes fixed on the Battle Disk projection. "The Hei Tribe is arrogant. They believe this terrain is impassable. And they are too busy killing my clansmen to look at the shadows."
I looked up at the strip of grey sky visible between the canyon walls. Black smoke was beginning to rise from the main battlefield—the burning oil used by the Ju Tribe's siege engines.
The screams of the dying faded into a dull roar behind us, muffled by the rock.
We were no longer part of the war. We were the infection bypassing the immune system, heading straight for the vital organs.
"Keep the pace," I ordered the pack. "We have an appointment with their commander."