Chapter 316: Crossing Borders

Although the goal was to lighten Ling and Feya’s workload, in the end, achieving that goal still required flying with Ling in search of wild bison herds.

At this moment, Wu Qingsong couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret for the undead giant eagle. Ling wouldn’t have to make the trip herself so often if it were still around. But after diverting trouble onto Mesthebes, he hid the creature in a mountain cave to avoid detection. By now, the soul fragment’s energy had surely been depleted, and the eagle was most likely nothing more than a pile of bones.

There were indeed birds around the Ice Sea, but most were common wading birds, far too weak to support a person’s weight.

“Tired?” Wu Qingsong gently stroked Ling’s cheek from behind, then kissed her on the head.

Ling leaned back against him slightly and shook her head.

“You…” Wu Qingsong sighed. “Sometimes, you could be a little more like Liuli.”

“There!” Ling suddenly exclaimed in delight.

This was the most vibrant time of year on the plains. The melting snow had nourished the land, and nearly every patch of earth was bursting with vegetation. Flowers of various colors blossomed in full display, covering the entire landscape like a vast carpet.

A cluster of dark dots scattered across the distant plains, leisurely grazing on the fresh sprouts. As the aircraft swiftly passed overhead, they remained oblivious, contentedly swishing their tails to ward off the mosquitoes that had also survived the harsh winter and were desperately seeking their next meal.

“About sixty heads,” Wu Qingsong quickly counted.

He had only thirty pre-carved ghostwood hearts in his backpack. This herd seemed like a good start.

“You head back first. I’ll guide them back at my own pace,” he said, pushing open the cockpit hatch and turning to Ling.

“Be careful,” Ling reminded him.

Wu Qingsong smiled, swiftly climbing out and sealing the hatch behind him before leaping off the aircraft. Once clear of the plane, he deployed his parachute.

Made of silk, the parachute was expensive. But it was certainly better than plummeting hundreds of meters to his death.

His descent startled the bison herd slightly, but seeing that he was alone, they only ran a short distance before resuming their grazing.

Wu Qingsong gathered his parachute, folding it as compactly as possible and tying it with its cords before slowly approaching the herd.

The peaceful and tranquil scene gave him a moment of hesitation, but he quickly pushed aside such sentiments, which had no place in this world. Activating the soul fragments he had collected, he cast them towards the older, weaker bison and the excess bulls. Half the herd collapsed instantly, while the remaining ones, confused and frightened, bolted north.

Shaking his head, Wu Qingsong drew his knife and approached the nearest fallen bison.

Above him, the aircraft made another pass. He waved at it, and seeing the wings tilt slightly in response, he knew Ling received his signal. The plane then veered toward Nagrand, crossing over the lake.

Since returning from the depths of the underground, Wu Qingsong no longer needed magic circles to reanimate the dead. The only manual step was replacing the hearts, but under the influence of magic, there was no blood splatter.

It took nearly two hours to complete the process for thirty bison. When he finished, the animals stood again—not to graze, but waiting silently for his command. The sight was eerie, but Wu Qingsong had long since grown accustomed to it.

Climbing onto the largest bull, he gave his order.

“Move forward.”

The herd surged into motion. Riding a bison was far rougher than riding the insectoid creatures from before—though faster, the four-legged gait was much less stable than six legs. 

Wu Qingsong soon felt his stomach churn and had to order the herd to slow down.

Estimating that he was about fifty or sixty li from Nagrand, he figured he would make it back before nightfall.

Securing himself to the bull with its long fur, he settled in and dozed off.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the sudden sound of beastmen shouting jolted him awake. Climbing to his feet on the bull’s back, he saw a group of about ten wolfmen firing arrows at the herd. The undead bison, however, remained unfazed. Though their speed slowed slightly, they continued forward as if nothing had happened.

The wolfmen seemed surprised by this. While continuing to shoot, they called out loudly to one another.

Wu Qingsong thought for a moment, then commanded the herd to halt before guiding his mount toward them.

The wolfmen, seeing their arrows had no effect, had drawn their spears and were cautiously approaching a bison now riddled with five or six arrows. Normally, a single well-placed shot would have slowed the animal down, causing it to bleed out over time until it collapsed.

Yet, this bison showed no sign of injury—as if the arrows had missed entirely.

When Wu Qingsong suddenly emerged from within the herd, the wolfmen instinctively retreated.

“Which tribe are you from?” Wu Qingsong called out.

“Who are you?” The werewolves reflexively raised their bows at him, shouting back.

“I am Sidre-Wu of Nagrand,” he declared. “And you?”

The wolfmen exchanged glances and murmured among themselves. While they might not know Wu Qingsong personally, they had heard of Nagrand—and what had happened there.

“We are hunters of the Ogota Clan,” one of them finally replied.

“These bison belong to Nagrand,” Wu Qingsong stated.

Claiming ownership this far from Nagrand was somewhat unreasonable, and the wolfmen visibly bristled at his words. However, as the stronger party, Wu Qingsong saw no reason to yield—nor did he feel the need to explain himself.

“Ogota Clan,” he repeated, nodding. “I’ll remember you. If you wish to trade, come to Nagrand. We have iron tools, salt, leather armor, and wooden crafts. If your people have surplus livestock and furs, you can exchange them for what you need.”

The wolfmen gave no immediate response. Wu Qingsong said nothing further either, simply urging the undead herd forward.

“That bastard is taking over our hunting grounds!” a young wolfman growled in frustration.

The lead hunter, however, remained fixated on the perfectly synchronized movement of the bison—especially the ones that had taken multiple arrows without even slowing down. His brows furrowed deeply.

“Let’s head back,” he said. “We need to report this to the chieftain and elders.”