Chapter 321: Two Choices

“Are we just going to retreat like this?”

“But we really have no reason to fight them.”

“They are followers of the evil god!”

“Who knows? Maybe in the eyes of those wolves, we are also followers of the evil god!”

“You cowards! You’re all scared out of your wits!”

“Cowards?! If it were to defend our homeland, I would be the first to die in battle. But this situation is completely different. Why should we fight for the bearfolk and wolffolk?”

The tauren argued fiercely in the tent, making it impossible for Vaughn to think clearly. He merely stared at the bundle before him, as if it contained some kind of terrifying monster.

“This is all their trick,” an elder said to Vaughn. “They want to shake our resolve, which proves they lack sufficient strength. If they could easily eliminate us, would they even bother talking to us this way?”

In the wastelands, equal negotiations only occurred between tribes of equal strength. The strong had only one language for the weak—slaughter. And the weak had only two choices when facing the strong—submission or death.

This principle applied not just to the wastelands, but to the entire world.

“They don’t even need to deploy their own forces. Just driving those corrupted beasts alone is enough to inflict heavy casualties upon us.” 

A warrior who had accompanied Vaughn to the negotiations during the day spoke up, having witnessed those undead creatures up close.

However, the eerie way they moved was unsettling. They were utterly silent, except for the sound of their footsteps. At one moment, they stood in complete stillness. The next, they launched into a frenzied charge—only to return to total immobility in perfect unison.

It was enough to inspire fear.

“They’re just animals,” the elder scoffed.

“We would have to sacrifice hundreds, maybe thousands, just to kill those beasts!” the warrior shouted. “What meaning is there in dying against such creatures? They haven’t even sent their true warriors. Even if we fought desperately and wiped them out, what then? We charge into Nagrand for what? To fight for the spirits of the bears, wolves, and badgers?”

“We fight for ourselves!”

“Who knows if that’s true?” the warrior countered loudly. “Everything we know comes from the bears, wolves, foxes, and badgers. Our own ancestors of the Broken Horn Clan have not given us any warning. Are we truly fighting for our own ancestors?”

“If the bears, wolves, foxes, and badgers fall, do you think we tauren will be spared?” the elder shouted to the surrounding tribe members. “This has happened before! Do not forget. When the elves defeated us, they used the same tactics, driving us step by step from the fertile lands to this desolate place.”

The crowd fell silent. The warrior had no rebuttal, but he still refused to involve himself in this war, shaking his head continuously.

“If they truly destroy those three clans, then this may be our last chance to defeat them and drive them from our land,” the elder continued.

If they truly destroyed those three clans…

Vaughn finally reached out and unwrapped the bundle. What he saw inside, however, was completely different from what he had imagined. It was neither a display of military trophies nor treasures meant to bribe them. Instead, it contained a small pouch and several freshly harvested plants, tied into two separate bundles with twine.

“This is… salt?” 

A warrior opened the small pouch.

Another warrior picked up one of the plant bundles.

“This is swordgrass? No, wait, swordgrass seeds aren’t this big.” He looked curiously at the plant, which Wu Qingsong had named Icefield Rice. 

This plant was one of the tauren’ food sources, though it primarily grew in the shallow waters along the icefield coasts and wasn’t their staple crop.

However, the other plant shocked all the tauren present.

This plant, which Wu Qingsong had named Golden Clover but was known among the tauren as Dragon Root Grass, was an extremely resilient and drought-resistant species, found almost everywhere in the wastelands. Its extensive root system could draw water from deep underground, allowing it to thrive even in the barren plains. In winter, its aboveground parts withered, but the roots continued growing, and in the following spring, it quickly sprouted fresh leaves and flowers, completing its reproductive cycle within a few short months.

For the tauren, Dragon Root Grass was one of their most vital food sources. Its sprouts, flowers, stems, and leaves were all edible. In the harsh winter, its juicy, starch-rich roots became their most important sustenance. Five Dragon Root Grass roots were enough to provide a full meal for a minotaur, and the remaining roots could continue growing in the next year, ensuring a renewable food supply.

Yet the Dragon Root Grass before them was completely different from what they knew. It was almost three times the size of the usual variety, with a root so thick it seemed unnatural.

“What is this?” 

An elder carefully tore off a leaf and placed it in his mouth before breaking off a piece of the root.

It was indeed Dragon Root Grass—but how had it grown to such a size?

This was, of course, thanks to Feya’s efforts. Wu Qingsong had hoped to cultivate a hardy, delicious, and cold-resistant perennial herb, similar to the domestication of carrots. However, the rapid growth of its root system required vast amounts of soil, making its cultivation far more challenging than Icefield Rice. More importantly, they had no way of knowing whether this new variant could survive the winter. As a result, Feya had only cultivated a few seeds, scattering them in unclaimed land, leaving them to grow naturally. The plan was to harvest the stems and leaves for fodder before autumn and observe whether the plants would sprout anew in the spring.

Although they were left to grow on their own, Wu Qingsong had ordered the ratfolk to sprinkle wood ash as fertilizer and occasionally extend irrigation channels to water them. After a few months of this semi-wild, semi-cultivated state, they had grown significantly larger than their wild counterparts—to the point that they no longer resembled Dragon Root Grass.

During interrogations of captured Skude Clan members, Wu Qingsong had learned about the Broken Horn Clan and discovered that Dragon Root Grass was their staple food. Thus, he had people select the largest specimens, digging them up whole with roots and leaves intact, bundling them together as an offering for negotiation.

Any tauren with a functional mind should be able to understand the significance of these gifts.

In cold climates, natural sources of salt were rare, and the few existing salt springs were precious resources. At trading posts allowed by the elves, salt was always the most expensive commodity.

The elves had long exploited this, extracting wealth from the northern beastmen in exchange for salt. But the salt Wu Qingsong brought from the south was produced by evaporating seawater, making its cost almost negligible. Every time Ling traveled south, she could bring back a full load on an airship at virtually no expense, allowing them to sell it at a fraction of the market price.

And the significance of Icefield Rice and Golden Clover was even more self-evident.

Wu Qingsong wanted to convey a message: With Nagrand’s help, this land could support more beastmen, allowing them to lead better lives.

On one side lay total destruction; on the other, a better future. He hoped these taurens would make the right choice.