Chapter 326: The Envoy of Peace

After an unexpected great battle, everyone felt utterly exhausted in both body and mind. It was also a heavy blow, reminding them that the reason the beastman tribes on the northern wastelands have survived to this day was not merely because the elves disliked venturing into such a harsh climate, but also because these tribes were not opponents to be easily manipulated.

Perhaps under the elves’ relentless slaughter year after year, there were fewer and fewer beastmen of extraordinary power. Yet on this land where beastmen still enjoyed a measure of freedom, the likelihood of encountering magical beastfolk and extraordinary beings remained far higher than on lands under the Elf Empire’s rule.

At the very least, the shaman they had just killed could contend simultaneously with both Nina and Xeila after they awakened their potential. His strength was comparable to a mage.

However, what truly disturbed Wu Qingsong was the shaman’s technique to empower the beastman warriors. It was almost identical to the Flame Demon Lord’s method on the beetlemen warriors—only it seemed to possess some glaring flaws. This discovery left Wu Qingsong desperate to extract information about that ability by turning the shaman into an undead and prying the full details from him.

As soon as he returned to Nagrand, he immediately took out a newly acquired soul stone, preparing to transform the shaman into a lich. Yet the mental energy contained within the shaman’s frail, broken body was far more formidable than Wu Qingsong expected. Even though he was already dead and decapitated, leaving only fragments of his soul behind. That residual power still held strong, making it hard for Wu Qingsong to break it.

He spent several hours whittling it down. By then, dawn arrived, and Wu Qingsong had no choice but to set this matter aside and refocus on the battles in the east.

After a few hours of rest, the beastfolk girls were somewhat rejuvenated, largely thanks to Nina and Alice’s efforts. The airship sailed into the morning sun toward last night’s battleground, while Wu Qingsong once again directed the herds of bison and moose out from their hiding place and drove them toward that same area.

The enemy camp was still in disarray. A few hours was hardly enough time for them to do much of anything. Their one stroke of luck was that, thanks to Master Boulder’s intervention, Xeila had not actually killed the two clan chiefs; and in the ensuing battle, though many valiant leaders died, the two major clans’ foundations remained intact.

Nevertheless, Master Boulder’s death still shook them profoundly. That unassuming old badgerman had been considered the mightiest individual in the wastelands near the Ice Sea. Though he did not belong to any particular clan, he enjoyed great status among them all.

He had been the main initiator and most forceful proponent of the alliance of seven clans to attack Nagrand. Now he was dead—slain before the eyes of many beastmen—and this was undoubtedly a severe blow to an alliance already on the verge of collapse.

“It’s time to withdraw,” said Grove the foxman once again.

The Bloodmoss Clan dragged its feet and failed to merge forces at the appointed time. But after hearing of how the two vanguard clans had been ambushed and how Master Boulder had fallen, Grove promptly hurried over with a small contingent.

“While we still have the chance,” he continued.

“A chance?!” The beastmen, caught in their grief at defeat, began to roar. “If not for you…”

“Even if the Bloodmoss Clan joined, would it really have changed the outcome?” Grove replied. “Not even Master Boulder could defeat them. Besides retreat, what other option do we have? Shall we truly sacrifice our entire race here?”

“Coward!”

Grove sighed. “Continuing forward now means dying in vain. What’s the point of that? Our ancestors fled from the south to settle here. Were they cowards, too? If they had chosen heroic martyrdom against the elves, would we even exist today?”

“Lies! You’re spouting lies!”

“Believe what you like.” Grove shrugged. “My scouts have confirmed that the Broken Horn Clan has withdrawn from their assault on Nagrand. With that, Master Boulder’s plan is a total failure, and those people in Nagrand have all the time and energy to focus on us. As the chieftain of the Bloodmoss Clan, I can’t let our warriors die for nothing when we have no chance of victory. Regardless of what you decide, the Bloodmoss Clan will retreat at once.”

A bearman warrior roared and lunged at him, but Grove deftly evaded.

“Is the Bares Clan planning to declare war on the Bloodmoss Clan?” Grove shouted.

“You’ll be cursed by the ancestors!” a wolfman snarled. “Grove, you’ve lost all honor. The ancestral spirits will never welcome you into their eternal paradise. After you die, your soul will wander these lands forever, never finding peace.”

His words made Grove’s face darken, but Grove merely nodded in silence and walked toward the tent’s entrance.

Just then, a figure came rushing in so frantically he nearly collided with Grove.

“The Evil God’s followers are here again!” he shouted.

All the clan chiefs and elders wore grim expressions.

It was easy to sit around and berate others from within the tent. But truly facing death—to die heroically and appease the ancestors—was not so simple. Poorer beastmen and lower-ranking warriors might genuinely believe that dying in battle would grant them their ancestors’ favor and a wonderful life in paradise. Yet the higher one climbed in the beastman hierarchy, the weaker that belief became. They might talk about it all the time and use it to spur their warriors, but they spent their days with shamans and knew better than most what those shamans were really like.

Perhaps an ancestral paradise did once exist. But now that the elves had seized nearly the entire world, did that paradise still remain? 

If the ancestors truly existed, how could they have lost their protection, banished to this desolate land to eke out a miserable survival?

Each clan and each clan’s ancestral spirit were different. Every shaman’s depiction of paradise differed too. Limited by their own imaginations, all they could ever offer were visions of fine wives and good food, a life of comfort. But to grand chieftains, how enticing was that really?

“Grove!” The plump bearman chieftain finally called out in a loud voice to the foxman, who had almost left the tent.

“You are right. If fortune turns against us, a temporary retreat, preserving our strength, and seeking vengeance later is indeed in keeping with our ancestors’ wisdom,” he said loudly. “You, being the most cunning among the beastmen, shall go negotiate with those Evil God’s followers, fool them into trusting us and buy time for our revenge.”

Grove sneered, but a group of bearmen warriors barred his path.

“You think we can’t handle them, so do you think we can’t handle the Bloodmoss Clan either?” the chieftain said in a low voice. “Grove, you’re smarter than any of us. This task falls to you. I’ll send my youngest son with you to ensure your safety.”