Chapter 1168: 35: How Can One Say There Are No Clothes? With You as My Companions

Chapter 1168: Chapter 35: How Can One Say There Are No Clothes? With You as My Companions

After the rain cleared, the hunter squad set out once more, having rested for a night.

To procure supplies, Lan Yu led the team through the mountain pass towards the nearest town.

The trail, muddied by the rain, slowed their pace somewhat.

Lan Yu and Old Zhang continued their conversation from last night:

“The Northern Barbarians are just too poor—even if the West Continent is willing to sell them weapons, what could they use to pay? They can barely feed themselves.”

“Exactly, as long as we can stop those barbarians from stealing things, they won’t have the money to trade with the West Continent.”

“I wouldn’t think the Grassland Royal Court would trade with the West Continent either; it’s too far.”

“By land, large shipments would be easily noticed. By sea, how far would the West Continent have to navigate around?”

“Makes sense! So, the most likely to trade with the West Continent are only the Two Desert Countries.”

“Hmm, the Southern Border isn’t our concern.”

“…”

Lan Yu was truly concerned about the possibility of the West Continent selling weapons.

After thinking all night, this was the conclusion he reached.

“When will we be able to produce those guns ourselves?”

Throughout the journey, Lan Yu fantasized about wielding new-style weapons, making a grand slaughter on the battlefield.

Bang!

The sound of something heavy falling interrupted Lan Yu’s fantasy. Turning his head, he saw a soldier carrying an injured comrade stumble into a mud pit.

Teammates quickly rushed over to help them up, but the injured man suddenly stopped breathing.

“Quick, save him!”

“Medicine!”

“What’s happening—”

Despite frantically trying, they were unable to revive the injured comrade.

The man was already severely wounded, and this fall finished him.

“It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault…”

The soldier responsible for carrying him was tearfully guilt-ridden.

Lan Yu walked over to him, eyeing the fierce scar on his face.

By now, everyone in the team was injured, the only difference being the severity.

The tearful soldier’s name was Geng Yong, the youngest in the team, only twenty-one this year.

In yesterday’s jungle battle, Geng Yong was slashed on his face, nearly splitting his mouth open.

While eating last night, he shook with pain, but not a single tear was shed.

Lan Yu hugged Geng Yong: “It’s not your fault; Brother Xu was already too weak to hold on.”

“It’s all my fault…”

Geng Yong was trapped in a swirl of guilt, unable to escape.

He had been saved multiple times by Brother Xu, yet he caused his death.

“Little Geng.”

“It’s all my fault…”

Bang!

Lan Yu suddenly slapped Geng Yong heavily, reopening the wound on his face, fresh blood streaming out.

The slap snapped Geng Yong out of it.

Lan Yu glared at him, like an enraged lion:

“Awake now?!”

Geng Yong silently stood up, wiping away the blood and tears from his face.

“Move on!”

Lan Yu commanded.

They didn’t have time to bury their fallen comrade—Beiman people could appear at any moment in this area.

They needed to procure supplies urgently.

Brother Xu’s body was placed by the roadside as the team trudged through the muddy mountain ravine.

…

“Enemy sighted!”

A scout’s warning suddenly came from ahead.

Lan Yu quickly grabbed two Berting rifles, hurrying forward.

But what awaited ahead was different from the battle he imagined:

Smoke obscured the sunrise. Lan Yu and the others crouched on the hillside, peering below.

In the morning fog drifted the acrid sweetness of scorched flesh, and a village within the mountain hollow was billowing thick black smoke, hver pillar of smoke flickering with orange flame.

The cries of women pierced the mist, mixing with children’s sobs, dragging like a dull knife across every soldier’s eardrums.

“Shit!”

Old Zhang grasped his rifle tightly, his knuckles pale.

They had passed through several villages ransacked by the Northern Barbarians in recent days, with nothing but ruins left.

No living souls, nor corpses.

This was their first time encountering a village in the midst of assault.

Lan Yu’s throat tightened; his vision sharp enough to see beyond the broken fence, where Northern Barbarian Warriors wrapped in fur were dragging a young girl toward the barn, her embroidered shoes leaving a bloody trail in the dirt.

On the threshing ground east of the village lay more than a dozen corpses, the oldest nailed to a millstone by a spear, white hair soaked in a pool of dark red blood.

Several Northern Barbarian Warriors entertained themselves by slashing villagers with scimitars, silver blades gleamed, sending limbs flying onto haystacks…

A rough estimate showed more than two hundred Northern Barbarian Warriors below; some bore tattooed totems marking them as Tuodou Warriors, or Martial Artists, and their numbers were high!

Never mind that the hunter squad had suffered over half casualties already—even with full strength, winning against such a force would be a challenge.

Lan Yu’s breathing gradually became heavy.

“Boss.”

Old Zhang grabbed Lan Yu’s arm tightly, grit his teeth: “This Northern Barbarian troop is peculiar, too many Tuodou Warriors—there might be a big fish among them—we can’t act impulsively. We need to get word back about this military situation!”

He used this reasoning to persuade Lan Yu, as well as himself.

Lan Yu turned to look at Old Zhang, then towards his comrades, the familiar faces he shared day and night with:

Scout Chen Ping’s arrow-scarred left cheek twitched, veteran Old Zhao’s single eye glowed with bloody light, Geng Yong’s still bleeding mouth trembled—not from fear.

Even the slickest medic, Xiao Liu, had bitten through his lip…

They had fought bitterly for days, all carrying injuries, with ammunition running short.