The shouts were useless.
The scouts swiftly moved through the waist-high grass, seeing the figure ahead, its head just barely visible, getting closer. The figure suddenly veered to the side and accelerated toward the diagonal front.
"Surround him—cover both sides!" the leader of the group shouted excitedly.
Behind him, several scouts quickly intercepted in the direction the target was running.
The unease and tension grew stronger within the scout leader. The clumsy escape tactics were clearly a trap, meant to lure them in deeper. He stopped in his tracks, scanning the vast expanse of grass ahead, his gaze only catching the figures of his comrades running ahead, weapons raised.
Ahead of them, the darkening woods loomed, casting a sense of inexplicable fear over the scout leader. He swallowed dryly, licking his cracked lips, and took a deep breath, ready to call back the overconfident scouts.
But then, disaster struck.
The small figure being chased, just as it was about to escape into the woods, suddenly tripped, its body flipping in mid-air before it crashed heavily into the grass.
The scout leader's heart clenched as his eyes widened. He crouched low.
The scout running ahead suddenly faltered—no, to be precise, his body kept running at the same speed, but his posture froze. Then came a painful grunt as his body lurched forward, crashing to the ground.
From a distance, the scout leader could almost hear a faint noise.
It was the sound of a sharp dagger piercing through leather.
Thud, thud, thud—
Haka Chak didn't have time to react to the fall or to acknowledge the looks of admiration from the cave people crossbowmen. He gasped for breath, his body shaking with fear, but there was no sign of injury.
He grabbed a helmet handed to him by one of his soldiers and clumsily put it on.
"Block them! Kill them all!" he shouted.
Without waiting for orders, the crossbowmen in several small squads, under the command of their team leader, began attacking. They were somewhat flustered but still managed to issue commands with some order.
"Aim! Wait for the line to form!"
"Stop just aiming at the front ones, what about the others behind? Move!"
"Second squad? Third squad! You too, get into position..."
The dozen or so crossbowmen were split into groups, taking turns to intercept the human scouts charging toward them.
Everything happened so quickly that the humans had no chance to react, and more muffled thuds reached the scout leader's ears…
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud—
In just a few breaths, one scout after another fell to the ground.
Finally, the last scout, the one who had lagged behind the most, took arrows to his face, shoulders, chest, and legs. He screamed in agony, his body contorting unnaturally. He desperately covered his face and stumbled toward the scout leader, his arm outstretched with all his strength, but his cries soon turned hoarse.
The world around him began to blur. His body lost all sensation, only feeling the heat of blood rushing up from his throat. His voice became a silent scream, and with his last strength, he glanced toward the east.
"Mom... Mom..."
The world spun as darkness descended. His body stiffened and collapsed to the ground.
The scout leader could only watch helplessly as everything unfolded. His stomach twisted violently, his body felt like ice.
When the last scout fell, dozens of heads slowly emerged from the grass, their helmets glinting in the fading light.
The scout leader's face went pale.
The figures emerging from the grass were unmistakably cave people, their heads and body types reminding him of something he'd overlooked.
Cave people?
Dozens of cave people, their heads slowly encircling him.
The horses were behind the hill, but the enemies held bows and arrows he had never seen before. There was no chance of escape.
The scout leader knew, in this situation, there was no chance of survival. A lifetime of caution had led him to this moment, only to lose his life to these insignificant cave people.
He sighed bitterly as he slowly rose from the grass, his movements stiff and cold, trembling uncontrollably.
The winter wind howled from the northeast, whipping the dry grass around him with mocking rustles. He could barely catch his breath. The sky was an ugly gray-blue, and he realized with a jolt that he hadn't truly looked at the sky in years, nor had he seen the setting sun until now. He longed for one final glimpse.
He greedily gazed at the sky, his gloved hand gripping his icy sword. His eyes swept over the approaching cave warriors—dozens of them. The earth was descending into shadow, and his death would bring shame to his rank and his clan.
A scout's honor was to die on the battlefield.
But not like this. Not at the hands of these lowly cave people.
They pressed closer. His mind went blank. His steps faltered, and he took a backward step, stumbling, then another, and another.
He collapsed to the ground, the sword slipping from his hand and falling with a thud into the grass. He grabbed it, frantically pushing himself up, his body instinctively trying to flee, but the strength to run was gone. The once fleet-footed man now felt weak, his limbs limp and powerless as death finally closed in.
He fell again. His teeth clenched in silence. His hands gripped the grass roots with desperation, hating himself for his weakness. Just moments ago, he had been prepared to fight to the death. But then the final scout had cried out for his mother before he died, and it broke him completely.
"I don't want to die..." His mind shattered as his head dropped into the grass, and he began to sob uncontrollably.
A hand gently picked up the sword that had fallen in the grass.
The scout leader screamed, sprawled on the ground, having no idea whether the next moment would bring a sword through his back or a blow to his neck. The overwhelming fear and desperation for survival brought forth even more agonizing cries.
Haka Chak, holding the sword, felt its cold blade and the leather-wrapped handle. It was the first time he had obtained such a fine weapon—human-made.
The desperate cries echoed in his ears, and he couldn't help but feel a little teary. Though they were from different races, he understood the fear and struggle before death. The first time he met the Divine Messenger, he had cried in the same way, but in the end, the Divine Messenger spared him. Now, he and his people served the Divine Messenger loyally.
This was divine guidance...
He glanced at the cave people around him.
"Take them away. Let the Divine Messenger decide what to do with them."