The night gradually descended upon the vast land, with the dark sky covered by clouds that obscured the moon. Occasionally, moonlight would break through, only to be swallowed up again by the clouds. Time seemed to blanket the valley, where the cold light of swords and hammers reflected the glow of the campfire.
The bowstrings hummed a melody, while swords and shields beat to a rhythm. Someone softly blew a bone whistle.
A deep voice joined in, and the barbarians began to sing a homesick tune. The red flames danced in the nearby firewood, sparks flying upward as the crackling sounds seemed to echo the song.
Udo's eyes seemed to mist over.
When she met the old blacksmith—no, she preferred calling him the old man—perhaps it was the guidance of the gods. But the memories before that were all a blur. Who could expect a three- or four-year-old girl to remember the past?
Yet, she often dreamed of strange scenes: a high tower in the setting sun, with chanting voices coming from within; children playing barefoot on the grass; black-armored guards marching past, their long spears and giant shields clanking; two towering peaks piercing the sky, between which was an endless canyon of red rocks; flames and smoke darkening the sky, boulders soaring toward the heavens only to plummet back toward the abyss; a forest of masts rising from the sea, many large ships shattered by falling boulders…
Perhaps only the gods remembered where she came from, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that she and the old man could stay together.
He was like a mountain to her.
She couldn't remember how she first met the old blacksmith, only that before coming to the valley, she had sat in a basket, traveling with the old man. When she was hungry, there was roasted meat; when she was thirsty, there was mountain spring water, and sometimes, there was the old man's wine—sometimes barley wine, sometimes fruit wine, sometimes diluted with a lot of water.
They wandered for years, moving through forests and wildlands.
Then they met some strange figures. She didn't know where they came from, but the old blacksmith recognized them.
The first figure at the front looked odd.
To say he was odd was because he looked incredibly muscular, with a huge frame and powerful limbs, standing like a bear. Yet, he had ugly tusks and deep-set eyes, clearly an outsider. His battle armor revealed his role as a scout. In this place, the only foreign scouts they could encounter were from the Forest Alliance's tribal factions.
The man looked like he was in his prime, with chiseled features and strange power emanating from his face. He wasn't a reckless youth but a battle-hardened scout. This figure watched the old man with interest, taking slow steps forward, gently swinging the battle axe in his hand.
"Old man, give me that little one," the scout grinned, not bothering to show any respect for the gray-haired old man.
"Tiger Clan scout?" The old blacksmith asked, but before the scout could reply, he nodded to himself, seemingly confirming the answer. He smiled and lowered the basket on his back. The basket slammed onto the ground with a heavy thud.
The Tiger Clan scout's eyes twitched.
"You guys have a lot of people, let me take a break first." The old blacksmith's hand fumbled in the basket, pulling out a short iron bar, weighing it for a moment before pulling out a blacksmith's hammer. He muttered, "Old buddy, let me borrow you for a while."
"Don't make things difficult!" The Tiger Clan scout's foot kicked up dust as he charged toward the old man. But in an instant, he felt a dangerous presence, like a thorn in his side. With a quick roll and leap, he stopped more than ten meters away.
A few figures rushed forward.
"Hey, mongrel dogs, I said let me take a break first!" The old blacksmith laughed ominously, his gaze turning cold. He seemed to grow taller, as though light was rising around him. His body creaked as he gritted his teeth. "I'm not pleased with this…"
He yelled, "All of you, come over here!"
The Tiger Clan scout was irritated. It was just an old man, but after just one exchange, he had met a hard counter. From the moment he tried to charge to being pushed back, it had only been the blink of an eye. He hadn't even seen the old man's movements clearly—his only response was instinctively to roll away, clearly aware that his opponent hadn't even exerted full strength.
The old man's figure vanished in a flash.
"Watch out!" One of the shadows behind him shouted. The Tiger Clan scout reacted immediately, crouching low and lifting his battle axe in defense. His reaction, posture, and blocking techniques showed solid training.
The trees nearby exploded, thunderous crashes ringing in the air as several massive trees fell, dust billowing. More shadows darted through the forest.
Before the Tiger Clan scout could react, his axe handle shattered, and he looked down at a hole in his chest, blood gushing out.
Two more figures fell, and a furious beastly roar rang through the forest. The Tiger Clan leader had unleashed his advanced form, but the roar of power quickly quieted.
In the same place, the same old man stood.
But now, he was breathing harder, and the iron bar in his hand dripped blood. Across from him, the Tiger Clan leader was standing, his body rapidly transforming, fur growing on his arms, chest, and cheeks. His face became like a panther's, his claws gleaming in the shadows.
"Who the hell are you?" the Tiger Clan leader roared.
"Stop talking nonsense…" The old blacksmith lunged forward again. The iron bar and battle axe clashed, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the air. The Tiger Clan leader countered with his claws, but the old man's figure blurred and disappeared again.
The next moment, a battle axe was thrown to the side as the Tiger Clan leader was struck multiple times in the chest. The old blacksmith's blows were fast, precise, and utterly overwhelming. The Tiger Clan leader could barely react.
Though the Tiger Clan leader was like a rock, the old man was like a battering ram, slamming him repeatedly.
After enduring multiple brutal blows, the Tiger Clan leader's advanced form finally began to fade, and he was forced to protect his face with his arms, but the old blacksmith kept pummeling him.
"Running into me… you're unlucky." The old blacksmith drove the Tiger Clan leader into a tree. The roars and screams turned into desperate cries as the claws shattered on the old man's sturdy arm.
With two more punches, the claws were gone.
"Who are you… really…?" the Tiger Clan leader screamed, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Just a damn scout from the Tiger Clan, dozens of you have died under my hands over the years…" The old blacksmith's anger erupted. His face seemed to transform, exuding a wild aura. His body surged with endless battle intent, and his gray hair flew in the wind.
"I… am the High Mountain Warrior Battalion…"
He gasped, turning his punches into palms, his fingertips extending like an unstoppable sword.
"Vanguard Camp!"
The sword struck.