Chapter 58 Interrogation

Abulu glared at him fiercely, biting his teeth in silence.

Zhao Ang, however, rose unhurriedly, his fingers lightly brushing against the scabbard at his waist as he slowly paced over to Abulu.

He leaned down slightly, locking eyes with Abulu. His gaze was as sharp as a piercing winter star, seeming to peel open Abulu’s very heart.

"Abulu, I will only ask you one thing."

Zhao Ang’s voice was low yet carried a chilling edge. "Where are the common people your tribe captured?"

As soon as these words fell, the atmosphere inside the tent instantly grew overwhelmingly oppressive.

Yang Mu stood behind Zhao Ang, his expression darkening slightly. He had long since learned from scouts that the barbarian tribes were not only wreaking havoc on the battlefield but were also abducting civilians everywhere to use as bargaining chips for threats and defense. Yet, no concrete news regarding their whereabouts had ever surfaced. Now that they had captured Abulu, it was the prime opportunity to unearth the truth.

Suddenly, Abulu jerked his head up and let out a low laugh. "Zhao Ang, do you really think I would tell you? You southerners always put on such lofty airs, but your people are nothing more than cheap lives. It is already a blessing enough that they are alive!"

The faint smile on Zhao Ang’s face froze momentarily, and his eyes abruptly grew several degrees colder.

He slowly straightened up, reached out to take the saber handed to him by Yang Mu, and drew it from its scabbard in one fluid motion. A cold, flashing arc of light instantly appeared, the sharp blade reflecting the blood-stained face of Abulu.

"Abulu, I have never been a patient man."

Zhao Ang said it as if it were of no consequence. The blade in his hand slowly drew closer to Abulu’s neck, the biting edge brushing against his skin and bringing a bone-chilling coldness.

"I will ask you one last time: where are the people?"

Abulu threw his head back and laughed, his laughter filled with a defiant arrogance that stared death in the face. "Zhao Ang, do you think I am afraid of death? The men of the barbarian tribes never bow their heads to their enemies! Kill me if you will, but I, Abulu, will not even twitch an eyebrow!"

The moment his voice trailed off, the blade in Zhao Ang’s hand violently spun. The edge swept past, directly shearing off a lock of Abulu’s hair and pressing dangerously close to his earlobe, yet without inflicting the slightest injury.

Zhao Ang smiled coldly and stood upright. "Not afraid of death, are you? Then I refuse to let you die. I will keep you alive to watch your kinsmen die one by one right before your eyes, so you can learn just how many lives your stubborn tongue can destroy."

Abulu’s expression shifted, but he quickly hardened it again, biting his teeth shut and stubbornly refusing to utter a word.

Yang Mu stepped forward and said in a low voice, "My Lord, this Abulu appears to be a tough nut to crack. This subordinate believes that if we resort to torture, he will surely be forced to speak."

Zhao Ang, however, shook his head and casually thrust the saber back into its scabbard.

He glanced back at Yang Mu, a glimmer of deep thought flashing through his eyes. "Torture? Against a man like this, torture is the worst possible strategy. These barbarians worship martial spirit and blood; the greater the pain, the more it stokes their stubborn defiance. But if you truly strip away their hope of survival, that is when the real trouble begins."

Yang Mu frowned. "Then what does My Lord intend to do?"

The corners of Zhao Ang’s lips curled upward, revealing a playful, knowing smile.

He retook his seat, picked up his wine cup, and said leisurely, "Abulu is not a man afraid of death, but he fears loneliness. Uncle Yang, go and bring over a few of his kinsmen. I want to see just how long he can keep that mouth of his shut."

Yang Mu understood instantly and nodded immediately to make the arrangements.

Early the next morning, Abulu was dragged out and forced to his knees in the center of the camp, surrounded by the cold, unyielding gazes of the Black Tiger Army soldiers. Kneeling before him were several captured barbarian soldiers, each with a pale face and eyes filled with terror.

Zhao Ang sat in his chair, holding a steaming bowl of meat soup. He gently blew across the surface before taking a leisurely, contented sip.

"Abulu, tell me: if I kill them one by one, will it be enough to make you speak?" Zhao Ang’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

Abulu’s fists clenched tightly, his glare locked onto Zhao Ang. "Zhao Ang! They are my people! If you have a grievance, take it out on me!"

Zhao Ang raised an eyebrow, set his bowl down, and said lazily, "Take it out on you? Abulu, you must have misunderstood. I have no need to take it out on you. I only need your kinsmen to hate you."

With that, he waved a hand at Yang Mu standing beside him. "Kill one. Give him a start."

Acknowledging the order, Yang Mu drew his long saber and walked straight toward one of the barbarian captives.

The captive turned white with terror, struggling frantically as he screamed, "Great Chieftain, save me! Save me!"

A flash of inner struggle finally crossed Abulu’s eyes. His chest heaved violently, and the stubbornness on his face wavered slightly in that instant.

Watching the shift in his expression, Zhao Ang’s smile deepened. "Abulu, do not think I am merely trying to frighten you. If you do not speak, I will kill, continuing until the killing hurts you enough." As he spoke, his tone abruptly turned glacial, and he barked an order to Yang Mu, "Do it!"

The long saber was raised high, its cold glint reflecting in Abulu’s eyes. His expression finally shattered completely.

"Wait—!" Abulu roared out, squeezing his eyes shut in agonizing despair.

Zhao Ang straightened up, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Finally willing to talk?"

Abulu gritted his teeth, his voice dropping low. "They are... in the Black Rock Valley, a hundred miles from here! That is where our last stronghold is, and the captured civilians are all imprisoned there!"

Hearing this, a chilling glint flashed through Zhao Ang’s eyes. He stood up immediately and said coldly, "Very well. Abulu, you have managed to survive today. However, staying alive may not necessarily be a blessing for you."

With a wave of his hand, he ordered the guards to drag Abulu away, while he slowly turned his gaze toward the northern horizon.

"Uncle Yang, issue the order: the entire army departs immediately. I want Black Rock Valley wiped off the map."

In the northern frontier, the cold wind bit like a knife, and snow fell like a blanket. Under Zhao Ang’s leadership, the Black Tiger Army marched northward through the thick snow. The column advanced swiftly and in silence, save for the muffled crunch of hooves in the snow and the rhythmic, metallic clatter of armor, speaking volumes of the unwavering determination and lethal intent of this iron-blooded force.

Zhao Ang rode his horse wrapped in a heavy black cloak, holding the reins as he stared straight ahead. Beside him rode Yang Mu and Zhang Shan, the two men murmuring in low voices while occasionally scanning the terrain ahead.

Yang Mu edged closer to Zhao Ang and cautioned in a lowered voice, "My Lord, this road leads directly to Black Rock Valley, and the terrain on both sides is steep and treacherous. If the enemy has truly laid an ambush here, it will be extremely disadvantageous for us."

Without turning his head, Zhao Ang merely emitted a soft hum, his tone carrying a trace of nonchalance. "Uncle Yang, of course I understand the logic. But do you really think the barbarians would dare play such petty tricks right in front of me?"

Frowning, Yang Mu persisted, "My Lord, caution is paramount. That fellow Abulu is stubborn to the core; he might well be deliberately leading us into a trap."

Hearing this, Zhao Ang finally turned his head, a playful smile touching the corners of his lips. "Uncle Yang, do you truly believe I would let myself jump into a pit dug by someone else? Rest assured, whether we are the hunters or the prey, it is not the barbarians' turn to decide this time."

Hearing this, Zhang Shan could not help but grin broadly. "My Lord is right! If they dare to ambush us, we will simply counter-ambush them! The brothers of the Black Tiger Army have been waiting for a long time to chop these savages into mincemeat."