Chapter 160: The Wandering Horse Herder

At the edge of the Longtail Mountains, an endless boundary of beacon fires separated the Gray Fifteenth District from the Fourteenth.

Further ahead lay the boundless expanse of the desolate wilderness, a barren, freezing land of stark desolation that served as the kingdom of the Horse Tamers—a paradise for uncivilized and savage horsemen.

Across the plains, the rangers of any nation dreaded this terrifying group known as the "Whips of the Demon."

"Uncle, let me take the reins."

Yeh Ran emerged from the carriage, resting his heavy Cleaver rifle across his knees, and looked back to meet Qianlong's gaze.

Maglian handed him a wineskin and laughed, "Kid, you're just afraid your uncle will be scared by those Horse Tamers."

"Thanks," Yeh Ran took the wineskin and nodded noncommittally.

In the distance, bare-chested Horse Tamers could already be seen riding tall steeds, with necklaces of bones hanging around their necks.

Their bodies were smeared with a layer of mud paint; if they sat motionless on horseback, they looked like statues carved from clay.

Maglian chuckled, "Young man, don't underestimate uncles like me. When I was young, I was an exceptional adventurer, and I've dealt with these Horse Tamers long ago."

"We are fortunate; this journey is quite safe. These nomads don't give a damn about anyone—except for the Emissary of God."

The carriage rolled forward, and the Horse Tamers, carrying quivers on their backs and curved sabers at their waists, naturally spotted them. Whipping their mounts fiercely, they galloped over.

Yeh Ran watched the rapidly approaching Horse Tamers with cold eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips, "Their vital energy is not weak."

Maglian said, "The fighting style of the Horse Tamers is similar to that of the Palace of Warriors—their physical strength is formidable, and their vital energy is strong. In single combat, they might not necessarily match those warriors, but when the number of Horse Tamers exceeds a hundred, their combat power undergoes a qualitative change. Long ago, the Horse Tamers were called the 'Bone-Swallowing Tribe.' Among the Romans, who had already been driven into the white zone, a saying circulated back then: 'When the Bone-Swallowing tribe falls short of ten thousand, they are invincible once they reach ten thousand.'"

"Back then, eight thousand Bone-True Mountain Wild Cavalry could trounce Rome and Polan. Now, under the leadership of Attila, the 'True Lord of Demons,' the Horse Tamers number over one hundred thousand and have long since entered the ranks of the Seven Great Kingdoms, even though they don't even have a dynastic title."

"The 'True Lord of Demons'..."

It sounded quite intimidating, but Yeh Ran, having read little, had never heard the name before.

Maglian shook his head and said, "Trust me, no one wants to deal with that fellow."

Taking a sip of wine, Maglian looked toward the distant tents, his gaze turning ethereal.

The thunderous sound of hooves echoed as two Horse Tamers galloped over. Earning their living through perpetual pillaging, these Horse Tamers seemed to think that plundering such a carriage required no effort at all. When they were still a hundred paces away, the Horse Muter on the left, wearing a bone mask, drew his bow and loosed an arrow.

He aimed with great precision; the crude, fine-iron shaft struck right between Yeh Ran and Maglian, grazing both of their cheeks.

Yet such speed did not astonish Yeh Ran. Before the long arrow could hit the carriage, he reached out, caught it in his hand, snapped the shaft effortlessly, and tossed it to the ground. Twirling the Cleaver rifle in his hand, he stepped down from the carriage.

"Sharly, I'll go meet them first."

"You only get two minutes."

"That's enough."

Dragging his heavy rifle, Yeh Ran strode toward the Horse Tamers.

The two Horse Tamers exchanged glances, their faces bearing the grins of cats toying with mice.

One of them wore a bone mask, while the other's face was crisscrossed with scars; both possessed rugged muscles and were daubed in mud paint.

To Horse Tamers who hunted year-round, nothing excited them more than encountering a struggling prey.

However, Yeh Ran's next action infuriated them. He stopped after taking ten steps, beckoned to the two Horse Tamers, and thrust his heavy rifle upright into the ground.

The scarred Horse Muter twisted his face into a grimace, let out a battle cry of "Ural!", drew the curved saber at his waist, and charged on horseback.

In the language of the Horse Tamers, "Ural" meant kill.

He intended to personally carve up this fellow who dared to disdain him. The bone-masked Horse Muter shouted and yelled a few warnings at him, as if cautioning him about something, but rage had already robbed the young Horse Muter of his reason.

Warhorses roared, hunters howled, and a cold flash swept down as the Horse Muter's curved saber descended.

It was a savage yet skillful slash. The Horse Tamers cared nothing for intricate sword forms or techniques; all they used was a desperate saber art forged in bloody warfare.

In battles of life and death, such a swift strike often separated the living from the dead.

Yet this life-or-death battle proved to be an exception. The moment the scarred Horse Muter's blade fell, his entire body stiffened.

Yeh Ran pressed one hand upon the horse's head while grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the saber. Both the savage man and the savage beast were rendered utterly immobile by his sheer strength.

Under the suppression of his power, the steed neighed, dropped to its front knees, and ceased struggling. Enraged, the Horse Muter released his grip with his right hand, snatched the dagger with his left, and executed a nimble weapon switch followed by a ferocious stab toward Yeh Ran's abdomen.

Yet what rang out was not the sound of a blade piercing flesh, but the snap of a broken wrist.

Yeh Ran had struck first though moving second, snapping the left hand that held the dagger. The Horse Muter possessed brute strength, but compared to Yeh Ran's monstrous power, he fell short by a considerable margin.

"Ural!"

The bone-masked Horse Muter no longer stood by as a spectator; he drew a massive arrow from his back and nocked it onto his bow. That iron arrow, fully a meter long, was incomparable to the light arrows of pit-hunters or the elven folk; this kind of arrow was enough to pierce a bear.

Yeh Ran sneered, kicked over the Horse Muter who was still struggling fiercely in futed defiance, and grabbed the man's arm and neck to use him as a human shield.

The bone-masked Horse Muter hesitated for just a split second before a cruel, murderous intent flashed in his eyes, and he readied the arrow in his hand to loose it.

"Alright, two minutes are up."

At that moment, Sharly stepped down from the rear carriage. Smoothing her lapels, she drew the token of the Emissary of the Heavenly Origin from her bosom.

The bone-masked Horse Muter first glanced suspiciously at the token, but then the killing intent returned to his eyes. With a release of his fingers, the long arrow shot forward, showing utter disregard for the life of his companion.

Sharly could not help but knit her brows. Back then, the Emissary of the Heavenly Origin had saved the lives of one hundred and thirty-three Horse Tamers, and Attila himself had issued a strict decree that the Horse Tamers must never make things difficult for anyone bearing the Emissary's token. Why would this man dare to knowingly violate it?

She knew full well that no Horse Muter had ever dared to disobey Attila's commands.

Yeh Ran also frowned, letting the iron arrow sink into the hostage's chest. Then, he heard a much louder shout of "Ural"—all the Horse Tamers near the tents looked as though they were facing a formidable enemy.

A scorching wave of fire appeared across the wilderness, and the bone-masked Horse Muter turned back in sudden alarm.

A pitch-black steed emerged slowly from the edge of the wasteland, its four hooves trampling blazing flames, leaving a trail of churning smoke in its wake. Atop the horse, a knight was encased entirely in black armor, holding a black cavalry lance like a grim reaper claiming lives. The redemption mask upon his face gleamed brilliantly amidst the fire.