Bazlow was dead.
As this chilling news pierced through the clamor of the Frost Howl camp and reached the command post in the rear, his and his most elite soldiers' bodies still lay in the twisted postures of their dying moments within that fatal pit on East Branch Road, their residual warmth not yet fully dissipated.
It was not a battle, but a meticulously planned, ruthlessly efficient massacre.
From the first falling rock to the last dying wail, only half an hour elapsed.
The Frost Howl Clan's Vice Commander, Bazlow, known as "The Trampler" for his countless breakthroughs of enemy lines in a hundred battles, finally collapsed and died on the very offensive path he was most proud of, without any dignity.
Greed and contempt collided with cold calculation—this was the root cause of their descent into despair.
Gulen's troops, after that brief and bloody ambush, deliberately exposed a "flaw."
A seemingly routed team of about thirty to forty people.
Their formation was scattered, their steps faltering, and the painful groans of the wounded were clearly audible in the night wind, as they were dragged by their comrades, desperately fleeing through the last relatively open forest clearing on East Branch Road, trying to escape deeper.
Further on was the daunting "One-Line Sky":
A narrow, winding path only wide enough for two or three people to walk abreast, flanked by steep, almost vertical gray-white cliffs where even moonlight struggled to penetrate.
When the scout reported back, his voice carried an incredible excitement: "They're right ahead! Like a bunch of terrified rabbits, only caring about running for their lives, they didn't even leave basic sentries! They didn't realize we were right behind them!"
This bait was too crude.
So crude that any experienced veteran would be full of doubts: how could a force capable of setting an ambush in Gray Tooth Valley retreat so chaotically? Not even leaving rear scouts?
It was practically screaming "trap."
A hint of doubt initially flickered across Bazlow's weathered and battle-scarred face.
His cloudy old eyes fixed on the scout, his voice hoarse: "Are you sure? No signs of an ambush? Did you clearly check both cliff tops?"
"My Lord, absolutely! The forest is silent, the cliffs are bare, not even a bird!" the scout swore.
Perhaps it was the "Trampler's" reputation that could not be challenged, and he desperately needed a victory to boost the morale that had been low due to the vanguard's setback;
Perhaps it was the deep-seated contempt for the newly emerging tribe, Italk, at play—how much foundation could a parvenu tribe, gathered under the protection of an unknown evil god, possibly have?
Abandoning the wounded on the battlefield, in his view, wasn't that precisely the most likely choice for such a tribe?
Ultimately, that bit of doubt was overwhelmed by the desire for merit and contempt for the enemy.
Bazlow's cracked lips issued the command, with a desperate ruthlessness: "Pursue! Kill them! Don't let these stray dogs escape into their rat hole! Wash away our shame with their blood!"
With the order given, the Frost Howl army moved.
Heavy footsteps replaced the previous stealth, and the mountain wind rustled the battle flags emblazoned with Mammoth tusks, making a fluttering sound.
This elite force, famous for its assault and penetration of formations, now resembled an enraged steel torrent, pressing down with the might to crush everything, towards the "routed soldiers" and the narrow entrance of the "One-Line Sky."
Bloodthirsty glints shone in the soldiers' eyes, as if they already saw the enemy being cornered and slaughtered.
Just as the vanguard's spearhead almost touched the tail of the "routed soldiers"—
"Whoosh—Boom!"
A dazzling golden flame suddenly shot up from the center of that "desperately fleeing" group!
Like the single eye of a demon opening, it tore through the dark night sky, illuminating the entire valley entrance as if it were day!
[Tracer Round]!
This signal was death's invitation.
Immediately after, a deep, heart-pounding rumble came from deep within the earth!
It was not an explosion, but the destructive groan of the mountain's bones being forcibly broken!
No dazzling magic, no sacred prayers, no ignited fireballs.
Only pure, primal, and immense natural power unleashed mercilessly!
The seemingly solid gray-white cliff above, with a teeth-grinding sound of rocks cracking, collapsed with a roar, like a giant beast whose spine had been pulled out!
These were not scattered falling rocks, but entire sections and segments of the mountain collapsing!
The key rock strata structures, previously cleverly damaged and wedged with logs and boulders, were completely activated the moment the signal was given.
Huge rocks, torrents of mud and broken wood, and lamp oil pre-poured on the cliff top, now ignited...
All deadly things, mixed with scorching hot air, formed a destructive mudslide and fire rain, pouring down from the nearly hundred-meter-high cliff top, overwhelming the narrow valley path below!
Bazlow, charging at the very front, didn't even have time to shout out the word "retreat" from his throat.
His vision was instantly enveloped by a massive shadow—a huge, jagged boulder, half a man's height, struck his chest with immense force and pinpoint accuracy!
His fine steel breastplate, a symbol of honor, was like paper in the face of absolute power, instantly denting and shattering!
The veteran general's burly body, like a broken scarecrow discarded by a child, flew several meters through the air, crashing through several trees in the rear before stopping, the sound of bones cracking chilling to the bone, and was then completely swallowed by the surging earth and rocks.
The Frost Howl soldiers in the rear, after the initial dead silence, erupted in screams of terror.
Survival instinct drove them to turn and run, but the narrow valley path had already become an insurmountable death cage!
Even more despairing, several massive shadows, accompanied by piercing dragon roars, suddenly swept low from behind—Italk's Proto-Dragons!
They did not dive to attack, but merely used their massive bodies and the stirred airflow to seal off the last remaining gap in the valley entrance, trapping the remaining soldiers in this desperate situation!
Want to charge forward? Collapsing earth and rocks and raging flames blocked the way, and shadowy figures on the cliffs hinted at countless archers harvesting lives.
Want to retreat? The retreat path was sealed by dragon shadows and falling rocks.
Resist on the spot? Above them was an unending rain of death!
This was not an encounter battle at all, much less an ambush.
This was the ultimate application of terrain, human nature, and engineering skill; it was a precise massacre calculated down to the last detail.
When this symphony of rock, fire, and death reached its fifth minute;
When the screams of their comrades grew increasingly sparse;
When the air was thick with the heavy smell of blood and burnt flesh;
Every Frost Howl soldier who still retained consciousness was left with only one chilling realization:
This was a pre-prepared, fiery gate to hell for them.
East Branch Road was never a weak point to be breached.
From the very beginning, it was a boiling, man-eating—Dragon's Mouth!
------------------------
I've posted 70+ chapters in advance on Patreon.
Webnovel updates will still be daily, as usual.
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
[email protected]/TripleCrown
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"