Chapter 18: Wu Yong’s Courage

Like a sudden clap of thunder on a clear day, everyone heard Wu Yong’s voice.

It now seemed the cause of this large-scale beast assault on the city was clear. Wu Yong had killed two cubs of the high-grade Lion-Tiger Beasts. No wonder the beasts had mobilized en masse to attack the Desolate City.

“Come on! I found the other cub you were hiding. If you can’t kill me, then it will die instead! Hahaha…” Wu Yong continued to provoke them, fanning the flames of their hatred to the utmost.

Roaring in fury, the Lion-Tiger Beasts’ bellows were filled with boundless rage and murderous intent.

With a single command, all the attacking beasts turned and thundered toward Wu Yong.

Whether human or beast, most possess a deep, instinctive protectiveness for their offspring; exceptions are rare. High-grade beasts had intelligence not inferior to humans. They recognized that the despicable man behind them was deliberately provoking them, tempting them to abandon the siege.

He had already slain one cub, and the other was hidden well—he ought not to have found it. But they dared not gamble; if they lost, they might never have a third cub in this lifetime. The siege was but vengeance for their dead young, but the true culprit was Wu Yong. Now that he had revealed himself and dared to taunt them, they had to capture him and avenge their offspring.

The humans would remain—they could be slaughtered at any time.

Thus, the remaining several hundred beasts charged after Wu Yong and left the field.

In the darkness, only Wang Fu could make out Wu Yong’s figure. Not even Yang Tian could see him. Still, it was easy to imagine: a solitary shadow, so small before the mass of beasts.

To be hunted by such a pack—what a miserable fate. Wu Yong could only rely on his own luck. He truly was reckless—after killing two high-grade Lion-Tiger Beast cubs, he was still alive and kicking. That took no small skill.

At least he was responsible enough to risk his life to help—a display of courage. Even if, truthfully, today’s beast siege was his doing.

Once the beasts departed, all the soldiers’ tension melted away. Unable to support themselves any longer, they collapsed to the ground. The feeling of surviving disaster was intense. They grieved deeply for their fallen comrades, and rejoiced to have survived another day.

“Get up, all of you! Hang on a little longer. Don’t you want to eat their flesh, drink their blood, and avenge the dead? Haul all the beasts into the city—not a single one must be left behind!” Yang He shouted. Now was no time for rest.

This was an overwhelming victory.

There is no war without casualties; so long as the result is good, their deaths have meaning.

According to the records, there had not been such a victory in over a decade. Out of twelve hundred beasts, nearly half their corpses remained. Not only had the enemy suffered their greatest losses, but the defenders had lost the fewest men ever.

It was, of course, the City Lord’s achievement—he alone slew over four hundred beasts, turning the tide and averting the city’s destruction. Coupled with Wu Yong’s bravery in luring away the remaining beasts, victory was theirs.

Five hundred beast carcasses—such a vast wealth could not be wasted in Desolate City. In case the beasts returned, they had to be brought in quickly.

The soldiers, though exhausted, were elated. Gritting their teeth, they drove away their fatigue, mustering their will to haul the carcasses into the city with high spirits. They searched thoroughly, not even sparing a broken claw.

It took two hours, but in the end, even the bodies of the fallen soldiers were recovered.

“City Lord, the tally is in—we have collected five hundred and thirty-two beasts,” Yang He reported.

Yang Tian nodded, his concern more for his men’s casualties. “How did the soldiers fare?”

“Two hundred and sixty-seven dead; three hundred and forty-one seriously wounded,” Yang He replied, his voice heavy.

Minor injuries were not worth reporting. The wounded would recover and fight again, but serious injuries meant permanent loss from the ranks.

For such a perilous battlefield, these losses were not excessive. But the city’s manpower was already thin, and its total population small. To replenish five or six hundred soldiers would be difficult. The able-bodied were vital laborers; conscripting them as soldiers meant lost productivity.

Population and resources—these were the greatest challenges Desolate City faced.

“Triple the usual compensation for the families of the fallen. Make sure the men are rotated for rest and defense—don’t let your guard down; the beasts may return,” Yang Tian instructed. “Dealing with the beasts can wait for daylight—few have any strength left now.”

Yang He withdrew to see to his duties.

Yang Tian descended from the city walls and found a quiet room to continue his meditation. It would be dawn in a few hours; for now, he would not return home.

The Path of Letters had its unique method of cultivation, relying mainly on reading works of literature. The more widely one read, the deeper one’s understanding, and the easier it was to break through. Of course, talent was a prerequisite.

Finding resonance with the Path of Letters, one could open the door to it and thus step inside. Those of average talent could reach the third rank through reading others’ works. To break through to the fourth rank, however, one had to create works that shook the very path, illuminating the road ahead.

Geniuses, of course, were different. Yang Tian, for example, had from the start composed works that gained the path’s recognition, earning him greater literary essence and a firmer foundation.

By meditating on his own works, his literary essence recovered more swiftly. Yet Yang Tian was only a laborer, not a creator. He sent his thoughts into his spiritual sea, where he saw the vague outline of a door. Passing through it, he entered a realm of darkness and void. There seemed to be a path, but he could not advance. Only by illuminating it could it be seen.

A thousand years ago, the Path of Letters was severed. No one knew what lay beyond the fourth rank. Wang Fu had said he could see no way forward. The road was broken, like a bottomless chasm, an abyss with no path ahead.

The ninth rank was his limit. Had he not read Yang Tian’s poetry and gained some insight, the light upon his own path would have been faint indeed.

Why did the Path of Letters collapse? What happened to those mighty ones? Why did they all vanish without a trace? No one knew.

Yang Tian did not dwell on it; he only wished to live in the present. The development of Desolate City was enough to consume all his energy. For a thousand years none had found an answer—he would not waste his mind in pursuit of it.

By the hour of Si, Yang Tian had fully restored his literary essence. With his strength recovered, his heart was calm.

Thousands of able-bodied men who had come to reinforce the city had arrived hours earlier. Learning that the battle was over, they wept tears of joy.

For the people of Desolate City, surviving each war was an immense blessing.

Yang Tian’s achievements were widely praised by the soldiers. As the City Lord, his prestige was beginning to grow.

Yang He had already organized a group to process the beast corpses. The meat and blood could be used; the rest could be sold or traded for grain. Yang Tian had plans—he would make good use of this bounty.

Once all the beasts were dealt with, he would leave some of the meat to reward the soldiers. Then, with the able-bodied men and their spoils, Yang Tian prepared to return to the city lord’s manor.

The reinforcements from Zhen’an City had arrived.