Facing the slaughter, Zhang Bo was both terrified and wronged, powerless to prove his innocence.
The Wood Elf Sword Dancers pointed towards the large treehouse, guarding Yang Di, Zhang Song, and several other department managers, intending to break through to the outside.
That was their last bastion.
Yang Di's eyes burned with a trapped beast's madness, and he roared at Zhang Bo, "You'd better pray I can spare you!"
Immediately, he led Zhang Song and several of the most elite Wood Elf Sword Dancers, pushing Zhang Bo and Sun Zhiru, along with other ashen-faced Negotiation Experts, stumbling towards the colossal, apartment-building-sized ancient treehouse in the village center, amidst the Kujit's whistling arrow rain and the thunderous trampling of Swadia cavalry.
Outside the village, Holy Tree Steeds snorted.
Shen Mu sat upright on his horse, like a statue, quietly overlooking the Wood Elf Village, which had become a purgatory below.
Blazing fires erupted everywhere, thick smoke billowed, obscuring some of the starlight, and in the firelight, Lezalit's Swadia heavy cavalry cluster charged through the narrow village paths, their heavy hooves crushing all obstacles, their spear tips glinting with deadly cold light in the flames.
On the other side, Bestour's Kujit Heavy Mounted Archers glided like ghosts, their precise arrows taking lives, their swinging scimitars harvesting enemies attempting to organize resistance, and continuously casting new embers onto the unburnt thatched roofs.
The air was filled with the smell of char, blood, and the tragic chorus of battle cries.
Shen Mu's face was calm, but the deep reflections of the burning village danced in his profound eyes, as if he were appreciating a magnificent war painting.
Fatis rode closely behind Shen Mu's right side, his left hand always on his sword hilt, vigilantly scanning for potential threats—even though the surrounding Holy Tree Knight Order had already secured the area impenetrable.
"My Lord, Knight Lezalit and Chief Bestour have completely broken through the earthen mounds as planned, and the offensive is going very smoothly. The resistance within the village is collapsing, like cheese being cut by a hot knife."
Fatis's voice was steady, with a hint of satisfaction at the execution.
"Very good," Shen Mu's response was soft but clear, "Bestour's men set the fires very timely. The flames not only created chaos but also illuminated the battlefield for us. This is much better than fumbling in the dark."
At that moment, a rhythmic sound of footsteps and metal friction came from the flank.
Bandak, clad in armor, led a unit of fully armed heavy infantry quickly to rendezvous.
Their armor was heavy and sturdy, their steps firm, clearly having just finished preparations and immediately entering the final encirclement phase.
"Lord Shen Mu! Knight Fatis!"
Bandak, panting, stood before Shen Mu's horse, straightening his chest as he reported, "I have fully armed all the concealed advancing teams! They are ready for battle at any moment! The interference from Undead Monsters on the periphery is indeed much weaker, as Lord Fatis predicted, and has not affected our assembly."
Shen Mu nodded slightly, "You've worked hard, Bandak. Your mission was accomplished very well; the disguised advance paralyzed the enemy, and the timely preparations at the crucial moment were perfect."
His gaze swept past Bandak and the formation behind him, sharply locking onto the direction of the village center, where the most conspicuous core building—the enormous ancient treehouse—was illuminated by the firelight.
"Look over there," Shen Mu pointed in the direction where Yang Di, Zhang Song, and others were struggling, protected by scattered guards, pushing Zhang Bo and other captives desperately forward, a cold smile playing on his lips, "Our 'old friends' Yang Di, Zhang Song, and that 'hero' Zhang Bo, whose identity has been exposed, want to 'take refuge' in the large treehouse. It seems that will be their last reliance."
Fatis followed Shen Mu's gaze, his eyes narrowing, "Yes, My Lord. Intelligence indicates that it is the core of the Wood Elf Village, possibly connecting them to the plane, or having other defensive measures. Yang Di indeed kept a trump card."
Bandak also saw the target, clenching his fist, "We absolutely cannot let them hide inside! My Lord, please give the order, my men can directly storm that damned treehouse!"
Shen Mu's gaze swept over Fatis and Bandak's faces, and he decisively issued the command, his voice resolute:
"Fatis, order the Holy Tree Knight Order to contract the defensive perimeter; we will move closer. I want to watch them perish."
"Yes, My Lord!"
Fatis immediately gestured to the messenger beside him, and the elite knights began to move, slowly advancing with Shen Mu into the burning village.
"Bandak!"
Shen Mu continued to command, pointing in the direction of the large treehouse, "You lead your heavy infantry formation, quickly press from the east, blocking their flanking maneuver space! Lezalit's cavalry is sweeping from north to south, Bestour is blocking and engaging from the southwest, your objective is to directly thrust towards the true east of the large treehouse, compressing their escape routes, and forming an encirclement with Lezalit and Bestour's forces! Tell them, the time for 'decency' is over; no surrender will be accepted, clear out all resistors!"
"Understood, My Lord!" A glint of battlelust flashed in Bandak's eyes. He immediately turned, drew his sword, and roared, "Infantry formation! Objective—the large treehouse! Full speed ahead! Crush them! For Lord Shen Mu! For Deherim!"
Heavy and powerful footsteps resounded once more, and Bandak's formation, like a moving wall of steel, charged directly towards that final battlefield.
Shen Mu, surrounded by Fatis and the Holy Tree Knight Order, rode through the still-burning ruins and enemy corpses, slowly entering the heart of the Wood Elf Village.
The firelight reddened his face and illuminated the absolute control and coldness in his eyes.
He spoke in a low voice, as if to Fatis beside him, and also as if muttering to himself, "Look, Fatis, the old era of Bali River Street, accompanied by this burning village, ends tonight."
Fatis, with one hand on the reins, and the other always guarding in front of Shen Mu's horse, responded solemnly, "The new order will be written by your will, My Lord. The end of Green Leaf Group has arrived."
In the distance, beneath the large treehouse, firelight, arrow rain, the charging roar of cavalry, and the heavy footsteps of the infantry formation intertwined into an overture of destruction, completely engulfing Yang Di, Zhang Song, and their remaining forces.
The noose of encirclement had tightened.
This was the noose Shen Mu had personally placed on Green Leaf Group!
...
Yang Di and Zhang Song were in utter disarray at this moment, stumbling towards the ancient fortress-like large treehouse in the village center, desperately covered by the remaining dozen or so Wood Elf Sword Dancers.
The cold night wind, carrying thick smoke, blood, and the smell of char, poured into their throats; each breath was a knife-like sting.
Behind them was the Wood Elf Village, now a sea of fire; before them was their only, faint hope.
"Faster! Faster!"
Yang Di growled hoarsely, sweat soaking his disheveled clothes, his forelock sticking to his face, which was contorted with extreme tension.
His heart pounded frantically in his chest, his gaze fixed on the increasingly close behemoth—the large treehouse's thick, gnarled roots and bottomless entrance, like the gaping maw of a giant beast.
His mind was almost entirely consumed by one thought.
"Just get in!"
"Get in and touch the core!"
"He still has one last chance to turn the tables!"
That ancient tree, imbued with planar power, needed his remaining mental energy to awaken, revive, and merge... Ultimately, it would transform into a terrifying War Treant!
This was Green Leaf Group's last trump card.
It was their deepest connection to the plane.
And this was the unknown power that Shen Mu's group feared!
As long as they could hold out until that moment...
However, the noose of fate had already tightened.
High-pitched whistles, like the whispers of death, constantly echoed on their flanks.
Over fifty Kujit Heavy Mounted Archers, like a pack of wolves prowling in the night, keenly locked onto these conspicuous targets.
Their superb horsemanship allowed their warhorses to move effortlessly through the burning ruins and chaotic village paths, always maintaining a desperately optimal distance for archery.
"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!"
"Ah—!"
"Protect General Yang! Protect General Zhang!"
"Block the arrows! Quickly block the arrows!"
Bowstrings vibrated, and deadly bodkin arrows cut through the night sky, emitting sharp whistling sounds.
The arrows, as if they had eyes, precisely penetrated the gaps in the Wood Elf Sword Dancers' hasty blocks from tricky angles.
One after another, brave figures fell with muffled groans or screams, the splattering blood appearing eerily beautiful and cruel in the firelight.
These elven guards were agile, but in the face of the high-speed, arrow-raining Kujit Mounted Archers, their defenses seemed so flimsy and futile.
With every arrow that fell, Yang Di and Zhang Song's hearts sank.
Every sound of a guard falling meant one less step on the path to survival.
Fear, like ice water, drenched their spines, but even stronger than fear was Yang Di's almost frenzied unwillingness and his craving for the "trump card"!
His peripheral vision was fixed on the constantly falling guards beside him, watching familiar faces perish in pain, and the venom in his heart burned fiercely like oil poured on fire, almost consuming his sanity.
"Charge... charge into the large treehouse..."
Yang Di gasped, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, every word squeezed out through gritted teeth, "Don't mind... Zhang Bo... take him with you..."
He glanced at Zhang Bo, who was being pushed and stumbled with his arms tied behind his back, his eyes filled only with cold determination.
At this moment, Zhang Bo was less a hostage than a potential lifeline Yang Di desperately tried to grasp, or a piece of incriminating evidence and a sacrifice to be brought to the final battlefield.
As for the lives of Sun Zhiru and the other Negotiation Experts, Yang Di didn't even spare them a glance.
Zhang Song gritted his teeth, trying to maintain a shred of calm, supporting Yang Di while urging the elves who could still move.
But the gravity in his eyes was almost palpable; the Kujit's mounted archery was too tricky, too dense, too deadly!
These elite elven warriors, skilled in close-quarters assassination, were so powerless under the cover of ranged fire.
Every "thud" of an arrow piercing flesh was like a countdown to their lives' hourglass.
The scattered, sporadic Wood Elf resistors, who had been gathered during the retreat, had long since vanished in the arrow rain.
Now, only the initial dozen or so Wood Elf Sword Dancers who had surrounded them remained, and under the Kujit's storm-like mounted archery, they too had rapidly withered by more than half, like candles in the wind.
Yang Di's lips were almost bitten raw; he could clearly feel the immense planar power calling from deep within the large treehouse ahead.
That was power!
It was the fire of vengeance!
It was a world-ending weapon capable of crushing Shen Mu's cavalry!
Just a few more steps!
But the Kujit Mounted Archers' cold eyes and whistling arrows were cruelly turning those few steps into an unbridgeable chasm between life and death.
The end of Green Leaf Group, accompanied by the last wails of their guards, was descending inch by inch.
This was Yang Di's most desperate moment!
And Zhang Song's heart also sank to rock bottom.
Looking at Yang Di's twisted face and frenzied eyes, this General Yang, who had once given him trust and cultivation, and whom he regarded as his "godfather," his rationality had clearly been completely consumed by despair and the instinct for survival.
The Kujit Mounted Archers' deadly arrows whistled constantly from the flank; every twang of a bowstring was accompanied by a muffled groan or scream as a guard fell.
The short distance to the large treehouse was now a death corridor.
Someone had to stay behind!
This cruel thought formed in Zhang Song's mind.
Sacrificing the department managers and the remaining Wood Elves to buy Yang Di a few seconds to escape into the large treehouse and activate the "trump card"—this was the only option he could think of that still held a sliver of hope.
"You..." Zhang Song turned his head, his cold gaze sweeping over the terrified department managers behind him and several equally wounded, desperate Wood Elf Sword Dancers, preparing to issue that cruel order.
Just as he opened his mouth—
"Thud!"
A searing, piercing pain suddenly exploded in his thigh!
Zhang Song trembled, looking down in disbelief, only to see a familiar short dagger plunged deep into his right thigh; blood instantly gushed, staining his clothes.
Holding the hilt was none other than the frantic Yang Di, whom Zhang Song had been supporting!
"Ah Song!"
Yang Di clutched the hilt tightly, his knuckles white from the immense force, his voice hoarse with an inhuman frenzy, "Block them for me! Stop those damned Mounted Archers!"
His bloodshot eyes stared at Zhang Song, filled with coercion and pleading, "You... you have to stay! Take them... hold them off!"
He panted rapidly, his words broken but clearly expressing the cruelest intention, "For Green Leaf Group... No! For me! Repay my kindness! Back then... if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be where you are now!"
The intense pain made Zhang Song's vision blur, and his body involuntarily swayed to one side.
He propped himself up with his hand on the ground to avoid falling completely.
The cold blade in his leg and the hot blood formed a chilling contrast, but even colder was the naked determination in Yang Di's eyes, treating him as a discarded pawn.
Zhang Song, who had just been contemplating sacrificing others to protect Yang Di, now found himself the "price."
The department managers and Wood Elves were also stunned by this sudden scene, staring at Zhang Song, who was stabbed and kneeling, then at the almost demonic Yang Di; their despair deepened.
The sound of Kujit hooves and whistling arrows was the only background noise at this moment, like a constantly tightening noose.
The past kindness had transformed into the dagger now plunged into his thigh.
Yang Di, in the most direct and cruel way, commanded him to repay it with his own life.
Zhang Song looked up at the figure stumbling away, pushing off his support, and dragging his injured leg to lunge towards the dark entrance of the large treehouse. A mix of searing pain, absurdity, the chill of betrayal, and a certain sorrowful realization spread through his heart.
The end of Green Leaf Group, or rather, Yang Di's end, had arrived.
And he, Zhang Song, had his escape route pierced by the very person he intended to sacrifice, destined to draw the final crimson period on this "kindness" in this burning village. (End of Chapter)
