The sharp, piercing sound of arrows tearing through the air wasn't about precision, but about creating a deadly rain of arrows that poured backward! The target was clear—the joint areas of the rampaging Skeleton monsters!
The first few Black Mist Skeleton Cavalry charging at the front were almost simultaneously struck by several cone-tipped arrows in the leg bones of their mounts, the barbs on the arrowheads hooking deeply into the bone seams under the immense force of the impact!
"Crack! Clang!"
The sound of shattering bones mixed with the thunderous crash of the warhorse monsters falling!
Several powerful Skeleton mounts instantly lost their balance, and along with the terrifying riders enveloped in black mist and deathly aura on their backs, they crashed into the sand like uncontrolled broken sacks, bone fragments flying and dust billowing!
The furious charge was forcefully interrupted for a moment!
"Good!" Batu roared excitedly, his hands not stopping as he shot another cone-tipped arrow backward.
This sudden rain of cone-tipped arrows instantly caused temporary chaos among the pursuers, buying the Steppe Bandits crucial seconds!
Batuer seized this fleeting opportunity, squeezed his horse's flanks hard, and let out a long howl that pierced the night towards the direction of his home:
"Return to the city and report! Deep in the eastern suburbs, there's a Skeleton Cavalry castle!!"
This mournful cry, accompanied by more urgent hoofbeats, tore through the silence of the twilight Desert like a blood-stained warning, desperately shooting towards the distant city walls of New Rivadin.
Behind them, the fallen undead riders had pushed away the shattered Skeleton of their mounts and risen again, the black mist shrouding them swirling even more violently.
More unimpeded Black Mist Cavalry, with even greater speed and suffocating killing intent, trampled over the bone fragments of their comrades, like avengers from the depths of the Nine Nether Hells, tightly pursuing the fifteen desperately fleeing Steppe Bandits!
Even the sunlight shining down from the sky only reacted slightly with the black mist covering them.
But actual damage.
There was none at all!
It was as if these Skeleton Cavalry were not afraid of this black mist at all!
...
Fifteen riders galloped desperately, the heavy breathing of the Kujit warhorses sounding like broken bellows, sweat and dust clinging to the riders' still-frightened faces.
Those dozen or so Skeleton Cavalry enveloped in ominous black mist were like death warrants clinging to their backs; every time they looked back, they felt the swirling thick blackness drawing closer, the icy, bone-chilling killing intent almost piercing their spines.
However, just as they spurred their horses over a large weathered rock platform, using the terrain for a slight detour, the oppressive feeling behind them suddenly lightened.
"Boss!" Batu's voice trembled with disbelief as he yanked on the reins and turned back, "They... they stopped?!"
The galloping cavalry gradually slowed down, finally coming to a complete stop on a relatively open sandy slope.
The warhorses snorted uneasily, pawing at the sand beneath their hooves restlessly.
The riders' chests heaved violently, their knuckles white from gripping their scimitars and shortbows too tightly, all of them looking shaken, staring in unison in the direction they had come from.
The dim yellow sunset, like a giant molten gold fireball, pressed heavily on the western horizon, dyeing the sky a tragic orange-red.
Against this magnificent yet deathly quiet glow, the terrifying castle, piled with endless sand and pale Skeleton, stood silently in the distance.
Its spiky silhouette was clearly visible, and the thick, ink-like black cloud covering it, seemingly capable of devouring light, still slowly churned, emitting a chilling and majestic aura that made hearts palpitate.
And the Skeleton Cavalry, who had been like shadows, almost tearing them apart, had now strangely vanished without a trace.
On the sand dune, there were only their own scattered hoof prints extending into the distance, and... the last few faint, almost invisible wisps of black smoke from the direction of the castle, gradually dissipating in the afterglow of the setting sun.
And those deadly pursuers, at some unnoticed moment, had silently given up the chase, returning to that bone fortress that exuded the smell of sulfur and char.
The taut nerves of the group suddenly relaxed, but this was followed by deeper fear and lingering dread.
Silence enveloped the weary squad, with only heavy breathing and the occasional snort of warhorses echoing in the twilight Desert.
They stared blankly at the Skeleton castle, which appeared an eerie dark gold under the blood-red sunset, each breath trembling with the relief of having escaped disaster and an indescribable shock.
Hidden there was a power of death far beyond their imagination.
"My heavens..." Arsleng murmured softly, his weathered old face etched with solemnity, "Those monsters... they were simply toying with us! They chase whenever they want, and stop whenever they want!"
He felt an unprecedented sense of insignificance; before the power of that castle and the black cloud, their boasted horse speed and archery seemed so trivial.
Batuer took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the tremor in his heart; as the captain, he had to steady the team.
"That's not toying," his voice was hoarse but unusually heavy, "That's a declaration of territory, and we... just barely escaped the edge of their warning."
"Boss, the sun's almost gone!" A young Steppe Bandit's voice trembled from the team, pointing to the horizon.
The orange-red sunset was sinking at a visible speed, the ink-blue sky rapidly devouring the last rays, and the temperature of the Desert was rapidly draining like a leaking wineskin, bone-chilling cold penetrating the thin leather armor with every breath of evening wind.
This young Steppe Bandit urgently said, "When it gets dark, those bone frames will come out! We must find a place to camp and make a fire! Without the light, heat, and smoke of a bonfire, we'll be live targets at night!"
"He's right!" Batu immediately interjected; though he had a quick temper, he knew the terror of the night Desert well: "This place is too open, there's not even a wall to block the wind! If we get ambushed at night, our few people won't even be enough for a snack!"
Batuer looked around; under the dim yellow light, the sprawling sand dunes looked like solidified giant waves, completely exposed.
He pondered for a moment, then turned his gaze to the north of the direction they had come from, seemingly searching his memory for something.
"I remember!" An old veteran Steppe Bandit who had previously participated in more outlying patrols suddenly said, his voice carrying a hint of urgent reminder: "On the way here, to the north! About twenty minutes... uh, ten minutes' journey away! I remember there's a small village ruin there! It's deeper than the one where we met people before, but it's pretty badly collapsed, so there should be plenty of broken walls and ruins; we can always find a place to hide!"
"Are you sure?" Batuer stared at him.
"Sure!" The old soldier nodded vigorously: "I saw it when we passed by, even took a distant glance then; it's quite large, should be able to hide!"
Batuer no longer hesitated.
The threat of darkness was like a sword hanging over their heads.
"Good! We'll go to that village ruin! Everyone, pay attention, don't get separated! Maintain formation, stay alert! Let's go!" He sharply swung his horse whip, galloping in the direction the old soldier indicated.
The fourteen riders behind him immediately followed the command, the fifteen figures converging into a torrent, stepping on the last faint glow of the sunset, rushing north.
Hooves pounded the barren sand, raising clouds of dust.
The dim yellow light faded quickly; the distant setting sun was like a gold coin sinking into an inkwell, leaving only a thin golden line.
When the weary team finally crossed the last dirt slope covered with shattered bricks and stones, and the outline of the village ruin suddenly appeared before their eyes, there was almost only dim light left between heaven and earth.
As the old soldier said, this was a considerably large village.
Most of the once neat houses had collapsed, revealing broken concrete beams and twisted rebar. Half-collapsed mud walls, half-fallen brick houses, and some strangely shaped Lingjie giant fallen objects half-buried by sand, like scattered Skeleton, formed countless corners and broken ravines that could obscure vision.
Deep within the ruins, tall withered trees were reduced to twisted branches, extending grotesque silhouettes against the increasingly dark sky.
However, the team did not relax upon reaching the "safe zone."
"Slow! Stop everyone!" Batuer suddenly raised his hand, his voice low and tense.
His sharp gaze, like a hawk's, keenly caught the anomalies within the ruins.
The riders reined in their restless warhorses, their fingers instinctively tightening on the guards of their scimitars and the grips of their shortbows.
"What's wrong, Boss?" Batu asked in a low voice, also sensing the heavy atmosphere.
Batuer did not answer, his gaze fixed on a fallen concrete pillar near the entrance of the ruins.
There, a small pile of ashes, though cold, had the surrounding sand deliberately cleared, and a few faint, definitely not naturally formed footprints could vaguely be seen.
A rusted iron sheet nearby was used as a windbreak, and behind it, there seemed to be a few extremely clean, tiny-toothed remnants of some kind of root.
"Someone's here." Arsleng's voice came from beside him; he pointed to a broken water pipe not far away: "Look at the wet mark on the pipe's opening... newly pried open, water was taken not long ago."
"It's not bone fragments!" Batu growled, his gaze vigilantly sweeping among the ruined walls: "What use do undead have for water! It's living people! Or something else?!"
Everyone's hearts jumped into their throats again.
In these ruins deep in a dead land, encountering "living things" did not necessarily mean friendliness; it could mean deeper danger.
"Dismount! Search in a fan formation, back-to-back! Arrows on strings, swords out!"
Batuer made a decisive decision, giving the order in a deep voice.
The riders agilely dismounted, wrapping their reins around their wrists, and quickly spread out into a semicircle defense around Batuer, their sharp gazes like searchlights, sweeping every dark corner and every crack in the collapsed walls.
The last ray of the setting sun's afterglow, stingily painted on the eaves of a mud-brick house that was only half-standing, its walls covered in cracks.
Just in the deepest shadow of that corner, a pile of debris made of rotten wooden boards, old tires, and a half-collapsed mud-brick wall, suddenly shifted ever so slightly, emitting a very faint "clack" sound, like a brick or tile slipping.
"Who's there? Come out!" Batuer roared sharply, his shortbow instantly drawn to full tension, the cold steel arrowhead gleaming with a chilling light, aimed directly at the trembling shadow.
Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds. In the dead silent ruins, there was only the mournful whine of wind passing through broken walls and the heavy breathing of the Steppe Bandits.
Finally, the shadow behind the pile of debris seemed to come alive; after a violent tremor, a hunched, emaciated figure shakily crawled out.
It was a Blue Star Human who looked to be in his fifties, even more haggard than any survivor Batuer and his men had seen.
He wore a gray jacket so tattered it barely covered him, his exposed skin dark and cracked, covered in dust.
He staggered two steps forward, his arms instinctively raised to shield his face, his body trembling violently like a sieve.
His cloudy eyes, bulging almost out of their sunken sockets from extreme fear, stared fixedly at the group of murderous, strangely dressed warriors before him.
"Don't... don't shoot arrows! Please!" His voice was hoarse and sharp, filled with a heavy sob and despair: "We... we have no food left... really... none at all!"
He pleaded incoherently, as if he took the Steppe Bandits for another group of looters.
Suddenly, his gaze swept over Batuer and the others' leather armor, which, though dusty, was extremely fine, the clearly non-native style of their scimitars, and their eyes, which held scrutiny rather than pure plunder amidst their vigilance; a faint, incredible hope suddenly arose, making his voice change pitch:
"You... you're not Blue Star Humans... are you... the Lingjie Human Race from the legends?!"
The term "Lingjie Human Race" was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, causing a slight stir in the taut nerves of the Steppe Bandits.
However, before Batuer and the others could respond to this sudden and somewhat hopeful address, something else happened!
Just behind the Blue Star Human, in the deepest shadow of the "wall crack" seemingly formed by collapsed beams and earth, a deeper, friction sound of heavy objects moving began!
Immediately after, several even shorter and sturdier figures emerged one after another, stepping out with unusually heavy strides.
They were generally only waist-high to an ordinary person, but exceptionally stout, with arms like tree trunks and short, powerful legs.
Their faces were covered in thick, gnarled beards, stained with sand, obscuring most of their faces, but unable to hide the vigilant and resolute light in the small eyes above their beards.
What truly drew attention was what they held tightly in their hands!
They were short-handled war hammers, far heavier than their stature—the hammerheads had distinct edges, some even stained with suspicious dark red rust, clearly true weapons of war!
In their other hands, they tightly gripped exceptionally thick oak round shields, their surfaces studded with iron rivets!
A total of seven Dwarf warriors, short but exceptionally stout, as if molded from rock and muscle!
They were like seven sturdy iron anvils that had suddenly emerged from the ground, silently and powerfully surrounding the trembling Blue Star Human, their thick knuckles gripping the hammer handles, their gazes like nails fixed firmly on Batuer and every bow-wielding, arrow-nocked Steppe Bandit under his command!
The rivets on the Dwarf warriors' shield faces reflected a dim but absolutely dangerous light under the last glimmer of light in the ruins.
The air solidified like grease, carrying a hint of gunpowder. (End of Chapter)
