Chapter 36 End

The result, naturally, was a sweeping victory.

Yet it was not without losses.

Yang He led his men for more than an hour before arriving at the Cypress Tribe. The journey was uneventful, and the soldiers had become increasingly adept at riding.

The people of the Cypress Tribe had not anticipated an attack from the Wasteland City. When they had joined forces with the Tuck Tribe to assault the city, they had not expected to succeed in a single strike; their aim was merely to wear down the city’s forces and temper their own.

Wasteland City was, after all, only capable of defending itself. With less than two thousand soldiers, it had neither the numbers to split its forces for an attack nor the means to circumvent the two tribes and strike from behind.

But the Cypress Tribe immediately recognized the warhorses—they belonged to their own and the Tuck Tribe’s warriors. There could be only one explanation: their warriors had all perished.

How could Wasteland City have achieved this?

Yet the disaster had already occurred, and they had no choice but to accept it. With the crisis upon them, there was no time for panic.

Those left behind in the Cypress Tribe—elderly, children, and women—numbered around two hundred. True warriors, perhaps fifty. All who could fight took up arms, determined to defend their lives and their tribe.

Yang He’s three hundred soldiers were martial cultivators—the elite of Wasteland City. Not wanting to risk unforeseen events, Yang He chose to end the battle swiftly. The Cypress Tribe and Tuck Tribe were close allies, their settlements not far apart. If the Tuck Tribe came to the rescue, their efforts would be wasted; the matter had to be settled before help arrived.

Of course, killing was not the ultimate goal.

Seizing resources was.

The people of the Cypress Tribe, desperate to survive and ensure the continuation of their bloodline, longed for revenge but knew they stood no chance. They were not so stubborn as to seek death needlessly.

Still, in war, casualties are inevitable. Wasteland City lost more than ten soldiers and over thirty were wounded. In contrast, they killed more than a hundred of the Cypress Tribe. Time was short; there was no time to pursue fleeing survivors. Instead, they hastily gathered all available resources.

It was something of a pity. Had Wasteland City boasted a thousand more troops, Yang Tian’s target would not have been limited to the Cypress Tribe—they could have taken the equally weakened Tuck Tribe as well.

Those were all resources, after all.

Once the Tuck Tribe either migrated successfully or was absorbed by other tribes, Wasteland City would gain nothing.

Below, the soldiers were busily cataloging the spoils of war.

“Yang He, I leave this group to you,” Yang Tian said, pointing to Maren and the others.

“Yes, City Lord,” Yang He replied with a nod. Upon his return, he had immediately noticed these strangers. He did not recognize them, but he could tell from their aura that they were not from Wasteland City. He had no idea of their background; the young master had not elaborated, so Yang He assumed it was not important and would find out more in time.

Maren and his companions looked on in disbelief. In light of what they saw, they finally pieced together what had happened.

The war had truly been ended by Yang Tian.

By what means, they did not know—nor could they imagine.

So that was why the signal fires had not been extinguished—it was a ploy to confuse the enemy. While the enemy remained unaware the battle was over, Yang Tian had taken his troops and stormed the heart of the Cypress Tribe with lightning speed.

All of this was thanks to Yang Tian.

They felt a sense of helplessness.

They had never imagined Yang Tian’s character would be so enigmatic.

Yang Tian showed no excitement at their arrival, as though he cared little for reinforcements. He did not even bother to question them closely. They had not come for Yang Tian himself, but for the sake of the former Champion Marquis Yang family, and had long been prepared to die in battle. Now that Yang Tian’s methods were unfathomable, wasn’t that all the better?

Thus, they said nothing further to Yang Tian and accepted Yang He’s arrangements, agreeing to guard the borders in the future.

Not long after,

A soldier approached Yang Tian with reverence and admiration, reporting the results.

“City Lord, all the spoils have been tallied. Please take a look.”

Yang Tian glanced over the report—the haul was decent.

Yet, comparing the value of the spoils to what he had expended in spiritual treasures of the literary path, the latter was undoubtedly greater. But there was no other way; lacking strength, he could only make such unequal exchanges. To break free from this predicament, he needed to constantly acquire resources and strengthen his foundation.

He swiftly allocated the gains.

First, he set aside a portion of the loot as rewards for the soldiers, once more earning their gratitude and deepening their sense of belonging.

The rest of the resources he brought back to the inner city.