"Put out the fire!" Riga casually wiped her dark red bloody face and cried out anxiously. But the Quaid warriors standing in front of him still looked at the burning orc camp indifferently, and some began to retreat. The hunter immediately couldn't help but repeat it loudly again. "Extinguish the flames! The ground is covered with snow, and it won't be difficult to extinguish this damn flame. ”

But in this short time, the flames had already swelled with the help of the cold wind. In the howling of the cold wind, as sharp as the cry of the chilling birds, the flames were like terrifying firefiendries rushing out of the cursed underground palace, venting their rage to the fullest. They twisted and danced in the air, quickly devouring the remaining houses, and then burned along the fence of the camp towards the pine forest around the camp.

The forest is mostly oily pine trees, whose needles contain a small amount of water, but the bark of dried pine trees is a highly flammable ignition. So once a small area is ignited, there is a good chance that this hunting ground will be abandoned by the Quaids. The brutal weather on the ice sheets makes the growth of plants extremely slow, and it often takes hundreds of years for destroyed forests to return to their former state.

"Follow Riga's advice!" Just as some of the people began to hesitate, the weakened Chief Spain finally walked through the crowd behind. He stared at the flames about five or six feet tall and said cautiously. "This flame will destroy our hunting grounds, and if we lose them, there is a good chance that the people of the tribe will feel hungry in the next harsh winter. ”

The chief was tired after the madness. The leather armor he wore on the outside of his body was covered with a layer of dark red blood and minced flesh, which had already been frozen by the cold temperature, and solidified on the brown leather armor, as hard as if it had been mined from the depths of the mountains. But the chief didn't care about this at all now, the side effects of the madness made him sore, and even the bronze sledgehammer in his hand was a little unstable.

Eventually, the chief sat down on the cooled corpse of a Terran warrior and gasped, and the bronze sledgehammer that had been clutched in his hand slammed into the snow. The threads cast from the dark cyan handle were stuck in the slippery but frozen flesh, and the heavy, square hammer head with frostbear tribal patterns cracked several cracks in the hard ground.

The hammer was placed on the snow, and it immediately caught the attention of the Quaid warriors around him, after all, it was a tribal 'holy weapon' that they saw as the power of the chief. While all warriors have the desire and ambition to be able to hold this weapon, these Quaids will not let this slow down their work.

The snow on the ground was thick and looked like it had been accumulating for a long time. This made it easier for the Quaid to extinguish the fire, and the warriors immediately piled them up, ready to push them over and press them against the burning wood to extinguish the fire.

The rest of the Quaid thought of something else. They cut off sparse branches of needles from pine trees and threw their hands up on the burning flames. But the results were frustrating, because apart from a few sporadic fires, the fire in the camp was not stopped.

"Damn the Terrans!" Rriga also flounced on the ground with a thick pine branch. The exhausting work made him gasp for breath and curse indistinctly.

When the Quaids were about to give up on putting out the fire, the changeable weather on the Pamir ice finally helped them. The sky, which had already been filled with clouds of snow, suddenly darkened, and then, driven by the goddess of ice and snow, a violent cold wind swept across the land. It brought with it a dense snowflake that seemed to be able to bury the mountains, mixed with some fine snow particles falling together in the middle.

"'Fury' is above!Praise you forever!" "Ha, goddess of ice, I will kneel down and kiss your feet!" The Quid warriors looked at the snow that was falling like an earth, and watched the flames gradually lower and extinguish in the blizzard, and immediately gathered in a group with joy and danced the tribal dance.

They drank quaint and incomprehensible ballads in their mouths, pasting the half-coagulated blood of their enemies on their foreheads, drawing a simple but obvious mark. The Quaid warrior spread his hair and jumped on the ground as much as he could. They spread their arms and raised their feet, letting the falling snow fall on their shoulders and hair, looking like the frost barbarians who inhabit the northern part of the icefield covered in white body hair.

Under the influence of the blizzard, the originally fierce flames in the camp were quickly contained. It's as if the dancer is tired, and the flame of grace begins to gradually lower and extinguish. After a few prayers, all that was left was a smoky fire and a devastated camp. Burnt or blackened logs and planks lay scattered on the ground, but there were not many corpses of Terran mercenaries or orcs.

Most of the orc camp had been consumed by the flames, and the rest of the houses were in tatters. As the Leather Boots stepped on the blackened land, Rriga immediately began to search for an item left behind by the Terrans and Orcs. In the hunter's opinion, the enemy who evacuated in a 'panic' would not be able to take everything with them in time. The other Quaids also thought of this possibility, so they crowded around and began to search as well.

After a short time, the fighters who remained behind to care for the wounded finally caught up. Some of them supported their tribesmen who had difficulty walking, and some of them carried a large pile of cloaks in their hands. The cloaks that had been discarded on the ground by the Quaid warriors had finally returned to their shoulders, allowing the warriors who cared only to fight to isolate the soul-freezing cold of the air and feel the warmth of the thick fur again.

"Good sword! A warrior who stooped over the ashes shook his beard violently and smirked as he picked up a sheath-wrapped sword from the ground. He easily shook off the scabbard, revealing a steel blade that shimmered with silver-white light. The blade of the long sword, protected by the leather sheath, was still as clear as a clear spring, and the fierce flames only destroyed the hilt and skin of the weapon.

The warrior's strong wrist shook slightly, and the long sword immediately drew out a sword flower. Then the Quaid took his left foot forward and stretched out his arm and swung his sword. When the warrior's right foot alternated steps stopped, a round piece of wood about five inches wide in front of him immediately snapped. The smooth incision reflected several rays of light under the dim sky, as if to indicate the sharpness of the weapon.

The discovery of the steel sword has made the Quaid even more eager to search the fire, and iron weapons have become a rare item on the ice field since the human principalities in the Golden Corridor no longer allowed the transport of steel to the Quaid tribe more than a decade ago. The warriors laughed as they ripped off the fallen wood, but what was discovered next stopped them from laughing.

In a wooden house that had burned down most of its space, a warrior with a long red beard forcefully lifted a large piece of blackened wood that had been burned off in half. But instead of weapons or steel coins, five or six corpses that had been burned to the shape of black charcoal. Bearing back the stench that surrounded the tip of his nose, the warrior carefully removed a blackened metal ring from a corpse.

"Murderer!" A mournful wail came from the warrior's mouth, and two cloudy tears flowed from the corners of his eyes. Droplets of water slid down the ends of the towering bridge of his nose, creating two distinct marks on the bronzed rough skin, before finally sliding over his beard and falling off the fiery red tip. "Murderer!" the warrior shouted angrily as he threw his hands up and raised his head to the sky. Murderous and deadly, even the snow falling from the sky was scared away as if it had feelings.

The Quaids around them cast inquiring glances, but when they saw the blackened armband, all the warriors fell silent. Even the weakened chief struggled to his feet from the seated corpse, his majestic body squeezing past a few of the people who stood in his way, and walked up to the red-bearded warrior, taking the armband from him.

"This is our people. Spain spat out a few words, as raw as if he had spoken for the first time. "The despicable Terran mercenaries have dared to capture our people. ”

"Revenge!" Rriga immediately opened her mouth and roared, as she was overwhelmed by hatred. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was twisted with a hideous expression, and his previous hesitation had been cast away from an unknown corner. Ice was originally such a cruel place. Killing or being killed, a situation that seems incomprehensible to others is the truth here.

"Revenge! Revenge!" replied to the hunter by all the Quaid warriors, all of whom had forgotten their filthiness and friction with each other before the common hatred. They all had one purpose in mind, and that was to kill the Terran mercenaries and orc safari party.

"Find out everything that works!" a serious look swept over all the grumpy warriors, and the chief reached out and placed the armband into the redbeard's large, gritty hand. "Let's go back to the tribe first. ”

The chieftain's decision immediately upset many, but when Spain's eagle-like eyes stared at him, the Quaid warriors, who were bent on pursuit, gave in and began to carry out his orders. The search immediately sped up considerably, and the ashes and planks on the ground were peeled open to reveal the items hidden underneath. All the orcs left behind were some old weapons and disgusting food, and most of them were burned in the fire. The Quaid had hoped to find weapons belonging to the mercenaries, but not many were left behind.

After finding seven or eight sharp iron weapons from the ashes, Riga found a piece of leather armor with the back half burned out from a corner. From the emblem inlaid on the chest of the leather armor, the chief and others will easily recognize its origin.

On the edge of this ice field exist two human principalities, the Chesterton Alliance, which is a coalition of cities, and the Duchy of Moulton, the country from which the mercenaries came.

The leather armor was inlaid with a single-edged black battle axe, a symbol that belonged to a baron who was divided into a small town at the northern end, whose territory was about three weeks away from the tribe. In fact, these mercenaries were only able to travel from there to the Pamirs, which had been frozen in the middle of winter.

Like industrious worker ants, the Quaid warriors quickly sorted out the spoils and embarked on the road back to the tribe. The charred corpses of the Quaid Trialists omitted much of the cremation ritual, and the chief was fortunate to bury them in a rudimentary pile of rubble. The only thing that could be taken away and handed over to their loved ones as a consolation was a blackened armband and a little charred charcoal.

After the burial ceremony, all the Quaid warriors had a section of their beards cut off, even the young warriors like the Riga who had just grown a soft beard. The lack of a beard out of thin air made them laugh, but the warriors all had solemn faces. Because it represents their shame, they cannot forget the painful memory of the killing of their people this time. Only after killing the Terran mercenaries and orcs and accomplishing their revenge can they regain the long beard that is the hallmark of the Quaids.

In addition, the tribe also lost six valiant warriors in this battle, and their bodies were carried on a sleigh behind the dwarf horses, and a solemn cremation awaited them. In addition to this, more than a dozen fighters were wounded. A few of the seriously injured were lying on the sleigh, while the lightly injured were slowly advancing with the support of their companions. It was precisely because of these close to twenty dead and wounded that Chief Spain would abandon the pursuit of the enemy. After all, for the sparsely numbered Quaid tribe, every warrior is an inseparable companion.

On the way back, no one spoke, everything went on quietly. Every beast that appeared around the party would be shot, and those Quaid archers seemed to have temporarily transferred their hatred to these beasts, so that the other warriors didn't even have a chance to rush forward and fight.

The weakened chief walked slowly through the ranks, his gaze sweeping over the people in front of him. "I don't know how many adult warriors will remain in my tribe after the revenge is completed. Sparin lamented inwardly. "'Fury', please bless your people once again. ”