Arslen and Bagen directly threw away the grazing cattle and sheep and ran wildly, shouting loudly while running. The nearby herders soon heard their shouts, and their faces changed drastically, and they also turned around and ran towards the tribal camp.

As for those cattle and sheep, they were no longer caring about it at this time. Once the tribe is destroyed, what is the use of even if the cattle and sheep are still there? Talent is the most precious thing.

What's more, the camp also has their own family, wives, children, and children. At this time, we must race against time to report the news and let everyone escape from here as soon as possible.

As for where to go after escaping, maybe it is to surrender to other tribes, or maybe it is to find another way to survive.

Arslen is a warrior in the tribe, and a real warrior who has participated in the war. Although he doesn't know who the enemy is, Arslen already has a great sense of crisis in his heart. He subconsciously feels that the visitor is not good and that the tribe members must leave this dangerous place as soon as possible.

Just a few miles came in a flash, and the camp was so close. Alslen didn't dismount at all, and rushed into the camp and shouted the enemy's attack. Soon the whole camp boiled like a pan, and countless men, women, young and old came from yurts or around.

"Go away! Go away! Don't bring the things, the enemy is coming soon!" Alslen shouted.

"Arseleng, where did the enemies come from? How many enemies are there?" a young man asked back, pulling out the knife at his waist.

"I don't know, I can hear the sound of horse hooves at least a few hundred riders. At most, one incense stick is coming. Let's go! Let's go!" Alslen shouted.

"What are you afraid of? It's just a few hundred people. We are descendants of Genghis Khan and the people of Changshengtian. Changshengtian will bless us! If you are a warrior, let the other people go first." The young man was heroic and turned over and shouted to the people around him.

His words immediately aroused the approval of many people, especially those young men who were about the same age as him. The oldest of these young men was only sixteen or seventeen years old, and the youngest was only three or fourteen years old. They happily drew their swords and got on their horses, gathered with the boy as the center, shouting to meet the enemy.

"You bastards! This is not how you fight in wars. Let's go! Let's go! If you don't leave, it will be too late!" Seeing this scene, Alslen was extremely anxious. He didn't expect such a thing to happen.

"Arseleng, you coward! The hero of the grassland should be an eagle flying in the sky, not a timid rabbit! When facing the enemy, you run away without fighting. You are a complete coward!" The young man not only refused to listen, but instead sneered and mocked Arseleng, which made Arseleng extremely angry.

"You bastard!" Alslen cursed angrily. Of course he knew this young man. He was a rising star in the tribe and was called Alslen's successor by many people.

On weekdays, the boy did show his extraordinaryness, and Alslen takes good care of this boy. After all, it is worthy of pride and pride for a warrior in his own tribe. But today Alslen felt that he had read the wrong person. This boy was brave, but he had no brains. Does it rely on passion for war? This warrior is not a warrior, it is clearly a reckless man.

"Arseleng, why don't we fight with the other party first? There are quite a few of us. There are more than 300 people who can get on horses, and there are also camp covers, so we may not lose." Just as Arseleng was about to scold the boy, Bagan persuaded him.

It would be fine if he didn't say it, but Arslen was stunned as soon as he said this. He didn't expect that his Anda would have planned to face the enemy like this brainless boy.

Bagen is right. There are no fewer people in the tribe who can get on horses and swing their swords. There are more than 300 people in total, and even about 400. But you should know that there are not many real warriors among these people. Young people like Arslen and Bagen are at most less than 200, while others are half-aged children like teenagers, or old herdsmen over forty years old.

It was simply whimsical to rely on these people to block the enemy or even defeat the opponent. Alslen knew very well that since the opponent was coming to him, it must have been premeditated, and the person who came was not good, the person who came must be elite cavalry.

Facing the elite cavalry, relying close to the average half-boy to fight with the old man, isn’t this going to die? The boy is not clear about his mind. Could it be that you, Bagan, isn’t you, an idiot?

But before Arslen refuted Bagen's words, the teenagers who were injected with chicken blood had already rushed out of the camp on horseback, waving their sabers and whistling them. Not only were the herdsmen who ran back with Arslen, but even some old people were infected. The horses drew their swords and followed them like a festival on the grassland.

"Arseleng, where is your courage? Don't let me underestimate you!" Bagan couldn't hold back and said a word to Arseleng, then turned his head and rushed towards the direction he came.

Seeing this scene, Alslen almost vomited out an old blood, these idiots! These stupid guys! This is simply a death sentence.

Time is tight, and Alslen has no choice but to ask the remaining old and weak to evacuate as soon as possible. However, except for a few people, most people are unwilling to give up their own property. After all, they live on the grassland. If they don’t have these things, they can’t survive. If they lose everything, even if they defect to other tribes, the future will be extremely tragic.

Seeing this, Alslen felt a sense of powerlessness in his heart. He had done everything he could do, but unfortunately he failed. Turning around and looking back, Bagen and the others had already rode a horse for a long distance. Alslen sighed helplessly, pulled out his saber, turned his head, and chased after him.

As a hundred families of the tribe, the famous warriors in the tribe, even in this case, Arslen could not give up his brothers and sisters even though he knew he was defeated, and he could not watch the tribe be destroyed. Even if he knew the result, he would stand with his own people without hesitation.

"How far is it?" Zhang Qi asked immediately.

"It'll be here soon..." The scout beside him said halfway, suddenly his eyes lit up and he pointed ahead: "Boss, look! The herd of cattle! The sheep! We're here!"

"Brothers, wealthy people are asking for it now! Go!" Zhang Qi also saw cattle and sheep. These cattle and sheep were leisurely eating tender grass on the green grassland, and some calf and sheep were running and playing in it, and they didn't know what would happen soon.

Amid the rumbling sound of horse hooves, Zhang Qi's team gradually accelerated and gradually approached the flock of cattle and sheep.

"Boss! Look!"

Zhang Qi looked carefully and found that in the distance, hundreds of Mongols were racing towards them. These Mongols were agile, waving their sabers and other weapons, making whistling sounds from their mouths, approaching in their direction.

"Brothers, the deal is coming! Get ready... kill!" Zhang Qi didn't expect that the Mongols had the courage to take the initiative to face the enemy, but that's fine. He had been worried that the grassland would be visible and the Mongols would escape in dispersion. Now that the other party took the initiative to come, he would save himself from spending his energy to chase him.

"Kill! Kill!" The young man waved his sabre and drove his horse to the front of the team. His blood was boiling, and his heart was full of expectations.

Since childhood, he hoped to become a warrior and become the lord of the grassland as great as Genghis Khan. Today, he will take the first step, cut off the enemy's head with his own hands, and use the other party's blood to achieve his future path.

As he got closer and closer, the boy's eyes were bright. He stared at the front and loosened his hand holding the sabre a little, because the experienced old man told him that he could not hold the sabre dead at the moment of swinging the sabre, as this would make him lose his correct head and even reduce his power because he held it too tightly.

The young man kept these in mind. He seemed to have seen the enemy's head soaring into the air in the wind of his sword. When his head fell on dust, his figure slashed like lightning, splitting the opponent's formation.
Chapter completed!