Leaving behind three thousand men to guard the captives, Ye Zhan did not linger. Without delay, he led the remaining troops out of the barbarian stronghold and advanced swiftly toward the second enemy fortress.
The barbarian tribe held two strongholds and commanded a number of vassal clans.
Because of this, the Night Tribe had no time to waste. They needed to strike before the barbarians could rally and crush them in a single, decisive blow. If they hesitated, the consequences would be severe. Even if the Night Tribe eventually won, the cost in lives and resources would be enormous. Such losses would go against the tribe's long-term goals.
They sought more than just territory. The Night Tribe had its eyes on the extraordinary resources and rich mineral veins in this land—and they also desired the barbarian warriors themselves.
But this ambition was risky.
For the current Night Tribe, absorbing an influx of 300,000 people would be an overwhelming burden. Worse still, these were not peaceful settlers. They were fierce, brutal barbarians. Their sudden inclusion could swell the tribe like an overinflated balloon, ready to burst.
Although the Ye Tribe had grown in numbers, many of its people had only recently joined. Most were drawn by divine power and generous conditions, not loyalty. Few truly identified with the Ye Tribe. If unrest broke out, it could trigger a chain reaction that would tear the tribe apart from within.
It was simply too soon.
Not even a month had passed since the Ye Tribe unified the Red River region. Expecting full allegiance in such a short time was unrealistic. If they had even a year or two, Su Xingyu was confident he could cultivate genuine unity.
Unfortunately, time was not a luxury they had.
Su Xingyu had hoped to delay the war with the barbarians. The longer the Ye Tribe waited, the stronger it would become, while the barbarian tribes, already stagnant, would fall further behind. Time favored the Ye Tribe. A future war would have been easier to win with minimal cost.
But that future relied on one condition: that the Night Tribe could face the barbarians alone, in a one-on-one confrontation.
That was impossible.
In a crisis, the barbarian headquarters could mobilize sixty to seventy thousand warriors. If their vassal clans joined the fray, their numbers would easily surpass one hundred thousand.
Once they discovered the Night Tribe's presence, they would surely go all in. Su Xingyu knew them too well. The barbarians would stop at nothing and throw every last warrior into the fight.
Su Xingyu had no doubt the Ye Tribe would ultimately win, but such a massive war would seriously hinder the tribe's development.
That was why, upon hearing that the barbarians had already sent scouts, Su Xingyu did not hesitate. He immediately deployed all of his cavalry, aiming to crush the barbarian tribe outright and annex them in one swift, ruthless campaign.
Could it be done?
Su Xingyu believed it could.
The two barbarian strongholds were only a few dozen miles apart—a short ride for elite cavalry.
Halfway to the second stronghold, Ye Zhan and his cavalry ran into a massive force of barbarian warriors. These were undoubtedly reinforcements from the remaining stronghold.
"Akri, that useless coward," growled a burly barbarian chieftain, glaring at the oncoming cavalry in black armor. "He had over thirty thousand warriors and still couldn't hold the line for a single moment."
His name was Hudson, ruler of the second barbarian stronghold and the nominal leader of the entire barbarian tribe.
When he first received word of the attack, Hudson refused to believe it. After all, the barbarians hadn't provoked any other tribe recently. In his mind, the smaller clans should have been grateful, not aggressive. Who would dare attack them?
But when more and more barbarian warriors fled from the direction of the first stronghold, the truth became undeniable.
With growing unease, Hudson gathered nearly all of his warriors and rode out. Along the way, he passed waves of frightened deserters, each one confirming the disaster he had hoped was a lie.
Still, he hadn't expected this: by the time he arrived, Akri had already fallen.
"I'll see just how strong these invaders really are!" Hudson snarled.
Ye Zhan's armor was already stained crimson. He stood tall on horseback, sword raised, and roared, "Charge with me!"
This was the way of the Night Tribe in battle—lead by example. A commander had to be the first to break through or fall trying.
"Kill!"
"For our God!"
"Victory belongs to us!"
The warriors of the Night Tribe roared in unison and surged forward behind Ye Zhan.
"You don't know who you're dealing with," Hudson muttered with contempt. Then he raised his own weapon and kicked his horse into a gallop. "Follow me! Show them the true power of the Black Soil Plains!"
Barbarian warriors let out wild howls and charged forward, spirits high.
It was the largest cavalry battle this land had ever seen.
Nearly one hundred thousand elite soldiers clashed, each side capable of sweeping through any lesser tribe with ease.
As they drew closer, Hudson's confident expression began to shift. Something was off.
Why were the enemy cavalry moving slower than expected? And why was their formation so tight and deliberate?
Then it hit him. As the distance closed to a few hundred steps, Hudson's eyes widened in alarm.
Full-body armor. These weren't regular cavalry.
They were heavy cavalry.
Before becoming chieftain, Hudson had traveled with a merchant caravan and seen things beyond this land. One sight had left a deep impression on him—fully armored cavalry. He had long dreamed of creating such a force himself, but lacked the technology to refine enough quality steel.
Despite the iron-rich land, the barbarian tribes had never mastered metallurgy. Hudson had spent years assembling just a few hundred heavy cavalry of his own, which he guarded like a trump card.
But now he was staring down an entire unit of them.
The enemy vanguard—those charging at the front—were all heavy cavalry.
His heart sank.
"It's over," Hudson whispered.
He knew better than anyone how devastating heavy cavalry could be. Once they built up momentum, they became unstoppable juggernauts. Even extraordinary warriors, far stronger than the average soldier, would struggle to stand against them.
The worst part was, it was already too late to retreat. Both sides were charging at full speed. If Hudson ordered a retreat now, his troops would be trampled during the withdrawal, and their defeat would only be more complete.
The collision was thunderous.
Ye Zhan's three thousand heavy cavalry slammed into the barbarian lines like a steel avalanche. It was like an elephant stampeding through a pack of wolves.
Barbarian warriors were sent flying, knocked from their horses, or crushed underfoot until nothing remained but blood and broken limbs.
Extraordinary or not, no one could withstand the crushing force of thousands of iron hooves. Every soldier in the path of the Night Tribe was pulverized into the ground.
The heavy cavalry pierced through the barbarian formation like a sword through flesh, splitting their ranks in two.
Ye Zhan tossed aside his lance and drew a wide, curved blade. He swung viciously, cutting down two enemy riders in an instant.
"Hahaha! Kill them all!" he shouted with manic glee.
"So this is the barbarian tribe? What a joke!"
"Pathetic! With this kind of strength, how do you expect to resist our conquest?"
The heavy cavalry, though slowing slightly after the initial impact, continued to push forward with relentless force. Their blades carved through the chaos, leaving behind only carnage.
They were the elite of the Night Tribe, equipped with the finest gear available—superior even to the troops following behind them.
In contrast, the barbarians were poorly equipped. Most of their gear came from passing caravans. While not the worst, it was aged and mismatched. Some warriors still wore hand-me-down armor from their grandfathers' generation.
Compared to the original Red River Tribe, they were well-equipped. Back then, most warriors wore little more than animal hides.
But compared to the Night Tribe—outfitted in newly forged armor and freshly honed weapons—the barbarians looked like relics from another era.
One poorly equipped soldier might manage. But tens of thousands without adequate gear?
The battle was already lost.