A rare magical miracle in the world

Chapter 29: Chapter 22 Yatun Hill Barbarian (6000 words, please recommend)

Nors and Fiona released the White Eagle, and half a day later, it brought back a message—the trade caravan was approaching.

The vantage point from high above gave the People of Yatun ample preparation time.

Choosing the right location for an ambush was critical; too far away, and the enemy would spot us too early, signaling a failed operation.

"Into the mountains. Don't worry about sustainable development. Over the next few days, hunt as much game as you can."

"Hunt down everything you see and encounter!"

Meanwhile, Jiera and John from the Lu Lin Family led their people into the mountains. They hunted the wild beasts with abandon and made jerky from their meat.

Eating just grains could fill the stomach, but the People of Yatun preferred meat.

Moreover, since they were about to relocate, they no longer cared if the mass deaths of the wild animals in the mountains would exhaust the resources. Everyone went all out, hunting as they pleased, which made them very happy.

"Has everyone arrived?"

Under the setting sun, Bailuo rode Sherri, with her senior sister atop a brown warhorse, a birthday gift from their uncle four years prior.

Bailuo had named it Radish.

Inya, Nors, and Jiera also rode horses. Including Radish, they were Yatun Village's entire four horses.

"Sister and I will go ahead to scout for any ambushes and rule out unexpected situations,"

"The rest of you," Bailuo said, "attack the camp as planned."

"Understood!"

Nors led the five people with solemn expressions. They had been professionally trained by their uncle. Not only was their individual combat ability extremely strong, but their coordination was also very tacit.

"I'll head west, you go east."

"Hmm."

Bailuo nodded. He glanced at his senior sister and said, "Let's go!"

The five of them plunged directly into the deep forest, a place dominated by wild beasts and even some terrifying monsters.

However, the People of Yatun were not afraid of them. Even if they couldn't defeat them, evading and repelling them wouldn't take much effort.

Not to mention they had senior sister with them. She had a reputation in Yatun Village as a monster slayer and an assassin.

If it weren't for the low yield rate of monster meat—the highest being only 10% from the Tin-toothed Boar— with senior sister around, the People of Yatun wouldn't worry too much about food.

Despite this, the senior sister still occasionally entered the mountains to practice on monsters.

By now, whenever senior sister entered the forest, the monsters would stay well clear of her. Even when hunting Silver Mane, their uncle had her stay far away.

Otherwise, with Silver Mane's ability to sense presences, it would never choose to confront senior sister.

After all, she was a monster among monsters!

"Such exquisite fur, how did those barbarians in the mountains manage to hunt it?"

This was a camp with fences three meters high, mainly for defending against wild beasts, not other human beings.

In the camp, a gentlemanly dressed rich man examined the wolf pelt in his hand, which wasn't his own, but another merchant's.

"This is Snow Wolf fur, quite rare. If brought to the Marquis of Clearspring's territory, it could sell for at least seven or eight small gold coins."

The man said, "The Marchioness likes clothes made from this kind of material, she never gets tired of them no matter how many she has."

"What about the cost?"

This merchant was obviously new, as the other just laughed heartily with a smug expression: "Just 5 jin of grain each, haha, and that's coarse grain at that! Hahaha!"

Not just him, but all the merchants laughed greedily.

"There's only one path in and out of the mountains."

"Those barbarian villages' lands are very barren, they cannot grow much."

"We exchange grain for mountain goods with these mountain folks; if they don't sell, they'll starve."

"The only downside is the quantity is too small."

"After all, they are just some barbarians. Snow Wolves aren't easy to hunt, having some is already good enough!"

It's difficult for ordinary people to hunt monsters in the mountains, and even upon success, one must pay a significant price.

The People of Yatun kept a low profile, hiding their true abilities.

They also believed in sustainable development, allowing the already scarce wildlife a period to recover. Therefore, the uncle restrained himself from selling too many treasures from the mountains.

The taller the tree, the harder the wind blows. When it came to monster pelts, the less that made it out, the better.

"Blame Count Thorn, we're just honest businessmen."

There were three trade convoys in the camp, and in addition to them, nearly a hundred fully armed mercenaries with strong capabilities.

"I heard that the People of Yatun appeared to the west."

The mercenaries were already accustomed to the smug faces of unscrupulous merchants. Sitting around the campfire, drinking and eating meat, they discussed various anecdotes from the Thistle Province with aplomb.

In the conversation, they mentioned the People of Yatun.

"Yatun? Those barbarians, there's news of them again?"

"Every so often, the kingdom cleans them up; news spreads everywhere except Count Thorn doesn't do it like the other Lords."

"He doesn't send troops, he just offers bounties."

"Isn't that better! Ten gold ingots (five million) ah."

"But they want them alive, and we can't capture them."

"Give it a good try; maybe there's a chance?"

The last voice was different from the rough tones from before and sounded out of place.

"It's not about effort, that's Yatun..."

The leading mercenary was saying when he suddenly paused.

He looked up, only to see a third figure had squeezed in between the two previously seated on the stump without anyone knowing when.

"Yo!"

With silver-white spiked hair and a wild outfit, a young man about eighteen or nineteen years old was waving at him.

At this moment, the mercenary felt an immense sense of danger at the sight of that smile: "Enem..."

"Pff!!"

The sharp spearhead thrust from Nors's hand, piercing the mercenary's throat and abruptly cutting off his second word.

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