Chapter 56: Wolf of War (Part Three)

"Their skulls are hard—if you strike there, your blade may get stuck. Aim for the legs instead."
Zhang Wujia did not retreat immediately. If he lost his footing, those beasts would seize the chance to pounce, and he might never make it back. Before they could fall back, they had to fight with overwhelming force.

The three of them formed a slanted triangle, with Zhang Wujia at the front. His unfamiliar saber, once wielded with one hand, was now gripped in both. A faint trace of blood gleamed on the bright blade. Not far away, the carcass of a snow wolf lay stiff and frozen, its companions advancing step by step, trampling over its body.

The wolves seemed to focus their attention on the one who had killed their kin. Three large wolves fixed their gaze on him, growling low. Zhang Wujia braced himself, one leg before the other, standing in an inverted V stance. He bent his torso slightly, lowering his tall frame and steadying himself.

Suddenly, with a gust of wind, all three snow wolves sprang at him as one. Nearby, his two companions were also entangled by other wolves. Zhang Wujia exhaled a plume of white breath, his eyes narrowing, yet his hands remained still.

He was waiting.

When the wolf to his left leapt into the air, an arrow streaked past his ear, striking the beast dead in the eye. Flailing mid-leap, the wolf crashed to the ground with a wailing cry.

"Good shot!"

Zhang Wujia even found time to utter a word of praise. Then, with an upward swing of his saber, he struck the next wolf in the soft underside of its jaw. Blood sprayed before it even hit the ground. With a twist of his wrists, the blade arced overhead, cleaving down the gaping maw of the wolf to his right. It looked as if the wolf had thrown itself onto the blade, the combined force nearly splitting its head in two.

With a heavy thud, the two massive bodies fell lifeless at his feet, blood splattering over him until he seemed steeped in gore—utterly terrifying to behold.

"Ah!" Zhang Wujia roared, his blood-streaked face twisted savagely, mouth wide to reveal yellowed teeth, like a furious beast proclaiming its dominance to the pack.

His tiger-like ferocity stunned the wolves, making them hesitate.

"Fall back!"

At his shout, Lao Wu and Lao Shi retreated, moving as one. The three maintained their formation, brandishing bloodied sabers as they edged toward their camp. The wolf facing Lao Wu had its left foreleg severed with a single stroke and was now forced to limp on three legs, howling in pain.

The wolf attacking Lao Shi also collapsed onto the ice, a deep gash at its jaw, its white fur stained red. Its body twitched, while several carcasses blocked the path of the pursuing wolves. Seizing the moment, the three men cleared a path past the sleds and withdrew into their ranks.

"Saber-bearers, hold the passage! Spears, assist from the flanks. Stay sharp—they’re coming again!"

Zhang Wujia planted his blade in the ground and shouted his orders. The saber-bearers quickly moved to guard the passageways, facing the wolves head-on just as he did.

In his two lifetimes, Liu Ji had never felt so cold. His body and legs were numb, his face frozen until he could no longer move his muscles—he could scarcely feel his blood flowing. These were clear signs of hypothermia, the prelude to tissue death. He forced himself to breathe and, with shaking hands, wrapped his fur coat and hat tightly around himself.

What he needed most now was a bucket of hot water—or even a cup—anything to let his insides breathe and restore his circulation.

But no one could help him now. The wolves’ howls rose again as they charged, one after another, down the passages separated by sleds.

"Slaughter these beasts! Tonight we feast!"
"Heave!"

As a seasoned veteran, Zhang Wujia knew how to rally his men. Beasts differ from men—they do not flee from fear, and expecting them to retreat after heavy losses is pure fantasy. As he bellowed, the twang of bows and crossbows filled the air. By the time the first wolf reached him, it already bristled with arrows.

The wounded snow wolf lunged with gaping jaws, forepaws splayed, refusing to dodge or retreat. Zhang Wujia could have ended it with a single blow, but he did not.

Now was not the time to assert dominance, but to maintain relentless combat. Even if he split its hard skull with a stroke, the exertion would be immense—his arms still tingled from the last such blow. Instead, he sidestepped the wolf’s head and slashed at its body, knocking it out of the air.

Before he could give an order, his men behind him thrust their spears, impaling the fallen wolf. After a bout of agonized howling, the two-meter-long adult wolf finally stilled, unwillingly closing its eyes.

Zhang Wujia was already poised, ready for the next attack.

This was the formation the Tang soldiers had tirelessly trained for—not just for show, but for perfect coordination, mutual support, and combined strikes. This kept everyone’s strength expenditure even, sustaining their fighting power over time.

On the small patch of ground, cries of battle and death rang out, human shouts mingling with wolves’ wails. The struggle for survival against nature was no gentler than the slaughter among men, and the sporadic screams made it clear that neither side had gained the upper hand.

They were facing the masters of this glacier—at least a hundred wolves.

At such a moment of life and death, how could Liu Ji stand idly by? This was his idea from the start—he had considered the harsh terrain and climate, but forgotten about nature’s fiercest inhabitants. In this era, beasts were not mere spectacle—they devoured men.

"Drag it over here! Bring it to me!"

A spearman heard his shout and turned, confused, to see their commander—eyes red—frantically pointing at the ground.

There lay a freshly dead snow wolf!

"You two, drag it to the commander—quick!"

Zhang Wujia guessed his intent and barked the order without turning, his saber still hacking down another wolf, slicing it from shoulder to belly and leaving a gaping wound.

Two spearmen hurriedly dragged the wolf’s body to Liu Ji, and, fearing it was not quite dead, each stabbed it in the neck, drawing fountains of blood as they withdrew their spears.

At that moment, Liu Ji moved. He threw himself onto the wolf’s corpse and opened his mouth to drink the hot blood!

The freshly killed body still radiated warmth. The blood rushed down his throat, its strong, gamey taste revolting, but Liu Ji forced himself to swallow great gulps. Gradually, a hint of warmth returned to his body, and his numb legs began to tingle with sensation.

What was animal blood to him? In special training, he had even drunk his own urine. In the face of death, the potential a person could unleash was beyond imagination.

Now, he had only one thought: to move as soon as possible. His comrades were counting on him.