On the Nameless Hill, the Qing'an caravan had just finished setting up their defenses when the enemy impatiently surrounded them.
A mass of one or two thousand rogues spilled over the wilderness, their eyes flashing with greed and bloodlust, like wolves eyeing a flock of sheep, eager to reveal their fangs and claws.
These rogues were not ordinary vagrants; most were physically robust and equipped with spears, swords, axes, and a few bows and arrows. Their movements were disciplined, far from being a mere rabble.
Moreover, among the rogues, there were a few well-equipped leaders who occasionally shouted to boost morale.
The rogues halted their advance about half a mile from the caravan.
They did not rashly attack, only surrounding the caravan on the hill with an imposing stance.
It seemed they were waiting for something.
Seeing this situation, Wang Chen in the makeshift camp had a large box moved out.
This box was very heavy, requiring four porters to carry it.
