Wu Kai had just stepped out of the physician's tent, his face dark as iron. Three more scouts had been struck by poisoned arrows, their bodies burning hot and unconscious. This was the Barbarian Race's harassment—small groups slipping past the frontline defenses, lying in wait to ambush lone scouting parties, using long tubular blowguns to launch attacks from the woods. Often, there was no warning.
Ever since passing through Red Mountain Valley, these raids had happened intermittently all along the way.
Wu Kai had anticipated this, and the warnings had been sounded back when they crossed Wu Lake. Along the road, he'd seen plenty of wagons returning empty except for wounded, comatose soldiers—just like the cases he'd observed in the physician's tent.
