As the strong wind swept through the treetops, the green ocean swayed with it, churning like green waves.
The bright moon hung high in the night sky, its soft moonlight illuminating the empty wilderness below, shining on the lush vegetation, appearing exceptionally serene; only the activity of small animals and insects gave life to this quiet green ocean.
The wilderness was so unremarkable, the breeze just passed through, animals lived here peacefully, occasionally hunters came, but that was the biggest surprise, this was the daily routine here, calm and tranquil.
However, this tranquility had been broken.
Numerous warhorses galloped across this wilderness, amidst a flurry of flying arrows, the tragic deaths of those struck, and the loud thuds of warhorses or riders falling and tumbling.
On the wilderness bordering Rus and Bulgar, a large number of riders galloped, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust, which from a distance appeared quite spectacular.
Both sides in pursuit were riders dressed in Bulgar attire, but identical clothing did not mean they were on the same side; at this moment, they were enemies intent on inflicting death upon each other.
To ensure speed, neither side wore heavy armor, only simple protective gear, which allowed arrows to exert their maximum power; a hit often meant death.
The pursued riders were clearly fewer than their pursuers, but they were more elite, constantly returning fire with their bows and arrows; many among them were unerring marksmen, each time they drew their bow and nocked an arrow, a pursuer was struck.
The unfortunate ones who were hit often fell directly from their horses, then were trampled by the hooves of their companions' horses, which basically meant death.
Such screams also sent shivers down everyone's spines; many of their comrades had died this way, but the Khan's death order urged them to continue the pursuit.
The pursuers also continuously shot arrows forward with their bows, but most of their arrows missed; their shooting skills were clearly very poor, serving no purpose other than to heighten the tension.
This chase lasted for nearly an hour, and soon the pursued ran out of arrows; during this time, many were unfortunately wounded, such as being shot in the arm, but they remained silent, only reporting their situation to their officer.
The pursued were undoubtedly elites; even with many injured and despite being pursued so miserably, they maintained a tight formation, protecting a small, black-robed rider behind them.
Their unerringly accurate officer did not intend for his subordinates to be injured; more importantly, compared to the condition of the warhorses, these injuries were nothing.
Because they spurred their warhorses to gallop madly, the warhorses had already begun to pant heavily.
This couldn't go on; while they could use spurring to accelerate, it wouldn't be sustainable and could easily cause the horses to die.
If the horses died, it would be a dead end.
Upon realizing these problems, the commander knew he had to come up with a solution quickly, and after some thought, he actually did.
The commander had once scouted this area; in those days, he was still the Khan's trusted subordinate, not a hunted "traitor," seeking a way to ambush the Rus tribute team here, but unfortunately, he ultimately failed.
However, this also allowed him to gain much, which was an understanding of the terrain in this area.
He remembered a shaky wooden bridge, located over a shallow stream; perhaps this bridge could temporarily help them escape their current predicament.
Soon, the pursued riders arrived at the wooden bridge; the bridge was dilapidated and in disrepair, and it had once been very busy before the development of new roads, but that was completely in the past.
The pursued riders galloped across without hesitation; their luck was good, and they quickly reached the other side of the bridge, as for their enemies behind them, their luck was not so good.
The pursuers swarmed onto the bridge; they also knew the danger of this bridge, but the mission was urgent, they had to complete it, there was no choice.
So many people running across earlier had already made the bridge groan in pain, and now with so many more swarming onto it, the bridge broke as expected, and a large number of enemies fell into the river.
Those who hadn't yet rushed onto the bridge stopped in disarray; they were at first somewhat at a loss, then, under the shouts of their leader, they began to try and help their comrades who had fallen into the water.
Even though the enemies were in such a desperate situation, the pursued did not relax; they continued to flee until they disappeared from the pursuers' sight.
Because they knew that this stream would not delay the enemy for long, nor would it drown many of them; they had to make use of this time.
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The pursued were resting; after such an intense chase, they could finally rest. Now, everyone had lit a bonfire behind a large rock.
Aleff, the commander of this group, sat by the bonfire helping his subordinate treat a wound on his arm, while the others were on guard nearby; everyone was silent.
Two guards stood behind the small figure protected by everyone, indicating the importance of this person's identity.
Their horses were tied nearby, and the warhorses all bore some scars; these warhorses were still panting frantically, and the sound of their panting and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds here.
Aleff first cut off the arrow shaft, then used a dagger to pry open the chainmail bracer on his subordinate's arm; having done this, he cleanly picked the arrow out of the wound.
Next, he carefully pressed a dagger, which had been burning in the bonfire for a while, onto the wound, minimizing the contact surface between the dagger and the skin as much as possible.
As the red-hot dagger touched his subordinate's skin, it made a sizzling sound.
And the subordinate, who had been silent, let out a suppressed cry of extreme pain, then he bit down hard on the wooden stick in his mouth.
After the dagger had been pressed down for nearly ten seconds, Aleff removed it, revealing the wound forcefully cauterized by the high temperature.
"It seems to work well," Aleff said, looking at the wound. "If the conditions here weren't so bad, I wouldn't use this method."
"It doesn't matter what you use, we're all going to die anyway."
Facing Aleff's words, the subordinate, who had just removed the wooden stick from his mouth, spoke very disheartenedly.
"Going to die? That's not necessarily true."
Once again facing such pessimistic words, Aleff's answer was still so firm.
"His Highness will be fine, and we will be fine; this is my promise."
Aleff's words were very firm, as if he had some strong backing.
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