88: Chapter 88 Meeting

The Chiyan Tribe's trading area was at the southern end of the Myriad Races Market. Three large, vermilion tents stood in a row.

Outside the tents hung flame banners, which snapped in the wind like three clusters of fire held aloft by the savage land.

A woman stood in front of the tents.

No, it should be said, a ball of fire stood there.

Yan Wuyang.

The daughter of Chief Yan Lie of the Chiyan Tribe, an S-rank Flame Dancer, a native of the savage land—the Yan Clan.

Her fiery red hair burned like flames, cascading down from the top of her head. The tips of her hair were like sparks scattered by the wind, shimmering with a dark red glow in the sunlight.

Her eyes were amber, as scorching as magma. When she looked at someone, she carried a straightforwardness and passion unique to the Yan Clan, as if she were not looking at you, but roasting you.

Her skin was honey-colored, like cream touched by the sun itself, smooth and delicate with a healthy elasticity.

The fire patterns of the Yan Clan lineage faintly roamed across her honey-colored skin, writhing like living flames on her body, spreading from her collarbone to her arms, and extending from her waist to her calves. Those fire patterns were not tattooed; they were the innate marks of the Yan Clan bloodline. In the sunlight, they resembled dark red threads, adding a dangerous beauty to her honey-colored skin.

She wore the traditional Yan Clan short skirt and crop top. The top only covered her chest and shoulders, exposing her entire waist and abdomen. The faint fire patterns on her waist and abdomen resembled flowing magma, winding from under her ribs to the edge of her low-rise skirt.

The short skirt only reached mid-thigh. Her honey-colored thighs were long and strong, their muscle lines resembling a fully drawn bowstring, full of explosive power. Especially the curves between her waist and hips, which seemed to be sculpted by the magma flowing in the Yan Clan bloodline. Her waist was as slender as the narrowest part of a flame, while the round and full arc of her hips was like two clusters of fire held aloft by the savage land, every inch of undulation carrying the passion and danger unique to the Yan Clan.

She was like a walking flame, slender yet curvaceous. The curve between her waist and hips was like a fully drawn bow, full of explosive power, making people unable to look away, yet afraid to approach.

"Bright Tribe?" Yan Wuyang looked Wang Sheng up and down, her amber eyes filled with curiosity and scrutiny.

"I heard you took down a Rank 5 Barbarian Warrior Ink-scaled Python on the outskirts of the Savage Beast Forest?"

"News travels quite fast." Wang Sheng smiled.

Yan Wuyang suddenly laughed, revealing a set of white teeth. Her smile was as passionate as her hair:

"My father says that anyone who can kill a Rank 5 Barbarian Warrior Savage Beast is worth befriending."

She took a flame-shaped token from her bosom.

The token was entirely crimson, like a solidified drop of magma, radiating warmth in the sunlight. It was the name card of the Yan Clan chief. In the southern part of the Central Wasteland Region, this thing carried more weight than any official document.

"This is my father's name card. He is currently in the tribe handling affairs.

Three days from now, there will be a large gathering at the Myriad Races Market, and all the tribal chiefs will attend. You can meet formally then."

Heavenly Strategist Shangguan Xuan whispered at Wang Sheng's side, "The Chiyan Tribe is the strongest tribe in the southern Central Wasteland Region. Chief Yan Lie is a Rank 7 Barbarian Warrior, one rank higher than Chief Shi Ba.

Moreover, he values faith and righteousness and has an old grudge with Zhao Mang. If we can form an alliance with Chiyan, we at least won't have to worry about the threat from the south."

Wang Sheng took the name card, and a fiery sensation came from his palm. It was the temperature unique to the Yan Clan, as if he were holding a small cluster of fire.

Yan Wuyang leaned close to Wang Sheng. Her fiery red hair brushed against his shoulders, and the faint fire patterns on her honey-colored skin radiated warmth, as if he were standing close to a small sun.

"You are that transmigrator?" Her voice carried the enthusiasm unique to the Yan Clan, without a hint of reserve, as straightforward as fire itself.

"My father said you possess a different kind of power."

When she got close, Wang Sheng could feel the heat radiating from her.

It wasn't a scorching burn, but a warmth like standing beside a campfire, diffusing from her honey-colored skin.

Her explosive figure was even more breathtaking up close. Beneath her short skirt and crop top, the curves of the fire patterns roaming her waist and abdomen were like living creatures, spreading from her slender waist to the full arc of her hips. That passionate, dangerous curve made the men around them subconsciously hold their breath.

But when she looked at Wang Sheng, there was only curiosity in her amber eyes, not a hint of ambiguity.

At least not for now.

"Is your power... light?" She tilted her head, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like magma overflowing from a volcanic crater.

"I have never seen the power of light. On the Savage Continent, there has only ever been darkness and death; there is no light."

Wang Sheng's palm lit up with a faint golden glow.

Yan Wuyang's eyes lit up instantly.

"So beautiful," she blurted out, then quickly caught herself. She puffed out her chest, recovering the reserve of the Yan Clan, although such reserve on her was like an ice flower on a flame—its presence was equal to zero.

"I mean... this power... is very special."

Murong Xue gave a soft "Hmph" from the side. The sound was very light, but loud enough for Wang Sheng to hear.

Murong Xue's brown eyes swept over Yan Wuyang; that gaze was like the cold edge of a silver spear, devoid of any hostility, but the message was clear... Stay away from him.

Yan Wuyang didn't notice at all, or rather, she didn't care.

In her amber eyes, there was only that golden light, like a moth seeing fire—no, like fire seeing the sun.

"At the gathering three days from now, my father will be there in person." Yan Wuyang stepped back, her fiery red hair whipping an arc over her shoulder.

"At that time, Chieftain of the Bright Tribe, let us see just how bright your light really is."

The Green Vine Tribe's trading area was on the east side of the market. It was much smaller than the Chiyan's, but it won out in its exquisiteness.

The stalls were filled with utensils woven from vines and plant-based spiritual herbs. The emerald green aura was like a spring breeze, forming a cool world of its own amidst the noisy market.

Teng Ling stood in front of the largest tent.

The chief of the Green Vine Tribe was a woman with an astonishing figure.

She wore a war skirt woven from vine armor. Vines extended from her shoulders, looking like green ribbons wrapping around her slender body. The design of the war skirt was both practical and bewitching. Vines tightened at her waist, outlining breathtaking waist and hip curves. Her waist was so slender it was as if it had been cinched by the vines themselves.

Below the waist, the round and full arc of her hips was like two peaches carefully wrapped in vine armor. At the peak of her hips, the vines held up the full contours high, as if held by hands. The direction of every vine seemed meticulously designed—not to conceal, but to accentuate.

The vine armor on her chest was the same, holding her full contours up to an astonishing height like a blooming flower. Vines spread down from her collarbone like green fingers gently clasping, locking that voluptuous arc at the angle most impossible to look away from.

The hem of her war skirt only reached mid-thigh. Her long legs were clad in leg guards woven from vine armor, and her honey-colored skin was visible through the gaps in the vines, like a gift wrapped in green ribbons that one couldn't help but want to unwrap.

Her skin had a faint green tint, like tender leaves moistened by spring rain.

Her long hair was emerald green. Interspersed in the waterfall-like green hair were tiny vine flower buds. Those buds were on the verge of blooming, and occasionally one or two would open, emitting a faint, fresh fragrance.

Her eyes were also emerald green, like two pieces of jade moistened by spring lake water. But what flickered in that jade was not gentleness, but shrewdness.

Just as vines silently calculate every path for climbing, when Teng Ling's emerald eyes appraised Wang Sheng, she was also calculating the pros and cons of every variable.

"Bright Tribe," Teng Ling's voice was like the rustling of vines climbing, lazy and dangerous.

"I have heard of you. A small village of only a hundred people, yet you killed a Rank 5 Barbarian Warrior Ink-scaled Python."

She looked Wang Sheng up and down, her emerald eyes filled with shrewd calculation, like a precision scale weighing his worth.

"You are young, and handsome. But on this Savage Continent, handsomeness cannot put food on the table."

"Chief Teng Ling," Heavenly Strategist Shangguan Xuan stepped forward. The Heavenly Strategist's voice was neither humble nor arrogant, like a chess piece landing on a board—precise and powerful.

"Although Guangming Village does not have a large population, we have Rank 5 Barbarian Warrior combat power, Elf Archers, communication spirit stones, and even more so, the Power of Holy Light."

Teng Ling's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Communication spirit stones?" Her interest was piqued, her emerald eyes resembling lit-up gemstones.

"Those are some of the scarcest resources at the Myriad Races Market. You actually have them?"

"Ten." Heavenly Strategist Shangguan Xuan said only one word.

But that word was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake. A sharp light flashed in Teng Ling's emerald eyes, and the flower buds in her hair trembled slightly, like wind chimes stirred by the breeze.

Communication spirit stones represented information warfare capability. In the Central Wasteland Region, whoever held the information advantage held the strategic initiative.

Ten communication spirit stones meant that Guangming Village could achieve instant communication within a ten-mile radius; this was an almost inconceivable tactical advantage on the Savage Continent.

"Interesting." Teng Ling curled her lips. That smile was like a tendril quietly extending from a vine in the darkness—gentle, dangerous, and full of probing.

"I will attend the gathering three days from now. At that time, we will see if you are worth me taking seriously."

Her gaze lingered on Wang Sheng for an extra second—not in appreciation, but in valuation. It was as if a buyer of a commodity were calculating whether it was worth making an offer.

Then her gaze swept over Heavenly Strategist Shangguan Xuan, Murong Xue, Xiao Yuqing, and White Deer—four women, four kinds of beauty.

Teng Ling's lips curled slightly, the curve resembling the most subtle arc of a vine—almost invisible, but it definitely existed.

"Chieftain of the Bright Tribe," she turned, her emerald green hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall, the flower buds swaying slightly in the wind,

"the women by your side are, one by one, more interesting than the last."