92: Chapter 92 The Boss is Wise!

Old Dao's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Zhou Yun looked at him, was silent for a moment, then softly said one last sentence: "When we meet again, I hope it won't be as enemies."

Old Dao shuddered.

So... he knew everything.

Perhaps... he had known from the very beginning!

He knew they were Wang Shuai's men, knew they had come to spy on military intelligence, knew their identities were fake, their motives were fake, and their submission was fake.

He knew it all, yet he still let them enter the city, let them eat spirit rice, receive meat, learn Cultivation Techniques, do work, and take their wages.

It wasn't because he was stupid, and it wasn't because he was careless, but rather—he simply didn't care.

Or rather, the things he cared about were different from others.

That was true.

The department heads of Flower City were all shrewd and capable, and as the City Lord, someone who could make them so loyal couldn't possibly be weak, could he?

It would be strange if he, as the City Lord, didn't know their petty backgrounds!

But... they were clearly here to... yet he...

Thinking of this, Old Dao's nose suddenly felt sore.

He bit the tip of his tongue hard, suppressed that emotion, released his cupped-hand salute, stepped back three paces, turned around, and strode toward the city gate.

He did not look back.

He was afraid to look back.

Five hundred men filed out.

No one spoke; the sound of footsteps echoed in the city gate tunnel, dull and rhythmic.

When each person passed by Zhou Yun, they subconsciously slowed down by half a beat; some stole a glance at him, some lowered their heads, and some moved their lips as if wanting to say something, but in the end, they said nothing.

The city gate slowly closed behind them.

...

After leaving Flower City and walking for three miles, the troop stopped.

Old Dao stood on a small hill and looked back at the walls of Flower City.

The afternoon sun shone on the walls, making them look bleached white, and the flags on the ramparts snapped loudly in the wind, with the figures of the guards faintly visible.

"Boss." A subordinate approached and lowered his voice, "Are we... just leaving like this?"

Old Dao didn't answer.

"The mission wasn't completed; how are we going to explain it to Wang Shuai when we get back?"

"Explain what?" Old Dao withdrew his gaze, his expression having recovered its usual seasoned and steady look, "If a matter cannot be accomplished, then report it truthfully. Wang Shuai is wise and martial; he will naturally understand."

The corner of the subordinate's mouth twitched imperceptibly.

Wise and martial.

Flower City's daily wage was three taels of spirit rice, Silver Rank spirit rice.

What was the military pay Wang Shuai gave them?

Black flour cakes, issued once every three days, and they were already sour by the time they got them.

Flower City taught all Professionals in the city Bronze Rank Cultivation Techniques for free, but what about Wang Shuai?

Cultivation Techniques had to be exchanged for with military merit; exchanging for the lowest grade Black Iron Rank Mind-Cultivation Technique required at least thirty years of accumulated military merit!

Every Professional in Flower City could receive ten catties of Gold Rank Demonic Beast meat daily.

Gold Rank.

Ten catties!

In Qing City, they hadn't even eaten Black Iron Rank Demonic Beast meat.

Wise and martial?

The subordinate chewed on those four words, really unable to taste any flavor, but he didn't dare to refute, only giving a sullen "Hmm."

The troop continued forward.

After walking about half a mile, someone behind muttered, "I always feel bad about Flower City."

The voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear on the quiet wilderness.

No one answered, but no one refuted it either.

Old Dao was walking at the very front and paused for a moment.

He looked back at the troop behind him.

Five hundred men were stretched out in a long line; their morale couldn't be called low, but everyone's face carried an indescribable awkwardness.

"Stop." Old Dao spoke.

Five hundred men stopped and looked at him in unison.

Old Dao looked around, his gaze sweeping over the terrain beneath his feet.

They were walking along a valley path crossing low hills, with low stone walls on both sides, and the path ahead led to the wilderness east of Flower City—that direction was exactly the path the Demonic Beast horde would take.

"The Demonic Beast horde will come from the east today." Old Dao said, his tone no different from when assigning tasks, "This valley path is the only way; the terrain is narrow, so the Demonic Beasts will have to crowd together when they come. Guarding here will be more than enough."

The subordinates looked at each other.

"Before returning to Qing City," Old Dao hoisted his blade and slammed it onto the ground, a smile of the greatest satisfaction seen in these past few days appearing on his scarred face, "let's clear this wave of the Demonic Beast horde for Flower City!"

There was silence for two breaths.

Then—

"Good!!!"

The five hundred men roared in unison.

This shout was louder and more gratifying than any time in Flower City.

Someone drew their blade and slashed hard against the stone wall, sparks flying everywhere.

Someone took off their helmet and tossed it into the air, laughing heartily.

Someone's eyes reddened, yet they grinned widely.

"We should have done this long ago!"

"Exactly! We finally did something human!"

"Boss is wise! This time it's truly wise!!"

...

Old Dao was choked up by that last sentence, but then he laughed too.

He waved his hand to signal everyone to be quiet and began to set up a defensive line based on the terrain.

The five hundred men moved.

At the valley entrance, warriors lined up in front, Archers climbed the stone walls on both sides to occupy high ground, mages gathered in the rear, and priests retreated to the last row.

In the short time it takes for an incense stick to burn, a tight defensive line had taken shape.

Old Dao stood at the front of the formation, facing the eastern wilderness.

The wind blew from that direction, carrying a dry, earthy smell.

There was nothing on the distant horizon, but Old Dao knew—the Demonic Beast horde would come.

He gripped the blade in his hand and suddenly remembered Zhou Yun's last sentence.

He whispered to himself, seemingly making a reply.

But the voice was too small, and the wind was too strong.

It just swirled and then dissipated completely.

...

They waited for a day.

From early morning until noon, from noon until the sun slanted west, the fifty-thousand-strong army of Flower City stood on the wilderness outside the city for a whole day, and there wasn't even a shadow of the Demonic Beast horde.

Scouts reported back every hour, the answer changing from "No unusual activity for now" to "Confirmed no unusual activity," and then to "Haven't even seen a wild rabbit within twenty miles."

By the Shen hour in the afternoon, the soldiers' emotions went from tension to restlessness, from restlessness to boredom, and from boredom to—grievance.

"Where is the promised Demonic Beast horde?!"

A young warrior stabbed his blade into the ground and squatted down to gnaw on dry rations.

The companions nearby followed suit, sitting down in twos and threes, complaining while eating meat.

"Got up early for nothing."

"I spent two hours sharpening my blade last night, who was I sharpening it for?"

"Hey! If the Demonic Beast horde doesn't come, didn't we eat all that food for nothing?"

"I even bet five catties of pork with Old Zhao next door, betting I could kill twenty today. Now it's gone, five catties of meat thrown away."

"What are you thinking? There are no Demonic Beasts to kill, the bet is void!"

"No way, a bet is a bet! Are you a sore loser?"

"You're the sore loser!"