CHAPTER 212: CHAPTER 212: NO WORTH LEFT

The war hall was still cloaked in darkness when Lang Yao returned the next morning. The cold had settled in overnight, seeping into the stone walls and dulling the air with a biting stillness. Even the flames in the torches along the walls seemed reluctant to burn, casting long, flickering shadows that moved like ghosts across the wooden floor.

Outside, the sky remained overcast, heavy with storm clouds that refused to break. Soldiers moved through the mist, their figures drifting between storage sheds and the hunting zones like shadows. Some gathered rotten meat, others sharpened weapons or checked scavenged supplies—all in preparation for the plan Lord Xun had approved the night before.

But Lang Yao had returned with something else.

A darker thought. A crueler method.

One he had not spoken aloud during last night’s strategy meeting—not because he doubted it, but because it needed the right moment. And now... that moment had come.

Lord Xun sat in his usual place, one hand resting calmly on the hilt of his blade, his sharp gaze focused on the map before him. He looked up without expression as Lang Yao stepped closer.

"There’s a better way," Lang Yao said quietly.

Lord Xun didn’t flinch. "Better than sound and blood trails?"

Lang Yao nodded once. "Yes. That plan will work, but it’s slow. It gives them time. Time to prepare. Time to protect. What I’m offering is something they can’t prepare for. Something that will leave them helpless from the very first scream."

He reached toward the map and tapped a region that lay deep within the dark forest’s western ridge—a place most scouts avoided.

"There’s a pack of beasts here. Not ordinary ones. These are larger, faster, more violent. Covered in thick, stone-like hides and long, hooked claws. The scouts call them Stonehide Ravagers."

Lord Xun listened, saying nothing.

Lang Yao continued, his voice smooth and steady, like a man discussing weather rather than bloodshed. "They are pack-hunters. Intelligent. Extremely sensitive to scent. But what makes them truly dangerous is not their strength... it’s their loyalty. Their rage."

He paused for effect, then added, "They protect their young more fiercely than anything else. If we take one of their cubs—just one—and kill it, then place its body inside the Dawn Base..."

His eyes gleamed as he watched Lord Xun for a reaction.

"...the pack will come."

Silence pressed down on the room like a weight. Even the fire in the brazier crackled more softly, as if shrinking from the idea.

Lang Yao’s tone did not falter. "They won’t come to feed. They’ll come to destroy. They will lose all sense of instinct. They will tear down every wall, crush every person, burn through every scent of human hands. They’ll keep coming until the base is nothing but ash and bones."

Lord Xun’s fingers twitched faintly against the map. His gaze narrowed, calculating.

Lang Yao pressed on. "And once the first wave starts, the others will follow. The scent of blood, the chaos—it will spread. Beasts that have never cooperated before will gather. Even if they’re not part of the same pack, they’ll be drawn to it. Like wolves to a wounded deer."

There was a pause. Lord Xun finally spoke, his voice low. "You’re saying... we give them the corpse of their own child."

Lang Yao’s eyes were steady. "Yes. The base is soft. They’ve lived in comfort too long. Let them feel what real fear is. Let the creatures of the forest deliver our message."

Lord Xun leaned back in his seat, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Send your best team," he ordered. "Trackers only. Silent. Precise. Get in. Kill the cubs. Keep the bodies fresh. I want them inside the walls of the Dawn Base before the third night falls."

He turned to the darker corners of the war hall, his voice echoing. "And make sure the blood stays. Let it seep into their floors, into their defenses. The beasts will follow the scent long after the meat is gone."

Lang Yao bowed, low and silent. "Yes, my lord."

But as he turned to leave, the mask on his face cracked ever so slightly. Just enough for the shadow beneath to slip out. A small, bitter smile touched his lips—sharp, cold, and full of venom.

Lang Yao stepped out of the hall with a smooth, almost smug expression on his face. The cold morning wind brushed past him, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he walked with quiet satisfaction, the memory of Lord Xun’s approval still warming his pride.

The plan had been accepted. Soon, the beasts would rage, the Dawn Base would crumble, and Liora would fall beneath the weight of the chaos. Just the thought of her frightened eyes made his lips twitch with pleasure.

He began to hum softly, a tune without meaning—just the rhythm of victory. Every step he took echoed with control. With power.

But as he approached the row of temporary soldier lodgings near his own quarters, a figure caught his eye.

She was crouched by his doorway—thin, worn down, her clothes loose and stained with dust. Her hair was unkempt, sticking to her face, and her cheeks were hollow from hunger. But even through the grime and exhaustion, her body moved with intention. Her neckline had slipped just enough to reveal a teasing curve, and her gaze... it was heavy with suggestion, her lips parted ever so slightly as if she’d been waiting just for him.

The moment her eyes met his, she stood up, wobbled once, then rushed toward him with an eager little laugh.

"General Yao~," she sang his name softly, her voice hoarse but sweet, "You’ve finally returned..."

She threw her arms around his, her breasts pressing up against his side as if she belonged there. Her scent was a mix of sweat, dirt, and something faintly sweet—like old perfume clinging to skin. Her fingers slid up the sleeve of his uniform, clinging, needy and flirtatious.

Lang Yao smirked as he looked down at her. "Still here, huh?" he murmured, amused. "Didn’t starve yet?"

She laughed lightly and pouted, playfully hitting his chest. "How could I, when I was waiting for you?" she asked, leaning in closer. "I thought you’d forgotten me..."

He didn’t answer. Instead, he let his hand drift downward, fingers grazing the back of her thigh. She squealed softly and wriggled, but didn’t pull away. Her hips shifted toward him, and her eyes sparkled with something desperate—admiration, maybe, or something she wanted him to believe was love.

Lang Yao’s ego swelled. He didn’t care if it was real or an act. As long as someone looked at him with worship in their eyes, he welcomed it.

His palm slapped her butt with a loud smack.

She gasped, half a laugh and half a moan, her body pressing even closer.

"Why’d you disappear for so long?" she murmured into his chest. "I missed you..."

"I was busy winning wars," he replied casually, gripping her waist and steering her toward his door. "But I’m here now, aren’t I?"

He pushed open the wooden door to his quarters with one hand, guiding her inside with the other. The room was dim, the walls bare except for a few weapons resting in a corner, and a small table with half a bottle of cheap alcohol.

As the door shut behind them, the woman twirled in his grip and dropped onto the edge of his cot, looking up at him with big eyes.

Lang Yao didn’t rush. He stood there for a moment, watching her—dirty-faced, hungry, but clinging to him like he was something sacred. Her lips curved into a smile, though it trembled at the edges.

"You’re still beautiful," he said, not because he meant it, but because he enjoyed the way she blushed when he did.

He reached out, brushed some dirt from her cheek with surprising gentleness, then grabbed a damp cloth from the corner. As he cleaned her face, his thumb lingered on her lips.

"Next time," he murmured, "try not to get this filthy. You’re no use to me dead."

She nodded, her hands trailing over his belt. "I can be useful in many ways... as long as it’s you."

That was all he needed to hear.

He closed his eyes, letting her fingers roam—and that was when she appeared in his mind.

He imagined her—her red hair and her beautiful face—while fucking this dirty whore who could not wait to cling to him at every possible moment.

By the time he pulled away, the woman was breathless and limp on the edge of the bed, a lazy smile curling her lips. She reached for him again, her fingers trailing down his arm, trying to keep the moment alive.

But Lang Yao was already done.

Emotionless, he crossed the room and grabbed a half-loaf of dry bread from the table. It was hard and cracked at the edges—but he tossed it toward her without looking.

It landed near her foot.

She scrambled toward it.

The shift in her body was instant—grace turned to desperation. She dropped to the floor and lunged forward, fingers clutching the bread like it was gold. She bit into it with wild, frenzied hunger, chewing fast, mouth open, crumbs falling from her lips as she devoured it.

Lang Yao stood near the window, but his gaze drifted back to her form—now fully naked, exposed under the dim light. Her skin was coated in grime, streaked with old bruises, faint scars, and patches of filth that hadn’t been washed off in days. The lines of her body, once tempting in shadow, now looked hollow and worn, marked by desperation rather than allure.

His stomach twisted.

She hadn’t even bothered to cover herself. Her knees scraped the wooden floor as she crawled for the bread, her back bent, ribs visible beneath the dirt, her skin smudged with who knew what. There were bites on her thighs that hadn’t healed properly, and a faint sour stench straight came from her.

Lang Yao’s lip curled, his throat tightening. He looked away sharply.

He almost gagged, but he didn’t say a word.

With a cold click of the door, Lang Yao turned on his heel and walked out of the room without looking back, the sound of her chewing still echoing behind him like a curse.