Chapter 84: 84 Attacking the Purple Fruit Tribe

Chapter 84: Assault on the Purpleberry Tribe

The next morning, Ro Ning and his companions ate a late breakfast, then set off along a narrow path toward the Purpleberry Tribe, guided by Woton and Dandi.

He had chosen this time to depart—not as early as yesterday—not only to grant the soldiers more rest, but also to ensure their arrival at the Purpleberry Tribe coincided with dusk, when laborers would be returning home, making encirclement easier.

This time, with fewer men and less equipment, the party moved with greater agility. Though the path was no grand highway, it was far superior to the desolate woods between Hillwood Village and the Greenbamboo Tribe, and thus progress was both swifter and less taxing.

Yet Ro Ning did not hurry.

He deliberately slowed their pace to preserve their strength, instructing Woton and Dandi to find a secluded spot near the Purpleberry Tribe where the group could rest and await the optimal moment to strike.

Ro Ning gazed at the rolling hills before him, troubled by the future.

Though he commanded endless forests teeming with timber, transportation remained a crippling obstacle.

He could not even imagine transporting processed wood to distant cities for sale—let alone moving goods from Greenbamboo Tribe to Hillwood Village. Wagons could not traverse the terrain.

To grow rich, first build roads—this truth held in every world.

“The Purpleberry Tribe has the smallest population; their farmland must be minimal. We can relocate them all to Hillwood Village. The strong among them can form road-building squads to first clear a path between Hillwood and Greenbamboo.”

This was his initial plan.

He had no intention of relocating the entire Greenbamboo Tribe. After all, nearly a thousand acres had already been cleared there. He would not abandon such fertile land lightly—nor the vast expanse of green bamboo, a resource invaluable in countless ways.

Beyond the road between Hillwood and Greenbamboo, he would one day need to connect with the Ashenearth Tribe—a monumental undertaking.

And this was no Earth, where laborers carved roads through mountains without fear of beasts or demons. Here, the environment itself posed lethal threats. Safety for ordinary workers must be prioritized.

“Once this war against the wild tribes concludes,” Ro Ning said, glancing at his right and left hands, Ridal and Macken, “I intend to form a hunter squad.”

“Their first duty,” he continued, “will be to scour the forests between Hillwood Village, Greenbamboo Tribe, Purpleberry Tribe, Ashenearth Tribe—even, in time, Blackcollar Tribe—eliminating or driving off the most dangerous demons and beasts.”

Beasts, especially demons, possessed sharp awareness and a measure of cunning.

As the purges continued, they would learn this land was perilous, and dare not approach. Thus, the road-builders’ lives would be safer.

Ridal nodded in agreement. “My lord, after this war, our number of knights will grow significantly. If we continue with routine drills and sparring, their growth will be negligible. True knights are forged in blood, in the razor’s edge between life and death.”

“Yes, my lord!” Macken echoed. In truth, Ro Ning had spoken of this very idea during their first expedition into the woods—and Macken had never forgotten.

“I suggest grouping three transcendentals into each squad,” Ridal proposed. “Some to clear the surrounding beasts, others to enter the Wushan Demon Mountains from the Blackiron Forest and hunt demons.”

Ro Ning slowly nodded, listening.

Forming hunter squads would not only secure the road-builders’ safety, but also hone his transcendentals’ skills, while the pelts and trophies of slain beasts and demons could be sold—granting knights extra coin and the lord himself a profit.

A single stroke, multiple gains.

“Then this task falls to you two,” Ro Ning said. “But remember: though the hunter squads are vital, do not neglect the defense of our territory.”

His eyes gleamed with ambition. “Our southeastern border still watches us—Sain’s domain.”

Sain’s domain, they said, was crowned by a vast swamp—hence its name: Swamptown.

Swamps, too, were precious resources. Yet Baron Raisen had no idea how to harness them.

Ridal and Macken memorized his words. Hillwood Village was their stronghold; its defense must never falter.

Ro Ning had committed his entire force because, on the surface, his relationship with Baron Raisen remained unbroken. Open aggression was unlikely.

After all, Viggins had just suffered his fate; Wushan Keep was in the midst of asserting its authority. If Raisen dared attack Hillwood now, it would be reckless.

Should word spread, even his connections would not save him—he would become the example, the chicken sacrificed to frighten the monkeys.

But when Rulans passed away? Then all bets were off.

The group rested two hours. As dusk deepened, they resumed their march.

After climbing two small hills, they reached the crest of the second—and below, nestled in the circular valley, lay the Purpleberry Tribe’s stockade.

It was slightly smaller than Greenbamboo’s, yet not by much.

Its haphazardly scattered huts bore the same crude, makeshift appearance—no grandeur, no artistry.

For such remote mountain clans, survival meant daily hunger. They had no time nor energy to build fine homes.

All they needed was shelter enough to keep out wind and rain, to avoid freezing to death.

Ro Ning surveyed the area. No watchtowers. No sentries.

He could have marched straight in, and no one would have noticed until it was too late.

“What is that patch of yellow woodland?” Ro Ning asked, pointing to the eastern slope.

Normally, this region should have been thick with pines or hardwoods. But the area he indicated was low, dense, and glowing a deep crimson.

Woton and Dandi gazed toward it, then answered: “My lord, those are the Purpleberry Trees.”

Dandi added: “Their leaves are green through summer. But in September, when they shed, they turn yellow.”

Ah. So the Purpleberry Tree was deciduous. He would have to inspect them closely later.

“We won’t attack tonight,” Ro Ning declared.

Ridal and Macken froze. Macken, especially, had already braced himself for the charge—eager to be the first to slay the tribe’s chieftain.

Yet their lord forbade assault?

“My lord,” Ridal asked, “what is your strategy?”

“Only two transcendentals guard them. They cannot withstand us. A full assault risks unnecessary casualties. Every life spared is another worker for me.”

Ro Ning laid out the plan he had refined on the march.

“Tonight, when darkness falls, Macken—you take ten guards and twenty militia to hold the slope. If anyone tries to climb up, stop or capture them. The rest will circle around to block the valley entrance.”

“Woton and Dandi will approach the chieftain and offer surrender. If he yields, we save time and blood. If he refuses, like Willie did, we strike then.”

He turned to Macken. “When the battle below begins, lead your men down the hill.”

(End of Chapter)