A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

Inside the Western Qiang royal palace, Wei Zhao was taking care of the unconscious Tuoba Yue.

The bedroom was filled with the scent of herbs.

The old general found a military doctor from somewhere; his skills weren't superb, but he stitched the wound fairly well.

The knife wound on his left shoulder had already been bandaged, wrapped in several layers of white linen bandages, and the blood that had seeped out had dried, turning black and hard.

But her breathing became steady.

Wei Zhao stared at her pale face, his mind replaying the same thought over and over again.

How did this woman manage to hold on until now?

He mentally reviewed her experiences—the death of Wei Qiang in battle, her return to Xi Qiang alone, and her maneuvering under the very nose of the eldest prince.

While delaying the pace of the frontline offensive, he endured being regarded as a "traitor" by the entire Western Qiang.

Then he killed the garrison commander, seized the palace, took in 100,000 slave soldiers, and led a group of unfortunate men with sharpened wooden sticks to the front line to block 60,000 elite cavalry.

Wei Zhao clenched the hem of his robe at his knees with his fingers, then released it.

He looked down at his hands; there were still dried bloodstains between his fingers, dark red, and he didn't know whose they were.

The moment he charged onto the battlefield, he wasn't thinking about anything at all.

There was no calculation, no weighing of options, and no deduction of "what to do after we get through".

The 11000 intelligence-based simulation machine completely shut down at that moment, replaced by something he himself hadn't anticipated.

Pure killing intent.

He was determined to kill his way through, killing anyone who stood in his way, until he reached her.

Looking back now, Wei Zhao realizes that he was a bit irrational at the time.

But he doesn't regret it.

The curtain was lifted, and a gust of dry, cold wind rushed in.

Liu Jingshuang walked in, her plain-colored outfit covered in dust, indicating that she had just finished patrolling the camp.

She glanced at the couch, her voice low.

"Are you awake?"

"no."

Wei Zhao shook his head.

"The army doctor said there was too much blood loss and we need to wait."

Liu Jingshuang stopped opposite him, her phoenix eyes revealing her exhaustion. She had barely slept for the past two days.

"The wounded soldiers have been basically taken care of."

She spoke, her pace faster than usual.

"I've already had someone draft the list of compensation for the 4,600 dead. It will be sent out once Qingyun finishes settling the accounts."

Wei Zhao nodded.

"What about Qingluan?"

"She is taking over the surrendered Western Qiang army."

Liu Jingshuang tapped her fingers on the hilt of the knife.

"Those who surrendered, plus those who were brought together after the collapse, add up to nearly 200,000 in total, and she's currently sifting through them."

"How was it screened?"

"All of Tuoba Ye's direct subordinates have been disarmed and imprisoned. Those people are only interested in looting; keeping them around would only cause trouble."

Liu Jingshuang's voice turned cold.

"The herders who were forcibly conscripted from the allied forces of various tribes were asked about their origins, given some rations, and sent back."

She paused for a moment.

"Of the remaining soldiers, those who are truly willing to stay and serve, we can probably screen out about 100,000."

One hundred thousand Western Qiang soldiers.

Wei Zhao considered it in his mind.

This group of men were familiar with mountain warfare and skilled in night raids, making them completely different from the heavy cavalry of the Wei family army.

If they can be reorganized into an army, it would be equivalent to having an additional localized garrison force in the western border.

"Alright, let Qingluan take her time, there's no rush."

Liu Jingshuang glanced at him, then hesitated, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Is there anything else?"

"Regarding the reward."

Liu Jingshuang lowered her voice even further, her phoenix eyes sweeping across the outside of the tent.

"Our brothers fought two battles, risking their lives; some were wounded, some died, and as for the imperial court..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but her meaning was clear.

The imperial court will not award any prizes.

Lu Song was stuck in the capital, and the memorials for bestowing titles and rewards remained untouched for over a month.

Hoping that old dog will have a change of heart is like hoping a sow will fly.

Wei Zhao leaned back in his chair.

"We won't wait for the imperial court."

Liu Jingshuang raised an eyebrow.

"We will distribute the rewards to the meritorious soldiers ourselves."

Wei Zhao spoke in a very calm tone, as if he were talking about something he had already thought about long ago.

"Qingyun's account still has enough money, so let's distribute the rewards for this battle first."

Liu Jingshuang remained silent for two breaths.

She understood the weight behind those words.

By distributing rewards independently without going through the imperial court, the Wei family army was essentially turned into a private army.

Although it has actually been so for a long time, putting it in the open changes its nature.

"Have you thought this through?"

"I've thought it through."

Liu Jingshuang didn't try to persuade her anymore. She turned and walked out, pausing for a moment in front of the tent curtain.

"Don't blame yourself too much for Xiaoyue's situation."

She lifted the curtain and went outside.

Wei Zhao did not respond to this.

Self-blame?

He didn't feel guilty; he just felt he was too late.

If he had seen through Tuoba Ye's intentions half an hour earlier and launched his attack half an hour earlier, Tuoba Yue wouldn't have had to suffer that blow.

Three thousand elite troops don't need to die so many.

Those slave soldiers carrying wooden sticks didn't have to be trampled into mincemeat by the cavalry.

But the word "if" is worthless on the battlefield.

He closed his eyes.

The dark red panel deep in my mind popped up again, quietly floating in a corner of my consciousness.

[Final Battle of the Western Qiang - Settlement in Progress...]

[The host personally killed 89 enemy soldiers in this battle]

[48560 enemy soldiers killed in this battle]

[Gained Killing God Points: 89 + 4856 = 4945 points]

More than four thousand nine hundred.

Adding the 5,116 points from the first battle at Yumen Pass.

[Current Killing Power Balance: 10061 points]

It's over 10,000.

Wei Zhao tapped his fingers twice on his knee.

One hundred thousand Killing God Points can be exchanged for the cheapest Heaven-level martial art, "Ten Thousand Armies Breaking Formation Blade".

He had saved a little over 10,000 yuan, but was still 90,000 yuan short of his goal.

But even after this battle is over, there are still the Donghu, Nanman, and Xianyuan to come. As long as the war continues, the Killing God Value will keep accumulating.

What's the rush? Save it first.

The curtain was lifted again, and this time it was Su Qingyun.

She carried in a stack of account books, her smile as gentle as ever, but the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her.

"The compensation for casualties, the write-off of food and fodder, and the inventory of spoils are all here."

She placed the ledger on the table with a light touch.

"The list of meritorious soldiers to be rewarded has been prepared; please take a look."

Wei Zhao turned two pages. The numbers were densely packed, and Su Qingyun's handwriting was so neat it looked like it had been printed.

Every reward, every pension, the name and hometown of every fallen soldier—all are clearly recorded.

"Is there enough to send out?"

"enough."

Su Qingyun's answer was straightforward, without adding the word "temporarily".

Wei Zhao closed the ledger and nodded.

Su Qingyun glanced at the couch and lowered her voice.

"Xiaoyue is still not awake?"

"without."

Su Qingyun didn't say much, picked up another stack of account books, turned around and left.

The curtains fell, and the bedchamber fell silent once more.

Wei Zhao turned his head and continued to look at Tuoba Yue.

Her brows were slightly furrowed, not fully relaxed even in her unconscious state, as if she were having some unpleasant dream.

My lips were dry, cracked, and peeling, so pale they almost blended into my face.

Wei Zhao still remembers the way she kowtowed in the mourning hall.

That day, she knelt beside Wei Qiang's coffin, her fingernails digging into the cracks in the floor tiles, but she didn't cry, not a single tear fell, her face was completely blank.

The Wei family members do not cry in public.

Wei Zhao reached out and brushed away a stray hair that had slipped onto her face. When her fingers touched her forehead, it was frighteningly cold.

He got up and pulled the animal skin blanket on the couch up to cover her exposed left hand.

Then he sat back down on the wooden stool.

He can handle military affairs, patrol the camps, or do a hundred more important things.

But he didn't move; he just sat there waiting for her to wake up.

After an unknown amount of time, Tuoba Yue's eyelids twitched.

It's so light, you can hardly see it.

Then came the second one.

Her fingers curled slightly beneath the animal skin blanket, and her lips moved as if she wanted to say something.

Wei Zhao leaned forward, staring at her face.

Tuoba Yue slowly opened her eyes.

The image of Wei Zhao desperately trying to save her flashed through her mind.