Chapter 338 – You Lead, I Follow. Shall We CoRule the Western Extremes? - Part 1

“Khagan? What Khagan?”

The five tribal chieftains had worn looks of disdain, but the glow beyond the railing wiped the sneers from their faces. One by one they hurried outside and stared at the fireball hanging in the night sky.

The blazing flame was bone‑deep familiar, a heat branded into their very blood. Its light turned night into day.

Inside Cloudrise, the original residents cowered in fear, yet some could not resist peering through cracked windows to see what was happening.

Beneath the fireball, several hundred tribal warriors marched out. At their head stood Jen’gal Suljagar of the Trueflame Tribe.

The chieftain of the Bronze Clad Tribe, Khor’eer Hudor, rolled his neck, the bronze sheen of his skin glaring in the firelight. He fixed Suljagar with a hard stare and asked, “What’s going on?”

Suljagar replied, “Chieftain Hudor, didn’t you want to meet my tribe’s Grand Elder?” He’s right in front of you, but he’s no longer the Grand Elder. He’s the

Nine Flames Khagan!

”

“Khagan? No one has ever borne that title in thousands of years,” Hudor said, puzzled rather than arrogant, probing for the stranger’s confidence.

Among people of the Nine Flames, muscles often stood in for brains. The chieftain of the Red Crystal Tribe, Ulan’der Kundar, stood beside Hudor. He suddenly let out a mocking laugh. “So it’s just the pretty boy that the Trueflame allowed to marry into their tribe! Hahaha!”

Hudor blinked; even Suljagar was taken aback. Both were among the sharper chieftains, cautiously feeling each other out. No one expected the chieftain of the Red Crystal Tribe to hurl an insult at that moment.

The Nine Flames worshipped strength and shunned outsiders. Life on the frozen tundra had once made them cautious, but since stepping beyond and finding the outside world so fragile, many had grown arrogant and unrestrained. Kundar was one of them.

His words had barely fallen when the fireball streaked forward.

A wave of blistering heat hit them.

Still oblivious to danger, Kundar hefted his great axe and leapt skyward.

“Die—!” he roared, spinning toward the fireball like a howling cyclone.

Yet he was like an ant against a tree, a mantis before a cart. His whirlwind axe barely touched the flames before it was stopped dead in its tracks.

Li Yuan calmly caught the weapon. A burst of heat melted it in an instant; he gave the molten blade a push, and a wave of liquid metal crashed over Kundar’s head.

The chieftain was tough. He jerked his head and tried to fling the metal away, only for the fireball to close in.

A hand emerged from the flames, plunged into the molten steel, and clamped five fingers around Kundar’s face.

“RAAAGH! Aghh! Nghh...!”

The chieftain thrashed, kicking and striking at Li Yuan. Each kick burst into flame; each palm ignited. Gradually his resistance faltered.

Ablaze from head to toe, he pressed his palms together and bowed in mid‑air, begging wordlessly for mercy. The hand over his face smothered any plea he might have made.

Li Yuan hung there with him, his method of killing so brutal even the tribesmen shuddered in fear.

The Red Crystal Tribe chieftain’s prodigious vitality only deepened the agony. Molten metal seeped into his seven orifices, roasting him from within. It was slow, agonizing torture akin to death by a thousand cuts.

Ironically, the metal came from his own axe, a weapon that had slain countless souls. Now it was his turn to meet the piper.

Li Yuan watched him writhe and listened to the thin screams leaking through his fingers, never loosening his grip.

To subdue the savage, one had to be even more savage.

Courtesy? Humility? In the eyes of the people of the Nine Flames, those were the hallmarks of the weak. Yield an inch and you’d be forced to yield a mile; show a hint of softness and they would oppress you tenfold. This was why Li Yuan didn’t hold back with his ruthless display.

If he truly meant to bring the frozen tundra into his own fold, he had to don a role he himself disliked. And there was another reason he would not outwardly voice. Along the road, he had seen too many massacres, too many skinned corpses hanging from township walls, too many ordinary people kept as livestock. The atrocities committed during this invasion had stoked his rage.

If Yan Yu were here

, Li Yuan thought silently,

she’d probably want to wipe them all out.

As the notion flickered through Li Yuan’s mind, the struggles in his grip grew faint.

Kundar’s death was merely seconds away.

A voice rang out from among the tribesmen.

“If you mean to be Khagan, you need the backing of us chieftains. That man is the chieftain of the Red Crystal Tribe. Release him first! Otherwise forget about your throne!”

Li Yuan turned toward the speaker, an unusually handsome tribal warrior.

He was Bug’aar Bayantai, the chieftain of the White Stag Tribe. Known as a

wise man

among the Nine Flames, Bayantai had picked up a bit of outside cunning in his youth; otherwise, he would’ve never have tried this approach.

Sensing Li Yuan’s gaze, Bayantai shrank behind a powerfully‑built man whose eyes burned like embers.

This was Tsus’gar Yankhan, chieftain of the Blood Arrow Tribe and one of the top two chieftains of the Nine Flames.

From behind that living shield, Bayantai still shouted, “Don’t forget. You’re just an outsider!”

His warning died in the thunder of an explosion overhead. What was left of Kundar, flesh, molten metal, roaring flame...scattered as a cloud of gore.

The blast had barely sounded when Li Yuan blurred forward, straight at Bayantai.

Standing between them, Yankhan swallowed hard before stepping to the side, allowing the chieftain of the White Stag Tribe to be exposed.

Bayantai had no time to react. Li Yuan seized him and hauled him into the air.

“Save me!” he screamed. “If you allow him to kill me, he’ll kill you next! Hurry, he’s only an outsider, not one of us!”

Li Yuan let him yell. No one moved.

The fire’s heat liquefied the short blade at Bayantai’s waist; molten metal streamed into his mouth and nose. A breath later—

BOOM!

The man exploded into a red mist.

Bayantai was dead.

Amid the drifting haze of blood, Suljagar stepped forward, raising his arms.

“The Khagan will unite all nine tribes!

“Agree, and you remain chieftains; refuse, and we’ll choose new ones.

“Kundar dared to lift a hand against the Khagan. Now, he’s dead! Bayantai tried clever threats. Where is he now? Blood in the wind!

“And the rest of you? How many have insulted the Khagan? If you don’t beg for mercy now, when will you?”

Hudor watched the crimson mist, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

After a long silence, he bowed deeply toward the blazing sphere in the sky. “Khagan, I am Khor’eer Hudor, chieftain of the Bronze Clad Tribe. I did not know your greatness before; today, I see my folly. If I may be so bold, what exactly do you intend?”

Li Yuan spoke calmly, “I come from the flame; you were born of the flame. The Nine Flames should be one tribe. Every tribe needs a ruler, not a god but a Khagan.”

Hudor ventured, “Does the Khagan mean for us to slink back to the frozen tundra of the Evernight and never trouble Cloudpeak Province again?”

No sooner had he spoken than another burly man burst forward. He was Har’gal Chultai, chieftain of the Flamekeeper Tribe.

Apart from a few clever ones, most of the tribesmen feared nothing once their tempers flared. It didn’t matter how powerful the opponent was. They would charge in fearlessly.

Yankhan yanked Chultai back and pinned him down. “Don’t charge in, you fool!”

“I’m not going back! Never!” Chultai snarled, struggling. He had tasted the luxuries of the outside world and would not return to the frozen wasteland.

“Idiot, shut up!” Yankhan chopped at the back of his neck until the chieftain of the Flamekeeper Tribe went limp. Then he rose, bowed to the fireball, and said respectfully, “Khagan, I am Tsus’gar Yankhan of the Blood Arrow Tribe. I have never met you before; if I spoke rudely, I beg pardon. But please, tell us plainly what you seek.”