012 A Bitter Victory

Yang Jie led a squad of ratfolk to begin clearing the battlefield, the thick stench of blood so overwhelming that he scarcely dared to breathe deeply.

Exhaustion and sorrow were etched into every face. Surrounded by the officers, Yang Jie climbed onto the massive stone where Grelick had dashed himself to death.

Looking down at the hopeful eyes gazing up at him, Yang Jie knew he had to act. “Fellow Andes ratfolk, we have triumphed!” he called out, his face stern atop the boulder, raising his arm in salute.

Those who had survived the battle waved their weapons in the first light of dawn, celebrating the victory. The cheering gradually faded, replaced by sobs that rippled through the crowd, spreading like a plague. The ratfolk who had just been shouting in excitement now clustered together, embracing and weeping aloud.

Brothers, friends, and family members had fallen in the fight, with few bodies left whole. Old Gil, hands and body stained with blood, finally came to his senses after the fierce combat. He staggered to his son’s corpse, clutching the remaining half tightly, crying out to the heavens, tears streaming unchecked, like a broken valve that would not cease until emptied.

Yang Jie witnessed everything, slipping quietly to an inconspicuous corner, tears flowing uncontrollably.

At that moment, Wendy appeared behind him.

“Chief, the count is done.”

“Speak, there’s no need for hesitation.”

Wendy swallowed nervously, her voice hesitant. “We have two hundred and two ratfolk left…”

Yang Jie felt his mind go blank. Nearly half of a five-hundred-strong force had perished—such losses were hard to accept.

“Give our fallen comrades a proper burial.”

“Chief…” Wendy, usually decisive, was full of uncertainty that day.

“Say what’s on your mind. Don’t worry about my feelings.”

“We have two hundred and two ratfolk left… more than half are wounded, fifty-eight are seriously injured and can never work on the front lines again…”

“Among the main officers, Big Billy has died, Shuke has lost a leg…”

“Of the militia suicide squad, eleven ratfolk—besides Shuke’s broken leg and One-Eye being unconscious, two are lightly wounded, and the other seven have all died.”

“Big Billy’s hunters lost more than half; in all departments, fewer than half remain capable of work…”

In a secluded corner by the riverbank, Yang Jie took a deep breath, turning his back to Wendy for a long while.

“At least we won, didn’t we?”

“Blood is the price of battle, isn’t it?”

The two ratfolk fell silent; Wendy, usually eloquent, was at a loss for words.

After a long pause, Yang Jie turned, collected himself, and comforted Wendy, “Sacrifice is inevitable in battle. Organize those who can still move—gather them. We must move the thunder lizard corpses back to the settlement quickly.”

The time that followed saw Yang Jie leading the remaining able-bodied ratfolk to transport the thunder lizard bodies. Without sharp weapons to cut them, moving these several-ton giants required ingenuity.

But Yang Jie had already devised a method: using vines and rolling logs, they pushed the thunder lizard corpses into the river, exploiting the difference in water levels up and downstream to let the current drag the bodies. Ratfolk on the banks guided the corpses with vines.

When the water carried the bodies to a spot near Horseshoe Mountain, ratfolk pulled them ashore with vines.

The whole process took about two days.

Two days before, a mighty host of ratfolk had set out from Horseshoe Mountain, but less than half returned.

Old Sha, in charge of construction, stood at the entrance with his team and a group of pregnant ratwomen, ready to welcome the victorious party.

But as the survivors drew near, the festive crowd fell silent.

More than half had died, countless injured, every face shadowed and strained as if the air itself was too heavy to breathe.

Gazing at the sparse, battered group and the wounded officers, Old Sha unconsciously clenched his fists, a nameless shame lowering his head.

“Badis, Badis, where are you? Answer me! You promised to return with the rainbow flower from the riverbank…”

A young, pregnant ratwoman collapsed onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes full of helplessness.

“My child, my child, has anyone seen my child?”

An elderly ratwoman wandered through the crowd, her wrinkled face streaked with tears, searching for her child’s figure with desperate, red-rimmed eyes.

“Jack’s mother, you must stop searching…”

A strong ratfolk, leaning on a wooden staff, fresh from the front lines, stepped forward and handed Jack’s mother a bundle wrapped in animal hide.

“I’m sorry, Auntie.”

“The chaos was overwhelming—I truly could do nothing…”

The old woman stared at the bundle in his hand, a wave of dizziness nearly knocking her over. Luckily, others supported her.

Grief swept through the camp. Ratwomen who had lost loved ones gathered in mourning, their cries echoing through the settlement, their sobs burning the cheeks of the officers.

Wendy sat alone in a corner, her gentle nature making her seem like a mother mourning her lost child, tears streaming silently.

Yang Bing and the officers moved among the ratwomen, offering comfort—even Old Gil, who had lost two sons, uttered no word of complaint.

As officers, they were even more exhausted and anguished than most, but they could not falter; many depended on them.

Yang Jie had expected some ratwomen to rage or despair, even prepared himself for their reproach.

But the outcome was entirely different.

No one made a scene, no one wailed in anger; after venting their grief, the ratwomen’s emotions stabilized.

The phrase Yang Jie heard most was: “Thank you, Chief, for bringing us food. We are deeply grateful.”

What a terrifying race, what a terrifying resolve!

Yang Jie knew that soon would come a period of explosive growth. Ratfolk often bore ten to twenty pups per litter, their appetite immense, their growth astonishing—reaching adulthood in only two months.

After this bitter victory, the Andes ratfolk entered their first population boom.

……

Thousands of years later, the Empire Chronicle displayed in the Royal Library of the Kingdom of Gurn recorded this hunt as follows:

“In the era of the tribe’s ancestors, population surged, food became scarce. Under the first leader Yang Jie, five hundred ratfolk ventured out to hunt the thunder lizard herd. Three days later, they returned, victorious but with terrible losses.

Over half perished, countless wounded, but the food crisis was resolved.”