Chapter 693: Borrowing Blades to Kill and Scheme the Royal Court, Brothers Quarrel Behind Walls with Their Own Designs

The first ray of morning sunlight finally pierced the eastern clouds, spilling onto this blood‑soaked Grassland.

Yet the light brought no fresh warmth; instead it laid bare the night‑after slaughter's horror for all heaven and earth to see.

The once bustling Qiyan Tribe now lay only as a ruin billowing black smoke.

The collapsed felt tents still smoldered in spots, crackling. The ground was strewn with bodies in all directions—some charred, some mangled—and the air reeked of nauseating burnt flesh and blood.

In stark contrast were the Turkic soldiers, their faces twisted with excitement.

They were frantically sweeping the battlefield. Herds of Cattle, Sheep, and Warhorses were driven into one spot, raising a deafening clamor.

The surviving Rouran women and craftsmen were roughly bound together with rope, their eyes numb and desperate as they awaited an unknown fate.

Boxes upon boxes of looted gold and silver vessels, silk fabrics piled like mountains, glittered temptingly in the sun.

Beside a once‑clear stream.

The hulking Turkic General Qibi Ge Leng crouched at the bank, scooping up the stream in large handfuls, scrubbing the dried blood scab from his face.

The cold water turned dark red the instant it touched his face, flowing down his fingers.

"Huh—! Exhilarating!"

Qibi Ge Leng flicked the water droplets from his head, left his face wet and blood‑stained, and strode briskly toward Moheduo, who was tallying the spoils.

"Crown Prince! Damn, that's exhilarating!"

Before he even reached him, Qibi Ge Leng's booming voice already cracked like a war drum, his face radiating uncontrollable glee: "These Rouran dogs usually boss everyone around, never thought they'd get slaughtered like dogs by us! Look over there—just this raid's gold and cattle surpass what we've hoarded in three years! When we go back, our wives and kids will finally have meat to eat!"

As soon as his words ended, another General Zhishi Sili spurred his horse and galloped over.

Dangling from his saddle were several grim Human Heads of Rouran nobles, swaying with the horse's jolts.

Zhishi Sili dismounted with a swift, graceful motion, a shrewd glint flashing in his eyes.

"Reporting, Crown Prince!" Zhishi Sili clasped his fists in salute, his voice tinged with reverence, "The battle losses have been tallied. In this battle we lost fewer than two hundred brothers, most of them wounded by horses stumbling..."

The two exchanged a glance, each seeing the other's fervor.

Such a victory—gaining massive spoils for a minuscule cost—was beyond even their wildest dreams.

Yet Moheduo, surrounded by the generals, did not share their ecstatic joy.

He sat upon a massive stone half‑buried in earth, still splattered with fresh blood, idly twirling a gold‑inlaid dagger recovered from Ba Ye Gu's corpse.

The dagger was exceptionally sharp, its hilt set with a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg, glittering in the sun.

Moheduo's expression was unusually calm, even a touch grim.

He slowly lifted his head, his deep eyes scanning the excited commanders before settling on the dagger in his hand, a cold, knowing smile curling his lips.

"You think this is Heaven's blessing for the Turkic?"

Moheduo's voice was low, yet carried a chilling tremor that instantly cooled the previously noisy atmosphere.

Qibi Ge Leng and Zhishi Sili froze for a moment, bewildered.

"Isn't it the Crown Prince's wise leadership?" Qibi Ge Leng scratched his head.

"Wise?" Moheduo sneered, slowly pulling a long‑crumpled, slightly yellowed letter from his chest.

He pinched the letter between two fingers and waved it before the crowd.

"We have no thanks for Heaven, nor for myself," Moheduo's gaze grew complex, mixing caution with a hint of mutual respect, "We must thank my brother far away in Chang'an, my sworn brother, Chen Yan!"

"Chen Yan?"

Hearing the name, the once arrogant Qibi Ge Leng and Zhishi Sili's faces paled slightly, and they instinctively restrained their smiles.

They had not only heard of this elder's formidable reputation, they had even crossed swords with him before…

"It arrived in my hands half a month ago," Moheduo tapped the paper lightly, his tone eerie, "It precisely told me when and where the Rouran Main Force would gather and move south, how empty the Royal Court's defenses would be, and even the route to attack the Qiyan Tribe was planned by him for me."

The generals inhaled a sharp gasp at his words.

Sitting in Chang'an yet able to calculate the distant Grassland's situation—such intellect is almost demonic!

"Crown Prince..." Zhishi Sili swallowed, asking cautiously, "Why would Chen Yan help us? Isn't he afraid of raising a tiger that might turn on him?"

"Help?" Moheduo sneered, slipping the letter back into his chest, his eyes flashing with cleverness, "There's no such thing as a free lunch. Chen Yan wants to borrow our knives to stab the Rouran's rear, force the Rouran Main Force to come to aid, thereby lifting the siege of Lingzhou; and I…"

Moheduo sprang to his feet, driving the gold‑inlaid dagger deep into the soil before him, his gaze blazing, "I intend to borrow his intel, seize the chance to swallow Rouran and dominate the Grassland! We're merely taking what we need, using each other."

"He treats me as a weapon; how am I not borrowing his power?"

At that point, the gloom in Moheduo's eyes cleared, replaced by an unprecedented aura of dominance.

Just then, a blood‑soaked Su Nongtun, as if just hauled from a pool of gore, charged forward wielding two curved, serrated blades, loudly demanding battle and snapping everyone's thoughts:

"Crown Prince! We've cleared the surrounding minor tribes! Our brothers' blades haven't had enough blood yet! Where to next? Should we retreat?"

Moheduo did not answer immediately. He slowly drew the dagger from the ground, his gaze passing over the heads of the men toward the deeper north.

There lay the heart of the Grassland, the interior of the Rouran Khaganate.

"Retreat?"

Moheduo licked his slightly cracked lips, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes, the madness of a gambler seeing a perfect hand: "Since we're here, we can't just snatch this fly‑meat and leave. Chen Yan gave me such a golden chance; if I don't devour it completely, wouldn't I be betraying my good brother?"

He abruptly crouched, swiftly sketching a crude map on the ground with the blood‑stained dagger.

"Everyone, look at this!"

Moheduo pointed to a red dot in the south on the map, his tone eerie: "The Rouran Main Force is now a thousand li to the south, held fast by Chen Yan and the Zhou State's armies. Even if they receive word and try to reinforce, the quickest they can arrive is seven days! Those seven days…"

He snapped his head up, eyes like a starving wolf, "That is our hunting time!"

"All troops, obey!"

Moheduo drove the dagger in his hand hard into the center of the map.

There represented the Royal Court of Rouran, the Khan's Golden Tent!

"Rest in place for two hours! Eat, drink, feed the Warhorses! After two hours, the whole army will march at a gallop, sparing no horse power, straight into the north!"

"Our objective— to seize the Rouran's old nest!"

"I will drink his wine and sleep with his women inside the Khan's Golden Tent!"

Roar—!!

The commanders, hearing the words, felt their blood instantly boil to the peak, and together they let out thunderous roars.

At this moment, the sky of the Grassland is about to change.