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“So you’re saying that all we really need is to get rid of this Hong Chenglue problem?”
Zhao Pan nodded. “If you can do so, that would be a huge help to me.”
As he spoke, the hornbill on his shoulder suddenly took off, wings beating as it glided down to the rear, about 330 meters away.
Back there, the warhorses were grazing among the trees. It was late spring now, and tender green shoots had begun to push up along the riverbank, which was exactly the kind of fresh growth they loved. After gnawing on crusted lichen all winter, they were long overdue for a change of taste.
But to He Lingchuan’s eye, the horses were not the only large shapes among the trunks. Something else had mixed into the herd, something with bulkier figures, heavier, and a full size larger than the cavalry mounts.
It was a herd of black bulls.
Each stood at least two meters tall at the shoulder. Every single one of them was glossy with health, and their bodies were corded with thick muscle.
The hornbill swooped down onto the largest, strongest bull in the group.
Its pair of heavy, forward-curving horns was black and polished like cast iron. Straightened, they would run over two meters tip to tip. Anything they gored, man or beast, would likely lose half their life in a single blow.
The hornbill perched right on those...
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