Of course, the Xianbei people suffered even greater losses; of their ten thousand men, only four thousand remained.

Seeing the Wuhuan people still fighting to the death, the young Xianbei men completely collapsed.

Everyone turned and ran, and even the sabers of the supervising team couldn't stop them.

Murong Cuo had no choice but to flee as well.

Watching the retreating Xianbei people, the two thousand Wuhuan people remaining in the camp showed no sign of excitement.

Because they saw the Xianbei army slowly approaching in the distance.

The heavily wounded Wuhuan leader raised his saber and roared in a hoarse voice:

"Brothers, for our wives and children, for our race, follow me and kill!!"

"kill!!"

Led by their leader, the remaining two thousand Wuhuan soldiers rushed out of the camp and attacked the fleeing Xianbei.

Before long, the Wuhuan people caught up with the fleeing Xianbei youths and began a massacre.

Faced with the pursuit of the Wuhuan people, the leader, Murong Cuo, hurriedly broke away from the group and fled towards his own army.

"That good-for-nothing Murong Cuo, he managed to defeat ten thousand men and reduced them to this state?"

Murong Tu, his face ashen, roared angrily at the fleeing Murong Cuo and the Wuhuan people who were chasing after him.

Subsequently, Murong Tu dispatched his deputy general with 10,000 troops to attack the Wuhuan people.

Soon, the two sides were locked in a standoff in an open area.

By this time, the Wuhuan people were panting and exhausted, and facing the enemy's reinforcements of 10,000 cavalry, they were doomed.

Taking a deep breath, the Wuhuan leader raised his saber and looked fearlessly at the enemy.

"Warriors, charge!!"

With a roar, two thousand Wuhuan soldiers, following behind their leader, launched a final charge against the ten thousand enemy troops opposite them.

Their orders were to hold the camp and kill as many enemy soldiers as possible; the more enemy soldiers they killed, the more lives they would have.