Murong Tu practically choked out the last sentence.

The threat was quite clear: whether the Wuhuan people had the strength to retaliate was unknown, but Murong Tu certainly wouldn't let them go.

At this moment, Murong Tu had completely fallen into madness.

The people from the Yuwen tribe exchanged glances, all sighed softly, and then nodded.

Now that I'm on Murong Tu's pirate ship, there's no getting off; I can only grit my teeth and keep going.

Meanwhile, at the Wuhuan encampment, Shefu sat in his seat with a somber expression, drinking alone.

He has already lost 50,000 able-bodied men, and even including the remaining five camps, he has less than 40,000 men left who can fight.

More than half of the able-bodied men in all the tribes have died, and the Wuhuan people are destined to have no chance of rising again in the next few decades.

She Fu downed the wine in his glass in one gulp, then turned to look at Li Ru, who sat calmly to the side, his eyes filled with irritation and anxiety.

"Sir, the Xianbei have already advanced two hundred li. If they continue their attack, our warriors will truly not be able to hold out!"

Although the Wuhuan soldiers, under Li Ru's tutelage, understood the importance of the survival of their race and all became fearless in the face of death.

But when despair sets in, collapse is inevitable.

Li Ru said solemnly, “Great Chief, don’t worry. In two more days at most, the Xianbei will retreat. You just need to hold on to your last breath!”

At that time, the eastern Xianbei will be destroyed, the central Xianbei will be severely weakened, and your tribe will be able to recover its strength!

"Phew, I hope so!"

Li Ru's words reassured She Fu somewhat.

He also knew that Li Ru was right. At this stage of the battle, whoever couldn't hold on any longer would die.