Right Beiping, the Daredevil Battalion.

Rather than calling this a military camp, it would be more accurate to describe it as a hellish battlefield built with human bones and resentment.

The low, crooked mud-brick barracks were drafty, and the air was always filled with the stench of cheap alcohol, sweat, blood, rotting wounds, and despair.

This place is a melting pot of the lowest scum of the country: notorious bandits who kill and rob, deserters who commit serious crimes, family members of corrupt officials who oppress the people, and captured foreign slaves...

The only thing these people had in common was that their lives were worthless. Their role was to use their own flesh and blood to wear down the enemy's arrows, exchanging their lives for meager military merits and a slim chance of survival.

Li Wenyou, a ruthless bandit from Liangzhou with a fresh scar on his face and a sinister look in his eyes, immediately demonstrated his extraordinary nature upon arriving here.

He was taciturn, but ruthless and decisive in his actions.

When he was first driven to the battlefield and faced the swiftly approaching Wuhuan cavalry, he did not flinch or charge blindly like other new recruits. Instead, he calmly observed the Wuhuan's charging route and the rhythm of their mounted archery.

As a Wuhuan knight brandished his scimitar and charged toward the gap where he was, Li Wenyou suddenly leaped out from behind the pile of corpses, wielding a spear he had hastily seized, and thrust it with deadly precision into the gap in the armor on the side of the warhorse's neck!

The warhorse neighed in agony and collapsed to the ground!

Caught off guard, the knight was flung away by the immense inertia!

Without the slightest hesitation, Li Wenyou lunged forward, drew the short dagger from his waist, and plunged it fiercely into the knight's neck.

Hot blood splattered all over his face. He licked the salty liquid that had splashed onto his lips, his eyes showing no excitement, only a cold indifference.

This scene was witnessed by a one-eyed, burly man with a face full of scars not far away.

His name is Liu Balai. He is the leader of a squad in the suicide squad and a staunch enforcer of the law of the jungle here.

"Kid! You're ruthless! You've got guts!"

After the battle, Liu Scarface kicked aside the corpse blocking his way and walked up to Li Wenyou, who was wiping his dagger. He looked Li Wenyou up and down with his one eye, a hint of admiration mixed with undisguised greed.

"From now on, follow me. If I have a bite of meat to eat, you'll have a sip of soup to drink!"

Li Wenyou raised her eyelids, glanced at Liu Balai, her eyes cold, devoid of gratitude or fear, only scrutiny and assessment, and finally slowly nodded: "Okay."

Joining Liu Scarface's team means getting slightly better scraps, but it also means getting involved in more brutal internal power struggles and more dangerous outpost missions.

Li Wenyou was like a stubborn stone thrown into a millstone, keeping to himself in the camp, with a gloomy look in his eyes and no politeness to anyone.

He never participated in the gambling, drinking, or troublemaking activities in the camp. Instead, he silently honed his weapons or huddled in a corner, repeatedly sketching incomprehensible, ghostly lines on the muddy ground with a twig—a rough map of the distribution and spheres of influence of the grassland tribes in his memory.

His ruthlessness and aloofness quickly made him "famous" in the suicide squad.

During a fight over half a bag of moldy corn, an equally fierce veteran tried to snatch Li Wenyou's food and smashed his throat with a sharp-edged stone.

The old soldier's terrified and desperate look before he died became a new legend of terror in the camp, and no one dared to easily provoke this ruthless guy anymore.

Time slipped away amidst endless fighting and numbness.

As late autumn passed, the cold winter arrived.

The cold wind in Youbeiping was like a knife covered in ice shards, stinging the face. Life became increasingly difficult for the suicide battalion. The bodies of those who froze and starved to death were dragged out and dumped in the mass grave outside the camp almost every day.

In the dead of winter, when water was freezing cold, a mission concerning the lives of hundreds of suicide squad members was once again assigned to them.

"White Wolf Mountain!"

The military officer in charge of relaying the order, mounted on his horse, looked at the group of daredevil soldiers with disdain: "A thousand-man team from the Wuhuan Qiuliju tribe has set up camp twenty miles northeast of the White Wolf Mountain Pass and plundered the winter provisions being sent to the military town."

The general has ordered: the entire suicide squad must be mobilized. At all costs, recapture the supplies and burn down the Wuhuan camp.

Those who are beheaded three times will be rewarded with a bushel of millet; those who cower and refuse to advance will be beheaded!

The order was given, and the entire suicide squad fell into a deathly silence, which was then broken by desperate curses and cries.

White Wolf Mountain, a dangerous area in the territory where the Wuhuan were active, was sent by these few hundred poorly equipped, hungry and cold daredevils to attack a heavily guarded Wuhuan camp of a thousand men.

This is clearly sending them to their deaths, using their corpses to pave the way!

Li Ru gave the military officer a sinister look. He had learned through Jia Xu's message that most of the officers in this suicide squad came from powerful families.

They came here to take up their posts in order to use the daredevil battalion to steal military merits for them.

They only give a bushel of millet after beheading three people. These guys deserve to die even more than the Wuhuan people!

"Shut the hell up, all of you!"

Liu Scarface roared, his one eye turning bloodshot: "What's the use of wailing? If you want to live, follow me and fight your way through, grab the food, and burn the tents. That's your only chance to survive. Otherwise, just wait to freeze or starve to death in this damn camp!"

The madness born of despair overwhelmed the fear.

A group of ragged, emaciated desperados, driven like a flock of sheep by the cold whips of officers and the frantic roars of Liu Balai and others, numbly poured out of the camp gate with their rudimentary weapons, struggling through knee-deep snow toward their doom.

Li Wenyou silently followed in the middle of the group, his gaze passing over the staggering crowd and fixed on the messenger on horseback at the front of the group.

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