"Good! As long as we can kill that little bastard, we'll split the Scorpion Tribe's blood food evenly between our two tribes." Thinking of the humiliation Charles Bennett had inflicted on him, and realizing that his own end was near—if he didn't break through to the next realm, he would soon die—Peter Wood's murderous intent surged.

"Once my injuries improve, I'll personally make a trip to the underground world and meet this legendary Scorpion Tribe chief, Scorpion Li, to see if he's really as terrifying as they say." After a secret discussion, Peter Wood spoke.

The Scorpion Tribe is a foreign race, with human heads and scorpion tails, fond of eating humans. Within tens of thousands of miles around Boulder Valley, there are more than a dozen foreign tribes, and just a few thousand miles from the Grant Tribe, there happens to be a small Scorpion Tribe settlement, which has brought great suffering to the surrounding tribes.

The pain of losing his son had driven Robert Strong nearly mad. For the sake of revenge, he was now willing to do anything, even cooperate with the foreign tribes.

Everyone in Charles Bennett's group was injured, and with so many women among them, their pace was slow. In the end, they had to stop and rest. Several warriors were seriously wounded, with knife wounds deep to the bone—some even had their intestines faintly visible.

Fortunately, these young girls knew some basic medical skills and bandaged their wounds.

"Does it hurt?"

Seeing the warriors fight so bravely to save them, their bodies covered in wounds, the girls couldn't hold back their tears. With trembling hands, they gently bandaged the injuries, as if afraid that too much force would hurt the warriors.

"It doesn't hurt. Even if those bastards from Black Mountain catch up, I could still take on ten of them right now."

Seeing these tearful girls fussing over them, the warriors felt that even if they had to charge into Black Mountain again, they wouldn't bat an eye. They all began to comfort the girls.

After being kidnapped, the girls had all lost hope—many had even thought of dying. They never expected that, at the most critical moment, their young chief would appear like a savior from the heavens and rescue them.

Even more incredible, the chief had become a Blood Refining Realm warrior. From now on, their Grant Tribe would no longer be bullied by other tribes.

Watching the girls, led by Alice Moore, flit about like butterflies, busy tending to everyone, a warmth rose in Charles Bennett's heart. "So, I've already sunk this deep."

"Big Brother Bennett, what did you say? Qing'er didn't hear you clearly?" Seeing Charles Bennett muttering to himself with his head down, the now-free Alice Moore asked him.

Charles Bennett gently patted the horse's back, dispelling the faint bitterness in his heart. The feeling was both familiar and strange, as if countless years had passed in a daze. Charles Bennett woke up—he understood now, he finally understood what this feeling was: it was the feeling of home.

He swung onto his horse, pulled Alice Moore up behind him, and said to her, "I said, we're going home."

"Oh, we're going home."

The group galloped toward the Grant Tribe.

When they were still more than ten miles from the tribe, they encountered scouts sent out by the tribe. Seeing that the chief had really brought the girls back, the scout didn't even have time to greet Charles Bennett before spurring his horse and racing back to the tribe, shouting loudly as he went.

"The chief is back! The chief has brought them back..."

Since Charles Bennett had left the tribe with twenty warriors, the Grant Tribe, under the leadership of Elder Samuel Grant, David Wood, and Richard Stone, had been on full alert. The tribesmen had stopped hunting, and all the warriors were on guard, ready for anything.

Although Charles Bennett had already broken through to the Blood Refining Realm, the elders like Samuel Grant were still deeply worried about him. After all, he was facing a veteran Blood Refining Realm expert, and in a life-and-death battle, a single move could mean death.

Hot-tempered David Wood was especially restless, standing alone at the tribe's gate, pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath, regretting that he had let Charles Bennett leave so easily.

Hearing the scout's shout, David Wood shot off like a monkey whose tail had been stepped on, snatching a swift horse and galloping at full speed toward Charles Bennett's returning group.

Not only that, the returning scout also dashed straight into the tribe, spreading the exciting news to the waiting tribesmen.

"The chief is mighty!"

"The chief is amazing!"

When David Wood led Charles Bennett's group to the tribe's gate, he was startled. The entrance was already packed with people—the tribesmen, having heard that the chief had returned victorious, had all come to welcome him. Seeing these warriors, covered in wounds and blood, countless tribesmen fell silent. Some even lowered their heads and secretly wiped their eyes.

Seeing the crowd surge forward, even the warriors who were gravely injured and slumped on horseback straightened their backs with all their strength. In the Grant Tribe, there are only men who die in battle—never cowards!

When they were just over ten steps from the crowd, everyone dismounted, and the dozen or so frightened girls stumbled into the arms of their families, breaking down in tears.