Several days had passed, and under the broad expanse of a cerulean sky, a formidable procession of fifteen wyverns sailed gracefully toward their destination. The lead creature, a majestic fifth-order wyvern, bore a young werewolf whose presence commanded attention. This was Logan, returning to his homeland, the Silver Mane Tribe, after nearly three weeks of absence.
As the silhouette of the tribal settlement began to emerge on the horizon, a burly black bear, astride a robust pterosaur, turned to Logan. "Master Chief, is that your tribe up ahead?" he asked, his voice booming over the wind, pointing toward the cluster of structures now visible in the distance.
"Yes, that's the Silver Mane Tribe!" Logan replied, his voice filled with pride as he surveyed the approaching landscape.
The return was timely. The month of June was waning, and Logan's thoughts were crowded with plans and recent events. The Windrunner United Mercenary Group's formation was still pending, not expected before mid-July.
Despite this, Logan had been busy dealing in vast quantities of maltose through his brother-in-law Fisher, who claimed to have fetched a gold coin for every kilogram of sweet potato candy sold. The authenticity of Fisher's claims remained unverified, but that mattered little to Logan.
What mattered was the promise of profit, more than 22,000 gold coins representing his 30% share from over 70,000 kilograms of maltose.
The dealings had been fruitful, providing Logan with funds purportedly for tribal expansion. Fisher, ever the supportive brother-in-law, had advanced him 20,000 gold coins. The remaining sum was converted into an equivalent value of white wheat, further bolstering their resources.
Their storages at the Hotel were burgeoning, now holding over 150,000 kilograms of rice and premium liquor, stored carefully in a newly constructed wine cellar beneath the hotel. This cellar, a sanctuary of fine wines left over from each winemaking batch, promised that each vintage would only improve with age.
Logan harbored ambitions of replicating this cellar within his own tribe, dreaming of the day, perhaps decades or centuries later, when the wines would reach their peak. Read captivating tales at m v l e mpyr
The battalion of wyverns, which included the fifteen Logan now led, was a loan from his brother-in-law Gavas, who had recently rallied two thousand mercenaries to their cause, bolstering their ranks with over two hundred wyvern cavalrymen. This formidable force was a testament to their growing strength and Logan's strategic foresight.
As they drew closer to the Silver Mane Tribe, the air hummed with the promise of new beginnings and the anticipation of reunions, setting the stage for the next chapter in Logan's tale.
Under the vast, azure sky, the imposing silhouette of fifteen wyverns soared gracefully toward the Silver Mane Tribe, led by Logan, the young and astute leader. This impressive squadron had been a gift from his brother-in-law Gavas, a gesture of solidarity sparked by a moment of playful envy from Logan, who had put on a rather convincing show of feeling pitiful.
Initially, Gavas had offered twenty wyverns, but seeing that only fifteen were needed, he adjusted the number accordingly.
Logan's return was marked not just by the majestic wyverns but also by a diverse entourage of fourteen orcs. This group included figures such as the bearman Lavar and a cadre of formidable new recruits, two sixth-level wolf beastman, three fifth-level orcs, and two fourth-level orcs recently liberated from a werewolf slave owner.
It seemed almost fantastical, yet the seasoned wolf beastman of the tribe had borne witness to these rapid changes, watching their community evolve under Logan's dynamic guidance.
As Logan conversed with the youthful leader of the newly formed Thunderbird Air Cavalry, his curiosity shone through his warm smile. "You appear quite young. How long has the Thunderbird Air Cavalry been operational?" he inquired, eyeing the fourth-level werewolf who stood nervously before him.
"Master Chief, I celebrated my tenth birthday just last month," the young werewolf, Guzman, replied, his voice tinged with nervous excitement.
"This squadron has been active for thirteen days. Please, Chief, come and inspect our progress," Guzman continued, eager to demonstrate their prowess.
"Ten years old!" Logan exclaimed, his surprise giving way to a knowing smile. "Youth indeed harbors infinite possibilities. You are not only a part of the growth of the Silver Mane Tribe's Air Cavalry but also of its future annals. Train diligently. I look forward to seeing your valor displayed in the skies above the battlefield soon."
"Yes!" Guzman's response was charged with enthusiasm, a sentiment echoed by the rest of the air cavalry.
"Very well, continue with your training. We'll head back to the tribe," Logan instructed, casting a final glance over the group that represented the tribe's future potential. Their affirmative response rang clear across the field.
Guzman watched with a blend of pride and anticipation as Logan and his entourage departed. Turning to his team, he declared firmly, "Everyone, continue training and don't let the chief down!"
"yes!" The team's unified shout filled the air, a robust declaration of their commitment.
From a distance, Ralph and his companions looked back at the young werewolf air cavalry with a mixture of respect and nostalgia. Their gaze lingered; the sight reminded them poignantly of their own now-lost tribe, for which they too had once fought with youthful zeal.
...
Word of Logan's return rippled swiftly through the tribe. Upon landing, the urgency of tribal affairs immediately beckoned him to the conference hall. His second uncle Begon, among others, awaited, their anxiety palpable.
Understanding their concern, Logan first ensured that Ralph and his group were comfortably settled before he joined the elders. The conference hall buzzed with a tense atmosphere as he entered.
Seeing both his Uncles visibly fraught, Logan addressed them with a reassuring smile, "Uncle Reynolds, Uncle Begon, who wants to speak first?" His relaxed demeanor helped soften the edges of the looming discussions.