"Lord Kovos, the chief is here!"
A werewolf with a hurried gait approached from a distance, calling out to Kovos, who immediately turned his attention. His sharp gaze landed on the figure approaching: Chief Covenas, a towering presence of authority and calm. Without wasting a moment, Kovos set off at a brisk pace to greet him.
"Greetings, Chief!" Kovos said, coming to a halt in front of Covenas, standing tall before bowing respectfully. His voice held the mix of reverence and pride that always surfaced when addressing the leader of the Silvermane Tribe.
Covenas, ever composed, smiled faintly and returned the nod, acknowledging Kovos's salute. He then took a moment to survey the scene around them. The land stretched wide, barren except for the remnants of a recent harvest. Orc workers moved about with purpose, clearing the last bits of debris, their figures casting long shadows as they toiled.
"Have all the sweet potatoes and potatoes from these 1,160 acres been harvested?" Covenas asked, his voice as calm as his demeanor, though the question carried weight.
Kovos, with a measured nod, replied, "Yes, Lord Chief. Every last one. They've all been safely stored in the cellars."
Covenas nodded again, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. But he wasn't finished. "And the total yield?" he inquired, though both of them already knew the answer would only confirm their expectations.
A subtle grin tugged at Kovos's lips, remembering the near-celebratory feeling that had swept through the tribe when they realized the harvest had exceeded projections. The chief didn't need to ask—rumors had already spread like wildfire. When there were still over 200 acres left to harvest, the yield had already surpassed 15 million jin.
It had been clear to everyone: the total would easily soar past 20 million jin, a figure that had bolstered morale across the tribe.
"In the morning, we finished storing the last batch," Kovos reported, the crisp morning air still fresh in his memory. "The total yield stands at 22.77 million jin. Of that, 750 acres of sweet potatoes gave us 15.64 million jin, with an average yield of over 20,000 jin per acre. As for the potatoes, the 410 acres yielded over 7.13 million jin, averaging 17,000 jin per acre."
Despite the enormous numbers, Kovos spoke calmly, the excitement that had gripped him over the last ten days now worn thin. He had seen the mounds of produce pile up, time and again, and the shock had given way to a quiet satisfaction.
Covenas nodded, equally unfazed. He had anticipated these figures during his last inspection. What had been an ambitious hope was now a triumphant reality. "Excellent work," Covenas said, his voice warm but composed, casting a glance at Kovos. "You've outdone yourself."
Kovos, ever humble, shook his head. "It's my duty, Chief. The tribe entrusted me with managing the farmlands. I couldn't do less." He paused, looking at the busy orcs. "Besides, much of the success is due to the crops themselves. It's hard not to yield such bountiful results with the right species."
Covenas smiled, appreciating Kovos's modesty. "Still, you've earned the tribe's trust. Lotte and the others sing your praises. You've done more than we could have asked for with the farmland."
Kovos nodded appreciatively but kept his gaze level. His focus had always been on ensuring the tribe thrived, and with the farmland now nearing 8,000 acres, he was already setting his sights on the next goal. "By month's end, we'll reach 10,000 acres," he noted, a hint of pride in his voice.
Covenas, sensing the unspoken ambition behind Kovos's words, mentally marked his accomplishments. "Your work hasn't gone unnoticed," the chief said with quiet conviction.
Just then, Covenas glanced towards the orcs still bustling in the distance. His brow furrowed with mild curiosity. "What's happening over there?" he asked, pointing towards the scene. "Are they already preparing for the next planting?"
Kovos shook his head. "No, Chief. We've gathered all the sweet potato and potato vines. Lord Kodiak suggested we transport them to the pens for the monsters. The vines make excellent feed."
"Ah, of course." Covenas nodded in understanding. Nothing went to waste in the Silvermane Tribe; even the remnants of the harvest found purpose.
**Mall:** (Opened)
**Professional Inheritance:** (Opened)
**Sub-professional Inheritance:** (Opened)
The system was an invaluable resource, and with the reputation points he had earned, Covenas could unlock more crops, tools, and knowledge that would benefit the tribe immensely. His choice of corn and broad beans was deliberate. They would thrive in the harsh conditions of their land, but there was another reason for his excitement.
Corn could be used to produce corn liquor, a highly prized grain liquor. Along with sorghum, corn liquor was among the best, a luxury that could elevate the tribe's status even further.
"I see," Kovos said, nodding thoughtfully. By now, he was no longer surprised when Covenas introduced new crops or innovations. The chief had an uncanny ability to produce ancient wonders, one after another. Sweet potatoes and potatoes had yielded extraordinary harvests, and Kovos found himself wondering if corn and beans would follow the same pattern. "I'll prepare the fields," he added.
Covenas smiled. "Good. I'll send someone with the corn and bean seeds tomorrow."
The two walked side by side through the land, their eyes surveying the other fields and gardens that dotted the landscape. They soon arrived at the hillside orchards and gardens, a place that always fascinated Covenas. His gaze fell upon the vineyard, where the grapevines had taken root and were growing with wild abandon, far exceeding his expectations.
"The vineyard seems to be thriving," Covenas noted with a pleased tone. The sight of the flourishing vines filled him with a quiet sense of accomplishment.
They moved on to the garden, where rows of flowers blossomed in vibrant colors. One plant in particular caught Covenas's attention—the roses. Delicate buds had begun to form, promising full blooms by the end of the month. "Roses," Covenas mused, his excitement barely contained. Roses held a special significance.
Not only could their petals be distilled into perfume—four fragrances were already being produced at the tribe's small perfume workshop—but roses could also be used to make scented teas and pastries. Their value was immense, both for their beauty and their versatility.
By the time they finished their inspection, Covenas's mind was filled with visions of vineyards overflowing with grapes, fragrant roses blooming in every garden, and fields abundant with corn and beans. The future of the Silvermane Tribe seemed brighter than ever.
---
Three days later, deep into the night...
Fifty or sixty miles south of the Silvermane Tribe, a small werewolf tribe known as Deadwood lay nestled within a dry, rugged landscape. With just over 800 members, it was a modest settlement, unaware that danger was swiftly approaching under the cover of darkness.
The moon cast a dim glow over the ground as a group of orc warriors moved silently through the night, closing in on Deadwood. Their leader, Baggen, rode at the front of the pack, his eyes scanning the horizon with keen focus.
"Lord Baggen, the entire tribe is surrounded," one of the werewolves reported, his voice low but brimming with confidence. Experience new stories on m v|l e'-novelhall.net
Baggen gave a satisfied grunt. The Silvermane Army had moved with precision. Over a thousand orc warriors had been split into two groups—one under his command, the other led by Kro, who was responsible for the northern territories. Baggen's group had galloped through the night, pushing hard to reach Deadwood, their first target.
For the past two hours, they had crept ever closer, tightening their circle around the small tribe. Now, at last, they had Deadwood exactly where they wanted them. Baggen looked around at his warriors, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. The hunt was about to begin.