The sound of distant horns echoed across the barren land, bouncing off the towering trees that surrounded the Deadwood Tribe. The steady, ominous blare disrupted the usual calm of the night, stirring a sense of dread in those who heard it.
Inside the largest hut, Chief Kurumu jolted awake, his heart pounding. He quickly threw off the heavy furs covering him and rushed outside, where the cold night air hit his face like a slap. His eyes scanned the tribe's grounds, and the sight made his stomach sink: his people were in disarray.
Warriors ran around, some barely awake, others scrambling for their weapons, their faces twisted in panic. The chief's wife clutched their children close, her face pale and eyes wide with fear as she stood near the door of their hut. Even the most seasoned warriors, who had fought alongside Chief Kurumu for years, looked uncertain, their hands trembling as they gripped their spears.
"What is going on?" Chief Kurumu's voice cracked through the chaos like a whip, demanding answers. Discover hidden tales at m,v l'e-novelhall.net
A figure broke through the chaos and approached, breathless and drenched in sweat. It was Grez, one of the tribe's third-level werewolf commanders. He was panting heavily, and his normally calm demeanor had been shattered.
"Chief... it's the Silvermane Tribe," Grez gasped, his voice laced with fear. "They're here. Over a thousand warriors, surrounding us from all sides."
Kurumu's blood ran cold. "Silvermane?" he repeated, disbelief flashing in his eyes. The Silvermane Tribe was the most feared in the wasteland, a force that had grown large and ruthless. The rumors had spread like wildfire recently—how they gathered strength during the famine, absorbing smaller tribes like hungry wolves.
Kurumu swallowed hard. His tribe was no match for them.
"Yes," Grez continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Their leader sent a message. He demands that you surrender... or they will attack without mercy."
Kurumu's brow furrowed. "Surrender?" he spat, his rage building. "Those cowards dare—"
But Grez interrupted, his voice shaking. "If you refuse, Chief... they threatened to slaughter your family."
The world seemed to spin for a moment. Chief Kurumu's face contorted in fury, but beneath that rage, fear gnawed at his gut. He clenched his fists, his sharp claws biting into his palms. "Kill my family?" His voice trembled, as if the very words tasted foul on his tongue. "How dare they?"
But reality sank in like a blade twisting in his chest. The Deadwood Tribe was small, proud, but nowhere near the size or strength of the Silvermane warriors. Kurumu knew the numbers. He had maybe a few hundred warriors, half of whom were barely trained for this kind of fight. More than a thousand Silvermane soldiers? They might as well be fighting the wind.
Kurumu's anger flickered and faded as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. The survival of his people hung in the balance, and his family... He looked over at his wife and children, his heart heavy.
"Let's go," Kurumu said quietly, his voice now filled with grim resolve. "We need to see for ourselves."
Grez nodded and led the way, a strange glint in his eyes that Kurumu did not catch. As they moved through the tribe, Kurumu's mind raced, searching for any possible strategy, but the truth was clear: they were outnumbered, outmatched, and out of options.
As they neared the gates, Kurumu's keen senses picked up something that made his blood freeze. He could feel them—dozens of powerful warriors surrounding his tribe, their auras crackling like storms in the night. Among them, one presence stood out—stronger than any he had ever encountered, stronger than even himself.
He stopped in his tracks, the reality of his situation finally settling in. "Fourth-level warriors," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "They've sent over a dozen of them... and one stronger than me."
Kurumu's heart sank. The Silvermane Tribe hadn't just come to conquer. They had come to destroy, to take everything. His people had no chance against such overwhelming force.
"Chief," Grez said carefully, his tone almost too calm, "it might be wise to consider their offer... before it's too late."
Kurumu turned, eyes narrowing. There was something strange in the way Grez spoke, something unnerving about the way he avoided the chief's gaze. A flicker of suspicion crossed Kurumu's mind, but before he could pursue the thought, the reality of the looming threat consumed him once more.
They were surrounded. The warriors were too strong. And his people... they would be slaughtered if they resisted.
Kurumu clenched his jaw, his heart heavy with the weight of a decision no leader should ever have to make.
Kro looked down at the captured chief, his lip curling in disdain. "So," he said, his voice slow and mocking, "this is the mighty Chief Root? I expected more."
Kro stood tall, his cold eyes surveying the chaos that surrounded him. His silver mane, reflecting the dying light of the evening, gleamed with a sharp, intimidating edge. He took a step forward, his gaze locking onto the defiant figure before him.
"Are you Chief Rutt?" Kro asked, his voice as cold and cutting as steel.
Chief Rutt, the once-proud leader of the Rut tribe, scowled deeply. His yellow eyes burned with hatred as he spat out, "Hmph, you damn silver-maned bandits!"
Kro's lips twisted into a cruel smile, the insult barely registering as anything more than a weak attempt at defiance. "Bold words for a man who's already lost everything," he remarked, his tone laced with mockery. "You resisted us. That was your first mistake. Now, you'll pay the price."
Kro had expected the Rut tribe to surrender easily—after all, the Silver Mane were known across the land for their superior strength. But instead of a swift capitulation, the Rut wolves had fought back, tooth and claw. Though their resistance had been pitiful in the grand scheme, it had still cost Kro a handful of his warriors.
That, more than anything, stoked the fury that simmered just beneath the surface of his cold composure.
With a casual wave of his hand, Kro issued the command that would seal the Rut tribe's fate. "Pass the order: Kill every Rut warrior and their chieftain if they do not lay down their arms willingly."
"Yes, my lord!" his lieutenant responded promptly, turning to relay the deadly command.
Chief Rutt's face drained of color, his bravado vanishing like smoke in the wind. Desperation seeped into his voice as he fell to his knees. "Spare my life!" he pleaded, his earlier defiance evaporating. "I surrender. I'll do anything—just spare me!"
Kro raised an eyebrow, a slow, almost amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. He didn't bother to respond. Words were meaningless now. The decision had already been made, and Chief Rutt's fate was sealed.
As Rutt was dragged away, the once-proud leader's pleas for mercy soon turned to curses, his voice growing hoarse as he hurled insults at the Silver Mane tribe. The pitiful display only added to the disgrace of his defeat. Kro's eyes flickered with disdain as he turned away, disinterested in the spectacle of Rutt's final moments.
Soon, the night was alight with flames as the Silver Mane warriors set fire to the Rut village. Smoke and the smell of burning wood filled the air as the bodies of Rutt's warriors, along with the chieftain himself, were consigned to the flames. Kro watched, his expression unreadable, as the Rut tribe was consumed by the inferno.
A soldier approached him, bowing low before speaking. "Lord Kro, the casualties have been tallied."
Kro's eyes narrowed. "Report."
"The Rut tribe has been subdued. We lost twelve warriors—nine werewolf soldiers and three of the boar warriors."
Kro's jaw tightened. Twelve dead, just to crush this insignificant tribe? His cold eyes flicked towards the burning village, his irritation deepening. **Damn Chief Rutt,** he thought. **If only I had more time, I'd have buried him alive to honor the twelve we lost.**
The soldier continued quickly, sensing Kro's growing anger. "There are 1,168 members of the Rut tribe in total. Of those, 339 warriors took up arms against us. We killed 121 in battle, and on your orders, we executed Chief Rutt and 56 of his closest followers."
Kro nodded, his gaze never leaving the smoldering remains of the village. "What about the rest?"
"All remaining Rut warriors have been captured, my lord."
Kro's cold smile returned. "Good. Give the order to Luqi—he's to take one hundred warriors and thirty wolf riders and escort the Rut tribe captives and spoils back to our lands. Ensure the fallen warriors are brought home as well. They deserve a proper burial."
The soldier bowed again. "Yes, my lord."
Kro turned, his silver mane catching the flickering firelight as he issued his final command. "Have the rest of the soldiers gather immediately. We move out soon."
With that, Kro strode away, his thoughts already turning to the next conquest. The Rut tribe had been a mere nuisance, but the Silver Mane's ambition was far greater. Their victory today was just one step on a much larger path—a path that would see the Silver Mane tribe ruling over all the land.