Artom leaned back in his seat, a casual smile playing on his lips. "I've been thinking, what makes the Silver Mane Tribe so confident?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
His father, Arar, furrowed his brow. "Confidence?" He tilted his head slightly, intrigued by his son's observation. Artom had always been sharp, just like him. If his son had noticed something, it was worth hearing out.
"I had our men infiltrate the Silver Mane Tribe," Artom continued, leaning forward slightly. "From what they gathered, there are two things that give them their sense of security."
Arar's eyes narrowed with interest. "Oh?" He glanced at his eldest son, the son who had always shown the most promise, his sharpest edge. "What did they discover?"
Without answering immediately, Artom turned to a young werewolf standing quietly behind him. "Carl," Artom called, his voice carrying a tone of authority. "Come forward."
The young werewolf stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully as he addressed Arar. "It is an honor to meet you, Chief."
Arar sized up Carl with a shrewd gaze. Up until now, the boy had seemed like nothing more than a servant, barely worth noticing. But now, he could sense that Carl wasn't just any ordinary werewolf. There was something about him that hinted at deeper significance. His son wouldn't bring him forward otherwise.
Artom gestured with a nod, encouraging Carl to speak. "Go on," he said, his tone warm, but the expectation in his voice was clear.
Carl took a breath and spoke with confidence. "My Lord Chief, based on the information our infiltrators gathered, the Silver Mane Tribe has been cultivating a crop known as sweet potato. It has an incredible yield; up to 10,000 kilograms per acres."
Arar's eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you say? Ten thousand kilograms per acre?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The shock of the statement was too much to hide. Producing such a yield in these times, especially during a drought, seemed nothing short of miraculous.
Arar's sharp gaze fixed on Carl. "How reliable is this information?" His voice was calm, but the tension in the room thickened, his presence suddenly bearing down heavily on the young werewolf.
The pressure was almost suffocating. Carl faltered under the weight of the Chief's scrutiny, his knees buckling slightly.
"Father!" Artom quickly interjected, his voice urgent yet respectful. He stepped forward protectively, his eyes pleading. He had put his trust in Carl, and he couldn't allow his father to overwhelm him.
Realizing his own intensity, Arar reined in his aura, his imposing presence easing just enough for Carl to catch his breath. The young werewolf's face was pale, his breath coming in short gasps, but Arar's steady hand on his shoulder helped ground him.
"My apologies," Arar said, his voice softer now, more controlled. "You may continue."
Carl, still trembling slightly, nodded his thanks. "Thank you, Chief," he managed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "As I was saying, the information is one hundred percent accurate. The sweet potato is real, and the yield is extraordinary. You can even see for yourself."
At a signal from Artom, a wolf maid entered the room carrying a tray. On it were two sweet potatoes; one raw, one cooked. She placed the tray carefully in front of Arar.
"Chief," Carl explained, "the one on the left is raw, the one on the right is cooked. Please, try it."
Arar frowned, deep in thought. "You've done well," he finally said, though his tone carried a note of dissatisfaction. "But if we're going to test this crop, we need more. At least 100 pounds. That way, we can try planting it ourselves and see if it really produces 10,000 kilograms per mu. If it does, then we'll consider large-scale cultivation."
Artom nodded in agreement. As much as he wanted to believe in the potential of the sweet potato, he knew his father was right. They needed hard evidence before making any big moves.
Carl, calm under pressure, nodded confidently. "I'll arrange for more sweet potatoes to be brought back as soon as possible."
"Good," Arar replied with a firm nod. His expression softened slightly as he asked, "Now, what's the other piece of information your investigation uncovered?"
Carl shifted slightly, his expression turning serious. "Chief," he began, "there's a legend within the Silver Mane Tribe."
Arar raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A legend?" He leaned forward, his interest piqued.
Even Artom, who had been relatively composed, couldn't help but feel a stir of excitement. A legend? In the Silver Mane Tribe? It seemed almost too wild to believe. Legends were the stuff of great clans, not smaller tribes like the Silver Manes.
"How did you learn of this?" Arar asked, his voice cautious. Legends weren't to be taken lightly. They often spoke of extraordinary individuals or mythical powers, but they could also be dangerous, inspiring fear or stirring ambition in rival tribes.
Carl explained carefully. "One of our infiltrators overheard a conversation between a high-ranking official in the Silver Mane Tribe and a servant. According to the official, the old chieftain of the Silver Mane Tribe, Barnett, once had a mentor from the Lion Tribe. This mentor supposedly came from a powerful beastmen family; the Templetons."
"Templeton?" Arar repeated, his brow furrowing in thought. The name didn't ring any bells.
Your journey continues at m v|l-e'-novelhall.net
Carl shook his head. "That's the thing, Chief. I've searched for any mention of a Templeton family in the southern wilderness, but nothing came up. It's possible they don't even exist in our region."
Arar sat back, considering the implications. "If this Templeton is indeed part of the Lion Tribe," he mused aloud, "then it's possible they're not from the southern or even the northern wilderness. The Lion Tribe tends to be more nomadic, perhaps even further afield than we've ventured."
Artom's eyes gleamed with interest. "A mentor from a powerful beastmen family..." he murmured. If it were true, that could explain much of the Silver Mane Tribe's rapid rise. Such a connection could mean powerful allies, hidden knowledge, or even rare skills passed down through generations.
"The Templetons," Arar said quietly. "If they exist, they could be a force we're unaware of. But we can't rely on rumors alone." He glanced at Carl, his face thoughtful but resolute. "Keep digging. If this legend holds any truth, it could change everything."
Carl bowed his head. "Yes, Chief. I will."
Arar's gaze turned inward, lost in deep thought. Sweet potatoes and legends... the Silver Mane Tribe was more formidable than he had first realized. And as he stared out into the distance, a slow, deliberate smile began to form on his lips.
The game was changing. And he was ready to play.