For decades, a fragile peace endured between the two tribes, but only because of the constant oversight of the royal court. The court had a strict policy: no tribe, no matter how powerful, was to expand unchecked. The incident with the boarman commander Mashar had left the Cross royal court more vigilant than ever.
The royal court's stance was clear: If a tribe harbored a legendary warrior, they must remain quiet, content with what they had. Expansion, power grabs, or any hint of rebellion were met with swift and deadly consequences. As long as the legendary tribes kept to themselves, the court would leave them be.
But if they ignored these warnings, the royal court would crush their legend and dismantle the tribe without hesitation.
This wasn't an idle threat. The royal court had done it many times before. Years ago, when Mashar the Boarman Warlord declared independence, other legendary tribes in the northern wilderness sought to follow in his footsteps. The court's response was brutal. Nearly ten legendary figures were exterminated, and with them, their tribes; each with more than 100,000 orcs, fell apart overnight.
The royal court was sending a message: If they could deal with legendary tribes, what hope did lesser ones have?
Only Mashar's intervention saved even more legendary figures from annihilation. This demonstration of power kept the other tribes in line, for they understood the strength of the royal court.
Arar, reflecting on this, felt a strange sense of calm. He wasn't worried anymore. In fact, he almost hoped the Silver Mane Tribe did have a legend among them or that the powerful Templeton family had their hands in the situation. The intrigue excited him.
"How do you plan to deal with these smaller tribes?" a shadowy figure asked, changing the subject.
Arar chuckled. "Why do you ask?"
"I see ambition in your eyes," the figure replied, their voice soft but knowing.
"Is that so?" Arar smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
The Silver Mane Tribe had been aggressively absorbing smaller tribes recently, causing panic in the surrounding areas. In response, seven smaller tribes, amounting to around 16,000 to 17,000 Beastmen, had fled to the Adik Tribe's territory, seeking refuge.
Naturally, Arar welcomed them with open arms. He couldn't afford to turn them away now. They were guests, after all, and guests should not be left out in the cold.
"Envy? Perhaps a little," Arar mused aloud. "But they've come seeking shelter. They are under my protection."
"Guests?" the shadowy figure scoffed. "I could take out the leadership of these tribes in an hour if you gave the order. You know that."
The figure's disdain was palpable. They saw through Arar's polite façade. It was clear he had ambitions for control, but here he was, feigning innocence.
"No," Arar said firmly.
They were the ones with the power and desire to keep legends in check.
"I understand," the blurry figure finally nodded. Though he still felt uneasy, he couldn't deny Arar's logic. A legend's presence would tip the balance far beyond anything they could handle.
"Also," Arar added, his tone shifting, "keep an eye on Carl. Don't make any moves against him just yet. We still can't be sure if he's part of the Silver Mane Tribe."
The mention of Carl made the blurry figure tense. Carl's sudden arrival had been suspicious from the start, especially with the two critical pieces of information he'd brought with him, news of super crops and whispers of a legend.
Arar narrowed his eyes. "It's all too convenient. He could very well be a plant from the Silver Mane Tribe. But why would a scout leak such valuable information? It doesn't make sense."
Arar fell silent for a moment, weighing the possibilities. "Or maybe Carl is simply a talented individual," he mused. "And destroying talent without proof is not the act of a wise leader."
"I understand," the blurry figure replied, though his voice remained laced with uncertainty.
---
The next morning, the first rays of sunlight broke through the sky as Logan stirred in bed. He had been up late the previous night, celebrating with the warriors until midnight. As he stepped out of his chamber, a familiar voice greeted him.
"Finally awake?" teased Logan, a striking red-haired wolf beauty, sitting casually at a wooden table. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, clearly enjoying the playful banter.
Logan grinned in return. "Have you eaten already?"
Logan giggled and stuck out her tongue. "Still eating? It's already so late! Ginny, Kevin, why don't you tell your lazy brother what time it is?"
Across the room, Logan' younger siblings, Ginny and Kevin, were busy learning to read. He couldn't help but smile as he watched them. Their dedication to their lessons was admirable, and it warmed his heart to see them taking their studies so seriously.
Ginny was focused on her travel dreams, hoping to explore the vast world one day, while Kevin was set on becoming a great merchant. For both of them, Logan had insisted they master two critical languages: the human common tongue and the elvish script.
Human writing, also known as the common language, was essential for navigating the bustling human world. It was a language that all races prioritized, especially since the human kingdoms were known for their wealth and prosperity. Many humanoid races aspired to enter the human world, making the common language a necessary skill.
But elvish? That was a different story entirely. The elvish script was the origin of all writing systems, a language that held the key to many ancient texts and high-level magic. Once someone mastered elvish, learning other languages became a simple task. For Ginny and Kevin, learning both languages was a gateway to their future aspirations.
As Logan watched them practice, he felt a surge of pride. They were growing into their own, and with Logan's guidance, they would soon be well-prepared for the world beyond their home.