As Logan approached the tribe's gates, flanked by two Beastmen guards, the trio made their way toward the grand tribal hall. The air was thick with anticipation, but Logan remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Beside him walked Art, the foxman, and Boone, a grizzled Beastman. Both had a spark of disbelief in their eyes, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what was happening.
Art and Boone had a long-standing business relationship, but it was more complex than simple partnership. Art, with his cunning and connections, ranked a bit higher in the hierarchy of the underworld. He didn't just sell slaves, he ran an entire slave-hunting syndicate in cooperation with other powerful slave owners. Boone, on the other hand, operated differently.
As a middleman, he didn't capture slaves himself. Instead, he bought them from hunters like Art and handled the logistics, distributing them across various camps, even to human territories. Despite being just a "seller," Boone was no small player; his vast network of associates stretched far and wide.
Logan, however, was different. He wasn't here for a small transaction. He wanted to buy over 100,000 slaves; an amount that could alter the balance of power. This wasn't a typical deal. It was the kind of business that could make you rich beyond measure... or crush you under its weight if things went wrong.
Boone couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation. He needed to tread carefully.
Art, too, was on edge. He had brought Boone with him for this very reason: to ensure that everything went smoothly. But something else gnawed at the foxman's mind. He had heard rumors of powerful figures, but he had never expected that the man behind this monumental deal was the chief of a tribe; one that wielded such influence.
What puzzled both Boone and Art even more was the tribe's sheer size. The Silver Mane Tribe? In the southern part of the Southern Wasteland? The name was foreign to them, which was odd. Boone prided himself on being in the know, especially in this region. How could a tribe so large have emerged without them hearing a whisper of its existence?
For Art, the stakes were higher. His slave-hunting group, though successful, operated on a delicate balance. Hunting slaves in their own backyard was a dangerous game. Tribes could retaliate, and if they ever found out who was behind the raids, it would mean war.
That's why Art and his group focused on capturing slaves far from home, in places like Caesar's Grasslands, where the risks of revenge were minimized.
And yet, here they were, sitting across from a mysterious tribe chief in unfamiliar territory. The confusion about the Silver Mane Tribe lingered in the air like an unsolved riddle, but both Boone and Art exchanged knowing glances. There was money to be made. If this Silver Mane tribe was real and powerful; they could finally strike a deal too good to pass up.
They entered the Beastmen Hall, the room echoing with the sound of their boots. The stone walls seemed to absorb the tension in the air. Logan gestured for them to sit, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
Logan paused for a moment, digesting the information. A slave-hunting group with 20,000 members? That was quite a force. He couldn't help but marvel at how much wealth and power these slavers must control. But still, he couldn't compare it to the mighty Storm Mercenary Group, led by his future father-in-law.
That group had warriors of the highest caliber; six or seven at the tenth level, with two quasi-legends in their ranks. A slave-hunting group couldn't hope to match that, regardless of its size.
If these slave owners had such elite warriors, they wouldn't waste their time chasing after captives. They'd join a mercenary group and make a safer, more profitable living.
Still, Logan kept his composure and smiled, his tone light but firm. "Oh, it's true. What Boone and I discussed stands firm. The Silvermane Tribe needs more people; whether it's ten thousand, one hundred thousand, or even two hundred thousand. That wouldn't be enough."
Art's eyes widened slightly, the number clearly shocking him. One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand slaves? Was this man serious?
"And since we're on the subject," Logan continued smoothly, "I have a few questions for you both. First, how many slaves can you realistically deliver per month? Second, I need to know the going price for each slave. Lastly, the Silvermane Tribe is a Beastman tribe, and I value Beastmen the most. The price for other Beastmen slaves should not exceed that of Beastmen.
We prefer children, adult women, and middle-aged orcs. The elderly and disabled? Unless they possess some special skill, we won't be interested."
Logan delivered these points with a calm smile, but the weight of his words hung in the air. Boone and Art exchanged a glance, their minds clearly racing. For once, the talkative foxman seemed at a loss for words. Boone's brow furrowed in thought.
Logan, unbothered by their silence, waited patiently, observing their reactions. At that moment, the door to the hall opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered man entered. It was Begon, Logan' second uncle.
Begon strode confidently into the room, his eyes flicking from Logan to the slavers sitting opposite him. He had heard whispers that slave traders had arrived and hurried to the gate, only to find that Logan had already brought them to the Beastmen Hall. Now, his curiosity was piqued.
"Uncle," Logan said warmly, gesturing to a seat beside him. "You've come just in time."
Begon took his seat, nodding in greeting but keeping his eyes on Boone and Art. Like Logan, he knew what the Silvermane Tribe needed; more hands, more workers, more people to strengthen their growing power. And if these slavers could provide them, all the better.
"How many slaves do they have?" Begon wondered aloud, his gaze flickering with anticipation.