Chapter 248: Trouble has come

"We all know you're scared. Hell, I'm scared too! But hiding in our huts, hoping this mess blows over like a bad hangover? That ain't the plan!

If we don't fix this, it won't be the Dog Tribe running us outta town—oh no, it'll be that cocky human! And when that happens, we'll all be licking his boots, serving as his personal footstools!"

Lenon slammed his fist against the table so hard the poor thing nearly split in half. His wild eyes darted around the room, hoping someone would back him up, but all he got were blank stares.

Elder Nora, lounging back in her chair like she was at a spa, raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, let's say we somehow pull off a miracle and take him down. Then what, genius?"

Lenon, puffing up his chest like he'd just been crowned king of common sense, scoffed.

"What do you mean, 'then what'? We beat him, toss his ass out, and go back to pretending nothing happened. Simple. We just keep watching over the village like we always do."

Nora chuckled, shaking her head.

"And you seriously think we can kill him? By the time we're done playing hero, the Dog Tribe's gonna waltz in here, take one look at us dragging our sorry asses off the battlefield, and turn this place into their personal all-you-can-eat buffet."

Lenon blinked, the thought clearly not computing.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Nora leaned forward, smirking.

"Think, Lenon. What if that human's working with the Dog Tribe? We throw everything at him, leave ourselves battered and half-dead, and then—bam! The Dog Tribe strolls in, takes one sniff, and starts picking their teeth with our bones.

Congratulations, you just delivered the village on a silver platter."

"What do you suggest then, Nora? Because I sure as hell ain't living under that human scum," Lenon growled, his voice thick with frustration.

Elder Nora tapped her chin, her lips curling into a sly grin as an idea sparked. "Who said we gotta live under him? We just tell him to take his so-called help and shove it. Sure, could've been handy to let him deal with the Dog Tribe, but—eh, we'll figure it out.

No need to suck up to him like he's some sort of savior."

"Damn, can this day get any worse?"

The Chief muttered, cursing his rotten luck. And because the gods clearly love irony, right at that moment, the alarm blared so loud it could wake the dead.

"Oh, come on!!"

The Chief yelled, chucking his spear in frustration like a kid tossing his toys after a tantrum.

And wouldn't you know it, Kaisen's lips twitched up into a smile the second that alarm hit. His saviors were coming—the cavalry, or at least the circus act that was going to turn him into these cats' so-called "hero."

In the other cell, Roland suddenly snapped his head up, eyes wide as saucers. He knew exactly what that alarm meant, and it wasn't good.

The evil dog tribe was on the attack, and here he was, a proud warrior, stuck behind bars like a caged animal. He should be out there kicking dog ass, but without the elders' approval, he wasn't going anywhere.

In a fit of desperation, he gripped the iron bars and shouted,

"Chief, open up! We need to be out there!"

The Chief, looking as tired as a man with ten kids and zero vacation days, just shook his head.

"Sorry, Roland. Unless the elders say so, you're stuck here. Pray they don't let you out, Roland. Pray we win this."

"Chief, come on!"

Roland pleaded, his voice edging on panic, but deep down he knew it was useless. The elders were as stubborn as a mule with its feet glued to the ground.

The Chief, clearly over it, stooped to pick up his spear from where he'd chucked it in frustration and started to walk out.

But just as he was about to leave, he paused and glanced back at Kaisen, who still hadn't bothered to open his eyes. The guy was lounging there like he was on a tropical vacation, not a prisoner locked up in enemy territory.

The Chief muttered under his breath,

"What's with this guy?"

Then he shook his head and walked out of the room, probably wondering how his life had spiraled into babysitting the human equivalent of a walking middle finger.