Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Under the looming shadow of the grand tent, the air between Vice Captain Karl and Chief Youwa grew tense, thick with the promise of an impending storm. Chief Youwa's features hardened, betraying his shock and anger. "Vice-Captain Karl, what dark intentions hide behind your words?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the tent walls, laden with disbelief.

Karl, with a demeanor as cold as the steel of his sword, barely concealed his disdain. "What do I mean? Is the meaning lost upon you, Chief Youwa? Although, the late chief of the mighty Silver Mane Tribe, may have fallen in battle, but his legacy is beyond the grasp of lesser tribes, such as yours."

His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed upon the chief. "I am here for one purpose alone. To present you with an opportunity," Karl declared, his voice steady and imposing. "Bow to the might of the Silvermane, submit to us!" His glance was dismissive, as if the fate of Chief Youwa's tribe was but a minor detail in the grand scheme of his plans.

The audacity of the vice captain's words hung heavy in the air. He was here on a mission, sanctioned by the high command of the Silver Mane, to issue a warning that would reshape the destiny of Chief Youwa's tribe.

Chief Youwa's pride was wounded; his face contorted with indignation. "Surrender? To you? Your arrogance knows no bounds, Vice-Captain. Do not forget, I wield the authority of my people. Your threats do not intimidate me."

The vice captain's words were a clear insult, undermining the sovereignty and pride of Chief Youwa's leadership. Yet, Karl remained unmoved, his gaze cold as he delivered his ultimatum. "Consider carefully the consequences of defiance, Chief Youwa. Your tribe, insignificant as it may be, could be erased from the history of these grasslands by tomorrow, should we desire it."

The mention of such a threat ignited a fierce rage in Chief Youwa, who was on the verge of rising from his seat in protest. But at that moment, a voice pierced the tension. "Father!" Tyton, his son, interjected, a plea for calm in his eyes.

Chief Youwa paused, exchanging a glance with Tyton, who silently implored him to listen further. Karl, seizing the moment, softened his tone slightly. "There's still a chance for you. Your people face the specter of famine. Yield to us, and the Silver Mane will ensure their survival. Your family's status will be preserved, should you choose to surrender now."

"This is your opportunity," Karl pressed on, his voice a blend of threat and promise. "Our chief has no interest in fostering potential rivals. Make your choice before it's made for you."

The ultimatum laid bare before them, Chief Youwa and Tyton shared a look of grim understanding. The Silver Mane's threat was clear: submit or face annihilation.

Karl continued, unveiling the broader machinations at play. "Your proposed alliance with the Duskin tribe is a farce. They've long coveted our strength, hoping to weaken us through conflict with you, only to eventually betray and absorb both our tribes. Do you truly believe they would spare you, after using you to diminish us?"

The room fell silent, the gravity of Karl's words hanging like a guillotine. The choice before Chief Youwa was as cruel as it was clear: to fight and face obliteration, or to surrender and live under the shadow of the Silver Mane.

Karl's question lingered in the heavy air, laced with skepticism. "So, do you genuinely believe they'll honor their promise? Will they hand over ten thousand kilograms of grain after all is said and done?"

He leaned in, his voice low, carrying the weight of secrets. "Our scouts have reported, the storages of Duskin are nearly empty. Their people are starving. Where, then, will they find this grain for you?"

Karl's eyes, cold and mocking, fixed on Chief Youwa. "The choice is yours to make—yield to us or defy us. I will remain in your village, awaiting your decision." With a sneer, he turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him.

After a few steps, Karl paused, his voice echoing a final warning. "Remember, the distance between us is a mere ten miles. Choose poorly, and by dawn, the Youwa tribe might be but a memory."

His laughter, sharp and mocking, filled the room before he vanished beyond the threshold.

Chief Youwa Bimba Surun surged to his feet, his roar of fury vibrating the walls. "The audacity! Such arrogance from the Silver Mane Tribe!"

While rage consumed Chief Youwa, Tyton remained seated, his despair was visible from his face. The reality of their situation was clear, the imposing threat of a powerful tribe left no room for resistance.

Their numbers had dwindled, with more than thirty warriors lost to conscription, leaving barely a hundred to stand against the might of the Silver Mane's hundreds.

The silence that followed was profound, a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within Chief Youwa. Eventually, the tempest of his emotions ebbed, yielding to the harsh truth of their predicament. "What are we to do?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper against the gravity of their situation.

"Father, we must surrender to the Silvermane," Tyton's voice, though soft, carried the weight of resignation.

The suggestion ignited a spark of anger in Chief Youwa, shocked at his son's readiness to capitulate. Yet, Tyton's reasoning was irrefutable, their survival hung in the balance, threatened by famine and the overwhelming force of the Silver Mane.

"If we cannot stand against them, then we must not squander the lives of our people in a hopeless struggle," Tyton argued, his pragmatism cutting through the futility of their resistance.

Chief Youwa's gaze softened, the bitterness in his son's words echoing the bitter truth. When victory is impossible, the wisdom lies in choosing survival.

Weary from the burdens of leadership, Chief Youwa conceded. "Summon Vice Captain Karl," he commanded, his voice heavy with defeat.

"Right away," came the reply, sealing the fate of the Youwa tribe with a word.

Within the heart of the Silvermane Tribe's encampment, Logan stood, his gaze intently following the beastmen warriors as they engaged in rigorous training exercises. The camp, though modest in size housing just over six hundred soldiers, was a hive of activity and martial discipline.

The exercises might have been basic, focused on formations and individual prowess, yet, they were a spectacle of strength and endurance. Watching these beastmen warriors hoist stones weighing hundreds of kilograms and dash across the training field was a sight that Logan found particularly captivating.

Turning to his commanders, Logan announced, "Keep up the training. I'll head over to inspect the cavalry." His voice carried the authority and confidence of a leader committed to excellence.

Commanders Crow and Bagan, witnessing their chief's departure, exchanged a knowing look. "Crow, you seem quite taken with our chief's vision," Lotts remarked, a playful curiosity in his tone.

Their camaraderie, forged over a decade, allowed for such open exchanges. Lotts noted Crow's unwavering loyalty, especially evident when Crow declined an invitation from Reynolds, a decision that spoke volumes of his allegiance to Logan.

Crow's response was thoughtful, his voice even. "He's ambitious, yes, and full of ideas. It's been barely a month, and he's already initiating significant changes. I'm genuinely intrigued by the future he envisions for our tribe."

Lotts, however, expressed his reservations. "Ambitious he may be, but I worry he underestimates the complexities of leadership. His eagerness to expand and assert our might... It concerns me that he is doing things hastily."

Yet, Crow remained unfazed, his faith in Logan's leadership unwavering. "We each have our philosophies on governance. And about Reynolds," he added with a chuckle, "let's just say, I hope his future involves less warfare and more agriculture."

Lotts laughed off the remark. "Being a farmer isn't so bad, you know."

"To that, I say, I look forward to enjoying the fruits, or vegetables, of your labor once we return from battle," Crow quipped, their conversation ending on a light note as they turned their attention back to the task at hand.

...

The cavalry training ground was a vast expanse, dwarfing the infantry area in scale and scope, ready to accommodate the rigorous training of the tribe's mounted warriors.

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