Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Under the dim early light, the assembly of Logan's uncles, Reynolds, Begon, and key figures from among the beastmen tribe, Kodiak who commanded the stables, and Corbos, guardian of the wastelands, were all present. Their fur bristled with the weight of impending news, their eyes reflecting a mix of anxiety and hope.

"The war is won!" Logan proclaimed, his voice echoing with triumph.

"We have achieved a complete victory!" he added, his chest swelling with pride.

As he scanned the circle of werewolves, Logan noted the relief washing over their rugged features. They had gathered here before dawn, the tension of the impending conflict with the coalition forces palpable in the air. Now, it melted away.

Even Reynolds, who typically kept his distance from Logan, couldn't hide his smile.

"So my dears Uncles, and esteemed leaders," Logan began, his voice firm, "we have not only defeated the coalition forces but stand on the brink of annexing four tribes who had joined the coalition. We must prepare for this expansion."

"Annexing four tribes? At such a time?" Begon's brow furrowed deeply, his surprise evident.

The revelation jolted the assembly. Logan's ambitious plan to integrate not just one, but three additional tribes beyond the already confirmed surrender of the Youwa tribe was unprecedented.

Whispers and murmurs rippled through the group. Annexing four tribes would swell their ranks by at least a thousand werewolves — a daunting prospect.

"In times of plenty, such an expansion would be a cause for celebration, a chance to strengthen our tribe," Kodiak interjected, his tone cautious.

"But in famine, the risk multiplies, it could lead us all on the path of starvation" Corbos added, his voice rough like gravel.

Logan held up a hand, silencing the rising tide of concern. "I understand the fears regarding food scarcity," he acknowledged. "But we must seize this moment to grow. Our tribe faces a dire shortage of labor.

More hands mean more mouths, yes, but they also mean we can expand the breeding pits in our animal pens, increase our stocks of dragon rats, and extend our agricultural lands to include more hearty crops like potatoes and sweet potatoes."

His declaration settled over the gathering, a bold vision for a stronger future, challenging yet full of potential. The leaders exchanged looks, the initial shock giving way to a cautious optimism as they considered the possibilities of a larger, more robust tribe under Logan's leadership.

"Imagine it now, though it's only April, by July, at the very latest, we will have moved past this famine era, and the Silvermane tribe will step into a new chapter of prosperity," Logan spoke with conviction, his eyes alight with the vision of the future.

"Thus, the annexation of the four tribes is imperative. We need their strength," he continued, his voice resolute, leaving no room for doubt.

"Yes," Begon agreed, nodding slowly. He appreciated the picture Logan painted, though he was acutely aware of the immediate challenge: surviving the upcoming months. Still, he recognized his place and knew he couldn't sway his nephew's decision.

"In addition," Logan turned his firm gaze to Kodiak and Corbos, "once the four tribes are fully integrated, it's crucial that you do not let me lose control over them."

"Yes!" both Kodiak and Corbos responded, their expressions serious. They were committed, ready to increase their efforts in breeding and expanding the agricultural efforts as soon as they received more workers.

"And to the rest of you," Logan addressed the other leaders, "once the new beastmen arrive, ensure they are quickly integrated into your departments."

"Yes!" came the unified, respectful reply from the other werewolf executives.

"Uncle Begon, Uncle Reynolds," Logan said, turning to leave, "I'll be heading back now. You should rest too. We'll reconvene with the army at the morning meeting."

As Logan walked away, Fenrir quietly dismissed his personal guards back to the stables.

"Humph, he's becoming more and more autocratic," Reynolds muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and concern, as Logan's figure vanished into the depths of the tribe.

The surrounding werewolf leaders exchanged uneasy glances. Reynolds's discontent was not unknown to them, and his words resonated a tension that had been brewing beneath the surface.

"Why didn't you speak up while he was still here?" Begon queried, turning a stern gaze towards his fifth brother.

"I..." Reynolds started, his expression souring, a visible struggle playing across his face. He was caught off guard by his brother's directness.

He couldn't possibly voice his concerns in front of Logan, not when he was already sensing his diminishing influence within the tribe. His usual allies, once warm and collaborative, now maintained a courteous distance, declining his invitations with practiced politeness, a clear shift in their allegiance.

Reynolds wasn't oblivious. He understood all too well the sway his nephew held, and the potential repercussions of being sidelined. His panic wasn't just about his own standing, but the future of his son and grandson. In a family as prominent as theirs, being marginalized could relegate his descendants to mere commoners, an unthinkable outcome for someone of his lineage.

Moreover, Reynolds sensed the tribe's potential ascent under Logan's ambitious leadership. If he continued to be excluded, not only would he lose his influence, but his family might miss out on the tribe's prosperous future.

Surprised by Reynolds's choked response, Begon realized that his brother's usual defiance had waned, an unusual occurrence that spoke volumes about the internal turmoil he was experiencing.

"Alright, let's go back for now. Kodiak, Corbos, make sure you're at the morning meeting too," Begon decided, changing the subject to give his brother a moment to collect himself.

"Yes!" Kodiak and Corbos responded, their surprise quickly turning to delight. Being included in such high-level meetings validated their roles and responsibilities within the tribe, an honor they didn't take lightly.

The other beastmen looked on with a mix of envy and understanding, aware that their chief's emphasis on farming and breeding elevated Kodiak and Corbos's status.

...

Early the next morning, after a brief rest, Logan rose from his bed as sunlight streamed through the window, promising a new day. Stepping out of his bedroom, he found his younger siblings gathered, laughing and chatting as they played the card game he had introduced to them.

"Kevin, that's so unfair! How could you, stoop to stealing cards? I won't play with you if you're going to cheat!" Ken, the spirited fifth sibling, caught his elder brother Kevin red-handed and couldn't hide his outrage.

"Okay, okay, I admit it, I was wrong. Here, take this card..." Kevin began, his smile faltering as he tried to smooth things over. But then, spotting Logan, he cut off abruptly and stood up, exclaiming, "Brother!"

The rest of the young beastmen followed suit, their voices chiming in unison, "Brother!"

Logan chuckled, surveying the scene. "Looks like you've got quite the game going here. Where's mother?" he asked, noticing Kevin's impressive hand of cards.

"She's gone to Aunt Aloma's place. Sadly, Aunt Aloma's son, Keti, fell in battle last night," Kewen replied, his enthusiasm dampening.

A shadow passed over Logan's face. Keti's name struck a chord, evoking memories of childhood escapades shared with a dear friend. Though he was often privy to casualty reports, hearing a familiar name linked to the grim statistics brought an unexpected pang of sorrow.

"Brother, you look troubled. What's wrong?" Kevin's concern was evident.

"It's nothing. I... I just remembered I have something urgent to attend to," Logan murmured, tousling Kevin's hair affectionately before turning to leave.

Outside, as he walked towards the tribal council hall, Logan's stride slowed. The sight of eight houses draped with white cloths along his path weighed heavily on him. Each cloth a stark, somber symbol of a warrior lost; each a reminder of the orders he had given that led to the sacrifice of so many.

Sitting down on a bench nearby, he reflected on his initial fascination with the stark reality of cold weapon warfare. Yet now, faced with the white cloths fluttering in the breeze, he grasped the deeper, more harrowing truth: the true cruelty of war lay not in the clash on the battlefield, but in the lasting wounds it inflicted on the families and the fabric of his tribe.

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