Chapter 64: New Warchief
Borzoi stood frozen for a moment longer, his mind still struggling to grasp what he had just witnessed, yet as the shock slowly settled, something deeper began to take root within him, something that felt far more natural to his instincts than fear.
Strength.
That was all that mattered.
It had always been that way.
From the moment he was born, from the moment he learned how to throw his first punch, from the moment he understood the hierarchy of his people, everything revolved around strength, raw and undeniable strength that dictated who ruled and who followed, who lived and who died, who commanded and who obeyed without question.
And now, standing before him was someone who embodied that principle beyond anything he had ever seen.
His new Warchief.
Borzoi slowly lowered himself to one knee, his remaining hand pressed against the ground as his head dipped in respect, not forced, not reluctant, but accepted with a kind of clarity that came naturally to someone raised in a tribe like his.
"Congratulations to the new Warchief."
His voice carried no hesitation.
Behind him, some of the soldiers flinched at how easily he accepted it, but to Borzoi, there was nothing strange about it at all.
He defeated the previous Warchief through the honorable Nullgora... he holds the strength... then he leads.
That was the only rule that mattered.
Clay, on the other hand, barely paid attention to the reaction as he looked upward toward the dimensional crack that still lingered in the sky, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilted his head.
"This Anti Magic Clan is mine now..."
His voice was calm, but there was a certain satisfaction behind it.
"They won’t be used as cannon fodder anymore. They’ll serve under me properly... strong guards... useful guards... and I get to relax peacefully without worrying about nonsense."
Perfect... absolutely perfect...
He flexed his fingers once, feeling the lingering strength that still flowed through his body, then raised his hand and pointed directly at the crack above.
"From now on, I’m your Warchief."
His voice echoed clearly.
"You. Come down here."
The wind blew softly across the battlefield.
Dust rolled along the ground.
No one came.
Clay blinked once.
Then again.
He kept staring upward, waiting for movement, waiting for figures to descend, waiting for something to acknowledge his command.
Nothing.
His brow twitched slightly.
"Huh...?"
He tilted his head again, his expression slowly turning into confusion.
"Aren’t these bastards my subordinates now...?"
Still nothing.
A faint silence stretched across the battlefield, broken only by the distant sound of debris settling and the uneasy breathing of the soldiers who dared not interrupt whatever was happening.
Clay exhaled slowly, then turned his gaze downward.
"You... one armed insect... come here."
Borzoi moved immediately.
He approached and knelt again, his posture respectful, his head slightly lowered.
"Yes, Warchief."
Clay rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed now as he pointed upward again.
"Why aren’t they coming down? I just told them to come down. I’m the new Warchief, right?"
Borzoi remained still for a moment, choosing his words carefully before speaking.
"Warchief... there are... certain conditions."
Clay stared at him.
"What conditions?"
Borzoi lifted his head slightly, his expression serious despite his current state.
"Our tribe is not gathered in one place. The Bersuka Tribe spreads across vast lands, and those who remain in the main territory... they are far beyond the reach of what you see here. What happened here determines leadership, but acknowledgment is not instant for all."
Clay frowned.
"Explain properly."
Borzoi nodded.
"The Nullgora determines who holds the position of Warchief, and by right, you have already taken that position. However, distance separates the tribe. Many did not witness the battle. Some are bound to sacred lands. Some are within territories protected by ancient totems that limit movement. Others are engaged in their own hunts and cannot respond immediately."
He paused, then continued.
"Even those who saw may not come. Strength determines leadership, yes, but acknowledgment still requires acceptance. Some will test you. Some will deny you. Some will remain silent until they see proof beyond this battlefield."
Clay crossed his arms, clearly irritated.
"So they’re just ignoring me?"
Borzoi did not hesitate.
"Yes, Warchief."
Clay’s eye twitched.
"Didn’t they use teleportation magic or something earlier? That portal nonsense?"
Borzoi shook his head.
"That was not ordinary magic. It was the work of the Shaman and the Warchief’s authority combined. Without their cooperation, such methods cannot be used freely. And even then, those who do not accept your rule will not come simply because you call them."
Clay clicked his tongue.
"So even after seeing all that, they still don’t want to acknowledge me?"
"Yes, Warchief."
Clay stared at him for a long moment, then casually asked.
"I can kill them, right?"
Borzoi did not even blink.
"Yes, Warchief. Refusing to acknowledge the rightful Warchief is a grave offense. It is punishable by death."
Clay nodded slowly.
"Good."
He stretched his neck slightly, then clenched his fist again.
"Then I’ll just go there myself and deal with them."
Far away, across another continent, within a massive chamber filled with ancient markings and towering figures, the Shaman of the Bersuka Tribe and the other Warchiefs stood frozen as they watched everything unfold through their methods of observation.
Their expressions changed.
Panic.
Confusion.
Fear.
"He... he is coming?"
The Shaman’s voice trembled.
The Warchief of the Buzzon Tribe clenched his fist, his thunderous aura flickering faintly.
"If he comes here..."
The Teumora Warchief frowned deeply.
"Our lands will not hold."
The Fleur Warchief narrowed his eyes, flames dancing lightly around his fingers.
"This is no longer a matter of pride... this is survival."
The Wozver Warchief remained silent, but the tension in his stance said enough.
"He must not come here."
The Shaman swallowed hard.
"What do we do... acknowledge him... or prepare for war...?"
Back at the Border Town, Clay suddenly paused.
His expression changed slightly.
A notification appeared before his eyes.
Condition unmet.
No stronger opponent detected. Exponential Growth effect ending.
Strength returning to base state.
Clay blinked.
Then his eyes widened.
"Aye... System, you—"
The overwhelming power that filled his body vanished.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
It disappeared completely.
The strength that allowed him to shatter mountains with a casual punch, the force that made even the Bersuka Warchief look like nothing, it was gone.
Just like that.
Clay stood there, completely still.
You’ve got to be kidding me...
He clenched his fist.
It felt normal.
Too normal.
His expression stiffened for a brief moment before he quickly regained composure, his face returning to its usual calm and confident look as if nothing had changed.
Don’t react... don’t react... act like nothing happened...
He slowly turned his head toward Borzoi.
"Are there anyone stronger than that old man?"
He pointed casually at the corpse of the fallen Warchief.
Borzoi did not hesitate.
"No, Warchief. The former Warchief was unmatched within our tribe. No one rivaled him."
Clay frowned slightly.
"All of them are this weak?"
Borzoi lowered his head.
"Yes, Warchief."
Clay sighed.
"Then there’s no challenge."
He waved his hand dismissively.
"I won’t go."
Borzoi froze for a moment, clearly surprised, but quickly bowed again.
"Understood, Warchief."
Clay turned away, stretching his shoulders slightly as if losing interest entirely.
"Oh well..."
He glanced toward the distance, his eyes narrowing slightly as he remembered the chaotic beast tide, the destruction still spreading across the northern lands, and the responsibilities that still remained.
"Time to do that thing next."