Chapter 66: Disappointment
Clay tilted his head slightly as he stared at Borzoi, his expression calm but carrying a faint trace of curiosity that slowly turned into mild impatience.
"What?"
His voice was steady.
"You don’t want to?"
Borzoi immediately lowered his head, his posture respectful, his tone careful.
"It is not that, Young Warchief."
He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts before continuing.
"You have already changed the Tattoo. The moment you became the Warchief and received the acknowledgment of the tribe’s spirit, the authority has already been established. Naturally, those who share the same bloodline cannot raise their hands against those you declare as your people. It is not merely a rule... it is a restriction embedded within the tribe itself."
Clay blinked once.
Then nodded.
"I see. That’s good."
He turned his gaze toward the distance, as if already thinking several steps ahead, and then spoke again without hesitation.
"Then do everything in your power to protect them from the beasts."
Borzoi froze.
For a moment, he did not answer.
His silence lingered longer than expected.
Clay slowly turned his head back toward him.
"What?"
Borzoi’s expression tightened slightly.
There was hesitation.
Not defiance.
Not refusal.
But something that made him struggle to respond immediately.
Finally, he spoke.
"Young Warchief... the number of our people here is... limited."
Clay narrowed his eyes.
"Explain."
Borzoi took a breath.
"The group sent to this land is only a fraction of our younger generation. This place... this battlefield... it is not meant for the entire tribe. It is a testing ground. A place where only selected individuals are sent to sharpen themselves through combat, through survival, through the chaos of beasts and enemies alike."
He continued, his voice steady but carrying the reality of their situation.
"The Bersuka Tribe does not deploy its full strength lightly. Those who remain in our homeland guard our sacred grounds, protect our elders, maintain our traditions, and prepare for greater conflicts beyond this land. What you see here... these warriors... they are not meant to protect civilizations. They are meant to fight, to grow, to survive or fall."
Clay crossed his arms.
Borzoi went on.
"Among those who were sent here, many have already fallen. Some were taken by the beasts. Some were defeated by other tribes. Some are scattered across this land, fighting alone, seeking strength on their own path. The ones you see... myself... Borv... Bufolk... we were among the more prominent ones, but even then, our numbers are small."
His tone grew heavier.
"If we gather everyone that remains, if we unite all those who are still alive within this land, we might form a force capable of defending a single region for a time. But to protect entire kingdoms... multiple kingdoms... from a beast tide that is growing stronger by the moment..."
He lowered his head.
"It is not enough."
The words settled in the air.
Heavy.
Clear.
Undeniable.
Clay stared at him for a moment.
Then sighed.
"Disappointing."
He waved his hand slightly as if brushing away the problem.
"Whatever."
His expression suddenly changed.
A smile appeared.
Not a relaxed one.
Not a casual one.
But something sharper.
Something that made Borzoi instinctively tense.
Clay slowly lifted his head and looked toward the dimensional crack above, his eyes gleaming with intent.
"Then let’s fix that."
He raised his hand and pointed directly at the crack, his voice rising as he spoke.
"You all hear me up there?"
His tone was loud.
Clear.
Carrying across the battlefield and beyond.
"I’m talking to you, you stubborn bastards hiding behind that crack."
He stepped forward slightly, his presence pressing outward.
"I don’t care where you are. I don’t care how far you are. I don’t care if you’re in your homeland, in your sacred lands, or hiding behind your shamans like cowards."
His voice grew colder.
"Call your younger generation here."
Borzoi’s eyes widened.
Clay continued without pause.
"Every single one of them. I want them here. I want them moving. I want them protecting the Holy Kingdom and the Shadow Saive Kingdom."
He crossed his arms again, his gaze unwavering.
"And don’t ask why."
His lips curled slightly.
"I’m not interested in conquering anything. I don’t want your lands. I don’t want your people bowing to me for no reason. I don’t care about ruling your tribe beyond what I already have."
His tone turned sharper.
"But if you ignore this order..."
The air around him seemed to tighten.
"I will come to your lands myself."
Borzoi felt a chill run through his spine.
Clay’s voice dropped.
"And when I do... I won’t be as nice as I am now."
There was no exaggeration.
No need for it.
"I will wipe you out."
Silence followed.
Deep.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Far away, on another continent, the Warchiefs stood frozen as they listened.
The Buzzon Warchief clenched his jaw.
The Teumora Warchief’s expression hardened.
The Fleur Warchief’s flames flickered violently.
The Wozver Warchief narrowed his eyes.
And the Bersuka Shaman...
Was pale.
"This... this is madness..."
The Buzzon Warchief spoke first, his voice low.
"If he truly comes here..."
The Teumora Warchief interrupted.
"We will not survive."
The Fleur Warchief nodded slowly.
"The Bersuka Warchief was the strongest among us... and he fell without resistance."
The Wozver Warchief added quietly.
"And now he possesses their power as well... Anti Magic... Berserk... and something beyond that..."
Their thoughts aligned without needing further words.
Even if they combined their strength...
Even if they united their tribes...
It would not be enough.
The Shaman trembled.
"What... what should we do...?"
No one answered immediately.
Because the answer was obvious.
Back at the Border Town, Clay waited.
His eyes remained fixed on the crack.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
No response.
He frowned slightly.
"Hey?"
He called out again.
"Did you all go deaf or what?"
Still nothing.
His brow twitched.
"Oi!"
His voice rose louder this time, echoing across the battlefield.
"I’m talking to you! Answer me!"
The soldiers flinched at the volume.
Borzoi remained still.
Clay did not stop.
"Don’t tell me you’re all hiding now after making all that noise earlier!"
His voice grew even louder, carrying a sharp edge of irritation.
"Come out! Say something! You think staying silent will save you?"
He took another step forward.
"I said call them here! Are you listening or not?!"
The wind picked up slightly as his voice continued to echo.
"Answer me!"
"Hey!"
"HEY!"
Each call was louder than the last, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, leaving no room for ignorance, no room for delay.
The tension grew.
The silence stretched.
And then—
It broke.
A voice.
No.
Not just one.
Many.
Loud.
Powerful.
Echoing from the crack above.
"WAIT!"
The sound slammed into the battlefield like a thunderclap.
Clay’s eyes narrowed.
Finally.
A response.