Chapter 272: The Tribe’s March
Along the village’s outer perimeter, the four captive envoys stared through the timber rails of their confinement with disbelieving eyes. The village’s outer calm had evaporated, replaced by a military mobilization that vibrated through the earth.
Ignis, the elemental bear, and Big Horn, the black bull adorned with golden horns, anchored the vanguard. Being the largest creatures within the tribe, artisans had hitched two reinforced transport carriages behind them. Soldiers worked at a furious pace loading their available artillery: the ten Garnis cannons unmounted from the village’s defensive traps, alongside five freshly forged pieces, bringing their siege total to fifteen. Beyond the heavy barrels, they stacked wooden crates brimming with wind-element ammunition and several sealed boxes housing an experimental ordnance devised by Lennis and Garik.
Witnessing the carriages piled high with supply crates, hundreds of mechanical rifles, and spare parts, the diplomats from Valoria and Aethelgard were awestruck. They had underestimated the Overlord tribe’s manufacturing capacity. Those firearms were no scarce relics as they had presumed; the tribe held sufficient weaponry to outfit a small standing army.
Count Evander, leaning against the wooden frame with an ashen face, mustered his courage and shouted toward a guard rushing past:
"Hey! Has something occurred?!"
The tribal soldier paused for a second, recognizing the Count’s silhouette.
"A direct order from the Shaman," replied the warrior in a dry tone.
"Did something happen at the border?" pressed the Count with anguish. "Are we in danger?!"
"I cannot speak beyond what is required, my apologies," cut in the soldier before resuming his double-time march toward the armory.
What unfolded next left the envoys bewildered. In the distance, several hundred tribal members formed ranks in the main plaza. To the foreign nobles’ shock, numerous women were integrated into the ranks, outfitted in light armor and bearing rifles over their shoulders. The contingents were organized into rectangular blocks of sixty warriors—five ranks wide by twelve deep—marching in a uniform jog directly behind the carriages pulled by the great bear Ignis and the black bull Big Horn. Along the flanks, the tiger cavalry paced the column, maintaining discipline.
Taking advantage of the commotion surrounding the deployment of tribal troops, Benoit stepped up to Count Evander’s ear.
"My Lord... should we attempt an escape now while everyone is preoccupied?" whispered the servant under his breath, his eyes fixed upon the crowd.
The two surviving diplomats from Valoria, overhearing the suggestion, snapped their heads around to gaze at the Count. Following the clash at the estate and the annihilation of the escort, for some reason the Valorian envoys felt comfortable deferring to Evander’s leadership than forging decisions on their own.
Count Evander scanned their surroundings, scrutinizing the perimeter with care before releasing a sigh.
"There is no way... Look over there," answered Evander, nodding toward the edges of the plaza.
In the distance, although the bulk of the forces were mobilizing toward the outskirts, several riders mounted upon war tigers remained stationed along the perimeter. Furthermore, while every villager appeared absorbed in their logistical duties, the guards kept a watchful eye in their direction. Their new location was positioned directly at the village’s strategic center; attempting a false move would trigger immediate alarm, and escaping alive would be anything but easy.
"It will be best if we remain calm should we truly wish to survive," continued the Count in a firm tone. "We will not get far without the Black Wolf Knights. Aside from the Golden Rose Kingdom, we would have to circle through a vast expanse of the Great Forest... With our forces reduced to this, any magical beast we encounter along the trail will devour us before nightfall. Staying put is our best path."
The two Valorian envoys slouched their shoulders, disappointed as the prospect of a swift getaway dissolved, yet acknowledging the logic behind his words.
Benoit offered a subtle nod accompanied by a discreet smile of satisfaction. The old advisor was not proposing a flight; he was merely testing his young lord’s composure. Benoit was far more than a servant: he had been the late father’s right-hand man. To witness the young Count maintain his composure, analyze the environment without yielding to panic, and think in a rational manner despite their defeat was something admirable.
Meanwhile, the roaring shudders of the earth were continuous, an unbroken earthquake threatening to throw Kellar off his feet with every stride. Karkadann, the rock turtle, no longer advanced at that sluggish pace from before; driven by rage, the beast was closing the distance at a terrifying speed, devouring hundreds of meters with every stride of its pillar-like legs.
In the midst of their retreat, Kellar spun on his heel and extended his arm toward the rocky mass:
[Lightning Spear] [Fireball] [Water Orb]
The shamanic spells erupted one after another, slamming dead-center into the colossus’s body. Yet the elemental volleys barely managed to leave faint soot marks and superficial scratches upon the thick layer of ancestral stone. Kellar’s standard sorceries lacked the penetrating force required to breach a defense of such magnitude.
Little Green, though unable to take flight due to the leaden atmosphere, reacted with ferocity. Pressing its talons into the craggy ground, it beat its forty-meter wings with force, launching blasts of shearing wind and direct wing-strikes against the monster’s snout. The impact echoed through the canyon, making the turtle let out a grunt of irritation.
"Freyja, the eye! Target its eye!" commanded Kellar at the top of his lungs.
The white cat reappeared high above as a flash of light. Bounding directly onto Karkadann’s face, she unleashed a thrust with her golden lightning-infused claws aimed straight at the beast’s left eyeball.
CRAAACK!
The turtle unleashed a roar of agony that shook the crags for miles around, yet the strike failed to blind it. A transparent, impenetrable mystical membrane sprouted instantly over the eye, deflecting the cat’s claw and repelling her backward. Freyja landed upright upon a rock formation, letting out a huff filled with frustration and anger upon seeing that not even her divine edge could slice through that ocular barrier.
The sun began dipping below the horizon, dyeing the sky in a twilight crimson as night shadows started blanketing the craggy landscape. Under the gathering dusk, the towering silhouettes of the southern canyon peaks of the Wind Mountains finally came into Kellar’s view.
Through the Totem’s spiritual link, Brak’s voice echoed directly within the shaman’s mind:
"Great Shaman! The artillery contingent has just reached the canyon summit! Ignis and Big Horn have already positioned the carriages along the ridge!"
Kellar offered a smirk beneath the twilight as he cast a backward glance at the mass continuing to press close on his heels.
"Excellent..." answered Kellar across the mental link. "Ensure all fifteen Garnis cannons are locked down tight. This thing is bringing plenty of momentum."