Chapter 163: Visitors on the Border
The silence of the Red Forest outpost shattered as a thick column of smoke began to rise in the distance, followed by the glow of a signal beacon.
Atop the watchtower, one of the scouts adjusted his brass spyglass and locked his gaze on the crimson horizon.
"Signals in the west sector!" the lookout shouted down to the central square. "Only two of the four beacons were lit!"
In the parade ground, Brak looked up. The military protocol established by the Overlord Tribe was clear: if all four beacons burned at once, it signified a massive invasion of beasts or enemy tribes; but if only two were lit, it indicated the presence of strangers or a request for reinforcements to handle a lesser situation.
"We have visitors," said Brak, tightening the straps of his reinforced leather armor. "Send ten soldiers to support them. Today’s extermination mission is canceled. We stand by; if they send a distress signal, we go in to exterminate them."
"Understood, commander," said the duty officer, running off to issue the order to the troops.
Brak stared at the rising smoke for another second, weighing the situation before turning to Lennis, who stood nearby inspecting the state of the defenses following the red monkey attack.
"On second thought... Lennis, can you go?" said Brak. "Outside of the Great Shaman, you hold the highest authority in case it’s a merchant caravan or if Helga needs help with decisions."
Lennis nodded without hesitation, adjusting his battle axe at his belt.
"Understood, commander. I’ll be on my way," said Lennis.
Brak let out a short chuckle and patted him on the shoulder.
"Come on, Lennis, I’m not your commander," said Brak.
Lennis looked at him with unwavering firmness, without amusement on his face.
"Out here, you are everyone’s commander without exception," said Lennis. "I will set out immediately."
Wasting no time, Lennis grabbed his rifle, gestured to the squad of ten armed soldiers, and marched through the camp gate, venturing into the thicket to discover who dared approach the Great Shaman’s lands.
Lennis and his squad of ten soldiers advanced at a rapid pace through the dense vegetation of the Red Forest, keeping their rifles ready and their senses sharp. The scent of phosphorus and beacon smoke grew stronger as they approached the border checkpoint managed by Helga.
Crossing the final thicket of leaves, Lennis found Helga standing atop a small timber trench as she supervised the guards maintaining the two signal fires.
"Lennis!" Helga called out upon seeing him arrive with the troop. "I see Brak wasted no time sending reinforcements."
Lennis signaled his men to secure the perimeter and stepped toward her with a firm stride.
"Brak saw the two beacons and preferred to be safe than sorry," said Lennis, looking down the main road leading to the outer lands. "We thought you were in serious trouble. What’s going on?"
Helga sighed, running a tired hand over her soot-stained face.
"I lit the beacons out of caution," said Helga, pointing toward the horizon where a dust cloud revealed the slow approach of several covered wagons. "The merchant caravan was far too late. In normal times, they should have arrived almost a month ago, but they’re only just on their way now."
Lennis frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he weighed the situation.
"A month’s delay on these roads usually means they were slaughtered by beasts or captured by some tribe," said Lennis.
"Exactly," said Helga. "I didn’t want to take risks or lose one of the Great Shaman’s trade posts to an ambush or a trap. I erred on the side of caution. If it turned out to be an enemy force using the merchants’ identity, I wasn’t going to let them catch us off guard."
Lennis looked at Helga and offered a subtle nod of approval.
"You did the right thing," said Lennis. "The Great Shaman values prudence over negligence. Now that we’re here with ten more rifles, we’ll find out why those merchants took so long to set foot on Overlord Tribe territory."
Both took position at the main barricade, waiting for the first wagons of the delayed caravan to cross into the marksmen’s line of sight.
Lennis and Helga watched from the barricade as the heavy wooden wagons came to a halt twenty meters away, pulled by impressive draft beasts with four horns and thick, dark fur. Standing as tall as young mammoths and possessing immense muscle mass, the creatures bore blood-soaked bandages and deep claw marks along their flanks, yet maintained an imposing posture, snorting dense steam from their nostrils despite their injuries.
The merchants stepping down from the vehicles were visibly battered: bloodied bandages covered the arms and torsos of several men, and the exhaustion on their faces betrayed weeks of constant siege by beasts or ambushes.
Despite their deplorable physical condition, the caravan’s escort stepped forward in a defensive formation, gripping the hilts of their broadswords tightly. They carried no firearms like the Overlord Tribe soldiers, but their posture revealed military discipline. They wore uniforms crafted from remarkably fine fabrics, adorned with detailed gold thread embroidery along the collar and cuffs. To Helga, Lennis, and the present guards, the attire looked like the extravagant clothing of wealthy travelers; however, had Kellar been present at that moment, he would have recognized the golden embroidery patterns as status insignia from a foreign empire.
Upon seeing the unfamiliar flags fluttering atop the post’s towers and the lined-up rifles aimed at them with precision, the merchant leader stopped in his tracks, staring with wide eyes.
"Did we take the wrong trail?" said the merchant leader in a raspy voice, staring at Helga and then at Lennis’s uniform. "We are seeking the Black Skull Tribe’s fortress... This was their trading post."
The merchant caravan traveled the region without distinction between factions, stopping at every established point in the area, including the Black Skull Tribe. The merchants were aware of how brutal, bloodthirsty, and dangerous the former masters of these lands were, but they had no choice but to trade with them to keep the supply routes open.
Helga stepped forward atop the trench, resting a hand on the hilt of her sword while looking down at them.
"You haven’t taken the wrong route," said Helga. "The Black Skull Tribe no longer exists. It was crushed and slaughtered by the Overlord Tribe. These lands, the mines, and everything you see now belong solely to the Great Shaman."
The caravan leader exchanged an astonished glance with his men, feeling a mixture of relief and fresh dread wash over his wounded escorts as they realized that the former tyrants’ domain had been wiped out by an even more imposing force.