The Answer Is: Swear Fealty!

The Empire's Mountain Folk troops stood silently arrayed across the muddy positions. On the other side lay an ice road that had remained unthawed despite the torrential rain. Cold December winds swept through the camp as wave after wave of dejected rebel Mountain Folk were escorted away to be held in the Frodo Autonomous Region.

Then, accompanied by a dragon's roar, Elder Manyan descended from the sky. His Soul Light Body was dispersing the clouds and rain, clearing the weather. Shafts of sunlight were already streaming through gaps in the clouds, forming stairways of light between heaven and earth, almost solid in appearance.

Ian stood before the rebel Mountain Folk command tent. The chiefs and priests of the Empire-aligned Mountain Folk stood at his side, while before him stood the leaders of the rebel Mountain Folk.

These old acquaintances—or old enemies—looked at one another without saying a word.

The victors had no energy to concern themselves with what the defeated were thinking. Instead, they looked at the silent Ian with subtle tension on their faces. Naturally, the defeated paid no attention to such irrelevant people either. Holding their breath in silence, they waited for the judgment of the one truly in charge.

But Ian remained silent, silently studying everyone. Whenever those silver-blue eyes gazed indifferently upon anyone present, that person would instinctively lower their eyes, not daring to meet the gaze of this young lord of the Holy Mountain.

It seemed these people were unwilling to acknowledge the Dragon God's Emissary, yet did not dare reveal that to Ian.

Manyan's arrival instead resolved this awkward situation. The old man took one look at the camp and understood what had happened.

What leader of a Mountain Folk tribe would want another overseer above his head? The Empire had granted them autonomy.