When the young man arrived, the main tent was steeped in a murderous atmosphere.
Seeing him arrive late and wearing only armguards, shoulder armor, and a skirt of armor instead of a full suit, his sworn elder brother sneered, "You refuse to show up for roll call on ordinary days and leave military affairs to others. You're a general, at least. How can you be so lazy and set an example for the men under you?"
The young man's smile vanished.
He was about to answer when the old general seated at the head of the tent sternly cut in. He gave his own son a thorough tongue-lashing, leaving the sworn elder brother's face by turns pale and livid. The man swallowed his anger and apologized to the young man in front of everyone before the matter was finally dropped.
The young man magnanimously said he didn't mind, but couldn't help sneering inwardly—his sworn elder brother really never learned his lesson.
He knew he wouldn't gain anything, yet still couldn't keep his mouth shut and provoke him.
What was the point?
He took his seat.
"Father, who's attacking us?"
When the subject turned to business, the old general looked a little worried. He sighed and replied, "Just a band of petty thieves. Nothing to fear."
The young man immediately understood the unspoken meaning.
The band was small, but if it had startled his father enough to summon him, its leader must be a rather troublesome Martial Gall Warrior. He cupped his fists. "Since they're just a band of petty thieves, leave them to your son. I'll take a thousand men or so and bring you their leader's head to put your mind at ease."
Hearing the young man's bloodthirsty words, the old general couldn't help smiling with satisfaction. Stroking his