Change

"The weather is starting to turn hot." Leaning on his mottled bone staff, the clan chief gazed at the boundless distant sky and spoke with a hint of sentiment.

"Because the dry season is coming again."

Orkash stood behind the old chief, watching the other orcs of the tribe go about their business. He seemed to be in an excellent mood. "The little one sent people over a few days ago. This time, they want even more than last year. Commander-in-Chief Gar is already making preparations."

"Just as Lord Caesar said, it seems they still haven't found the formula for Summergrass. The fruit you picked has muddled their vision."

Sifu turned his head. "Orkash, has today's Baismai Horned Bull been sent up?"

"Rest assured."

The orc behind him nodded without hesitation. "We no longer lack food. Half our warriors are hunting for Lord Caesar."

"That fellow is growing so fast. It's eating more and more."

Sifu smiled. "It seems my decision two years ago was quite wise."

"You are the greatest sage the Stone Crow Clan has seen in thousands upon thousands of years."

Orkash's flattery came from the bottom of his heart. Looking at the slightly stooped back of the old chieftain before him, he was filled with emotion.

Ever since he could remember, he had rarely seen Sifu smile—almost never. The old chieftain always kept his lips pressed together and spoke little. He liked to lean on his bone staff and stare into space, silently watching every orc grow, quietly supporting the Stone Crow Clan as it struggled onward over rough ground.

But this year, the tribe's circumstances were far better than before. The orcs' lives had improved immensely. As he watched their days grow increasingly prosperous, with no more newborns dying of hunger, the old chief's smiles gradually became more frequent.

The black dragon's arrival was like a pool of living water, bringing life and hope.

First, Summergrass had achieved tremendous success in the Northern Kingdoms. It was not only eagerly sought after by commoners, but also suited the tastes of many nobles, and its sales were astonishing.

Although Roy, who handled the sales, desperately wanted to swallow this enormous sum for himself, bound by the God's Oath, he could only grit his teeth and deliver sixty percent of the profits, not a coin less, to the Stone Crow Clan.

When the orcs saw their first income and opened that entire chest packed full of gold coins, the others did not feel much. But the old chief Sifu was thoroughly startled.

Unlike other orcs, this shaman had traveled widely and made many connections in his youth. He knew exactly how much weight such a sum carried in human lands, and how much food it could buy. His heart could not help but burn with excitement.

But the money did not belong to the Stone Crow Clan. It belonged to Caesar, and Sifu had no right to lay a finger on it.

He understood very clearly the pull that treasure held for dragons. With a soft sigh, he said nothing more, simply closed the chest and had two orcs carry it up the mountain to the black dragon.

Yet what Caesar did next truly made these orcs' eyes nearly fall out of their heads: the black dragon bestowed that treasure upon the Stone Crow Clan.

A full year had passed since then, but Orkash still remembered the black dragon's words as clearly as ever—

The black dragon had said, "The purpose of these gold coins is not to lie in my lair. Here, they are as meaningless as stones. Only by spending them can wealth display its true value."

Unfortunately, almost no one in the Stone Crow Clan could understand the true meaning behind those words.

How could gold coins possibly be mentioned in the same breath as stones? Even the old shaman Sifu, hailed as a sage, was at a loss over it.

But that did not hinder the tribe's worship of the black dragon. Following Caesar's orders, they took all the proceeds from selling Summergrass and used them to buy food from humans, while also exchanging them for armor and weapons suited to orcs. They also acquired many tools whose uses they had not even known at first.

With resources in hand, under Lord Caesar's guidance, the orcs continued expanding their territory and range of activity.

The Stone Crow Clan of today was already beyond comparison with what it had once been. It had leaped from the Stone Age into the Iron Age, with sufficient supplies to sustain it. The warriors had more time to train, tempering their strength and combat skills. The women no longer had to fear being unable to feed the newborns they bore, and could open their bellies and strive to have more children.

As long as they could maintain this virtuous cycle, within ten years, the Stone Crow Clan's size and combat strength would multiply severalfold, becoming a large tribe with a true voice in the vast Wilds.

"How many people is Gar preparing to take?"

After a moment of silence, Sifu suddenly spoke, narrowing his eyes at the rising morning sun in the distant sky.

"Twenty will be enough. We've traveled this road more times than we can count, and we're on very familiar terms with the Flying Ape Tribe in Mostel Gorge. Nothing will go wrong."

Orkash replied in his deep, muffled voice. Over the past year, the orcs had all changed to some degree. Even Gar, the Commander-in-Chief who had never been good with words, had grown more talkative. Orkash was no different.

"Good. Then take the rest of the men hunting, and tell the women to begin preparing."

Sifu nodded and said solemnly, "Tell the children that this year, we will hold Mudala."

"Yes."

Orkash nodded and instinctively turned to leave. But after only two steps, he froze in place. Then he quickly ran two steps back, widened his eyes, and asked, "You said we're holding Mudala?"

"Mudala" was the most important traditional festival of the orc clans each year.

Back when the ancient Orc Empire had not yet crumbled into pieces, every Mudala was a carnival for the orcs. Whether powerful or weak, noble or lowly, they all raised their cups in celebration that day, drinking to their hearts' content, linking arms and singing without restraint.

Legend had it that on that day, the Orc Empire would invite elves to perform operas and dwarves to display their tricks. Warriors wrestled one another and danced with wolves. It was said that in those days, even the ancient, distant, and mighty Southern Empire of the Eternal Sun would send envoys to offer congratulations.

But such a vision existed only in stories. Orkash had never seen Mudala with his own eyes, because the tribe had simply been unable to hold such a festival before.

It had been too poor. Whenever the dry season came in the past, on the day Mudala was historically held, the Stone Crow Clan's orcs could only make do with the bare minimum. They would take out their stored dried provisions, let the children eat one full meal, then kneel in the stone caves and pray to their ancient ancestors, using this to mark Mudala's arrival.

Although he had heard the women discussing Mudala before, Orkash had not taken it to heart. But this time was different. He had actually heard the old chieftain say with his own mouth that they would hold Mudala this year in celebration.

"Are you sure?" Orkash still could not quite believe it.

"Go make preparations."

The old chief answered with a smile. "If you're late, there won't be enough time."

"There'll be enough time!"

Orkash slammed his fists together, becoming giddy with excitement. He nodded eagerly, then turned and hurried toward the tribe. "I'll go invite Lord Caesar first..."

The orc's voice drifted farther and farther away.

Sifu watched Orkash's retreating figure with a smile. Only after his silhouette had completely disappeared did the smile gradually fade. Opening his mouth, he murmured, "Caesar... after I die, will they choose it?"