The Chieftain's Will, the Flames of War

At seven that evening, inside a temporary chieftain's tent on the Bull Clan's northwestern pasture.

Gabri sat on the ground, looking at the clan leaders before him. Every face was grim, but his own expression was remarkably calm.

The moment he received word from Faoken that the Black Panther Clan and the remnants of the Froststar Clan intended to attack the Bull Clan's northwestern pasture with at least thirty thousand troops, he had summoned every warrior in the clan and rushed here.

Not long ago, he had led his people to absorb the Venomfang Clan, but the Bull Clan had suffered heavy losses in that war. With the wounded left behind, he had brought only twenty-one thousand warriors to face the enemy. Against the combined thirty thousand troops of the Black Panther and Froststar Clans, they were at a clear numerical disadvantage. Fortunately, before setting out, he had learned that Faoken would send twelve hundred troops under the guise of mercenaries. Lieutenant Colonel Lunebo, his contact there, had claimed their strength on the battlefield would exceed his imagination. Gabri suspected the man simply did not understand elite Beastfolk. Compared with human soldiers who relied on guns, elite Beastfolk were far stronger physically, and the Black Panther Clan was famed for its speed. If these reinforcements were anything like ordinary Empire soldiers, their guns might become useless the moment battle began—and they might even injure their allies.

Gabri therefore placed no hope of victory on reinforcements whose abilities he had never seen.

In the end, whether we win this battle depends on the strength of the Bull Clan itself!

He put the thought aside and asked the leaders in a low voice:

"How are the outposts at the foot of the mountains? Any sign of the enemy?"

"Not yet, Chieftain."

A