No one knew how many years it had been since these men had tasted fine wine from the Central Land. That explained the sorry state they were in now.
But as their host, the Fire-Spirit Cave Lord took no offense at the sight. If anything, he was proud. He laughed loudly. "If you like it, have a few more bowls. Those people from the Central Land spent a fortune trying to make contact with us this time..."
"That's because your fame reaches so far, Fire-Spirit Cave Lord..." A roar of laughter rose around them.
The Fire-Spirit Cave Lord was delighted. With so many cave lords in the Southern Borderlands, Whitehead Island's people had sought him out and no one else. Didn't that prove he was powerful and renowned?
Everyone looked at him with awe. His body was enormous and strong, and the patterns tattooed across it far surpassed those of the others.
Among the Tribal Stockade Barbarians, those tattoos represented power. The more tattoos a person bore, the greater his strength.
Only the mightiest warriors could endure being tattooed so extensively.
"Things from the Central Land really are better. Their food, their tools, their drink—which of ours can compare?" one cave lord sighed. "We cave-dwellers simply can't make things like these!"
"If we can't make them, we'll take them. Those fellows from Whitehead Island want to use us against the Primordial Yang Church. We ought to collect a little interest, shouldn't we?" the Fire-Spirit Cave Lord laughed.
That set off another round of ugly laughter... Indeed, the Tribal Stockade Barbarians were no obedient little lambs. Since they had gone to the trouble of mustering their forces and coming down from the mountains, they might as well plunder to their hearts' content!
Amid the laughter, a strange cry suddenly came from