Boom, boom, boom-
Deep drumbeats rang out across the vast, flag-covered square.
The Western Sea Tribes numbered over four hundred. Most were small tribes of a few thousand people, but some large ones had populations exceeding a hundred thousand. Scattered across a territory spanning ten thousand li, they had only one chance a year to meet at the Ten Thousand Tribes Gathering since the Northwestern Royal Court's fall.
It was noon. The tribal chiefs had all taken their seats around the square, each with a flag planted behind them, embroidered with their tribe's emblem.
Most of these emblems were imitations created by tribes established later. Only a dozen or so flags had genuine significance, each representing an occupation, official rank, or family crest passed down from ancient times.
The Four Great Tribes led the Western Sea Tribes and naturally occupied the central seats. Although the Gouchen Tribe was now the strongest, it still ranked alongside the other three. The Wuma Tribe sat to its left, with the Dongming and Xuanhao Tribes farther out on either side.
The seat in the very center belonged to the Tianlang King, but it now stood empty. Even if someone could persuade all the major tribes, no one would dare sit there. After all, occupying the seat of honor at such a gathering meant the Western Sea Tribes had a leader. What followed would be an attack by either Northern Liang or Great Wei, something the Western Sea Tribes simply could not withstand.
Fan Qinghe wore the High Priest Garment. Her imposing makeup carried a hint of mystery, making her look like an exceptionally beautiful shamaness-the kind who would bewitch men with gu poison. Her expression should also have been solemn and unsmiling, befitting a spirit medium, but with so many worries weighing on her,