"My Father, it seems you have run into some troubles."
A wicked smile appeared on Yi Zewen De's face, and he leisurely found a seat to the side and sat down.
Seeing his son like this, Bazir Rakwo instinctively felt some disgust. Coupled with the defeat in battle, a faint flame of anger burned within him.
"Why are you only returning now?"
Bazir Rakwo raised his eyelids, revealing bloodshot eyes.
"Wasn't I contacting the other two tribes? I hadn't been able to rest the entire time, yet when I came back, I found out the tribe had suffered a crushing defeat."
Yi Zewen De poured himself a cup of berry juice and drank it with satisfaction. Though what he said was brutally true, his face showed not the slightest panic, anger, or disappointment. Instead, there was a faint trace of mockery.
"How did the negotiations with those two tribes go?"
"They had originally succeeded. They agreed to send troops, but..." Yi Zewen De's voice always brought Night Owl to mind, and it sounded especially chilling in this empty hall.
"But what? Since when did you learn to speak to me like this?" The veins on Bazir's palm bulged as he gripped the armrest with force, while his heavy Black Feather Cloak rustled.
"Hehe, but because of your defeat, those two tribes changed their minds again."
Yi Zewen De lifted his head and spoke expressionlessly. The mockery in his eyes was no longer concealed.
"You dare speak to me like that, Yi Zewen De Rakwo... Have you grown so much over the past year that you no longer recognize rank and status?" Bazir Rakwo finally rose from his great chair and met his gaze with the same chilling eyes.
In that instant, the atmosphere throughout the hall abruptly turned cold. As