The camp of the Huya Tribe was located in the northeast of Yingzui Island, about twenty miles away.
It was built on an open stretch of land beside the lake. A double-layer fence made of iron oak, nearly twenty feet tall, surrounded the entire camp. More than a dozen towering watchtowers stood within the fence, while an artificially dug moat lay outside it, turning the camp into a small island connected to the lake.
For a tribal settlement, though its defenses could not compare to a noble's castle, it was already considered formidable.
"Who goes there?"
On one of the watchtowers, a savage drew his bow and aimed an arrow at the figure standing before the camp gate, his voice sharp with vigilance.
Since the deserters from the Battle of Yingzuiyu had returned, the atmosphere within the camp had grown extremely tense.
That disastrous defeat had nearly wiped out the Huya Tribe's young and able-bodied warriors—an outright catastrophe for them.
"It's me, Cheeman."
Hearing the familiar voice, the savage guard lowered his bow at once and hurriedly ordered the gate opened.
Cheeman entered the camp without a word and asked directly:
"Where is my father?"
"After the Patriarch received news of the defeat… he fell ill."
Cheeman nodded expressionlessly.
"Take me to him."
"Yes."
Led by a servant, Cheeman arrived at a hut near the lakeside.
A brazier burned inside, its flames flickering. The Huya Tribe's wizard stood before it, tossing bunches of strange plants into the fire while chanting incomprehensible incantations.
Through the swirling smoke, Cheeman saw his father lying on the bed, his body adorned with the fangs and teeth of various beasts.
"You may leave."
The wizard hesitated briefly, but still departed with the servants.
Hearing movement, the old Patriarch slowly opened his eyes. Seeing his younger son approach the bed, he parted his cracked lips and asked weakly:
"Why are you alone? Where are Cheka and Chimu?"
"They're dead," Cheeman replied flatly.
The old Patriarch closed his eyes in pain. His body trembled slightly. After a long moment, he finally managed to steady himself and said:
"In my name, immediately send word to the fourteen neighboring tribes. Tell them the Hewan people have invaded the sacred mountains bestowed upon us by the gods. If they do not wish to be driven from the lands their ancestors lived on for generations, they must unite and fight together…"
"Father."
Cheeman cut him off loudly.
"Do you still want the warriors of the tribe to keep bleeding?"
The old Patriarch shot his younger son an angry glance.
"What? Has a single defeat already robbed you of your courage?"
Cheeman met his father's gaze without flinching.
"This isn't a matter of courage. Father, you've seen the Hewan people. You've fought their armies. Don't you understand where the gap between us and them lies?
Were our warriors any less brave than theirs?
No!
What we lack isn't courage. What we lack are mountains of bread and dried meat, finely forged steel weapons, knights born for war, and impregnable castles!
Without these things, no matter how many wildlings we gather, we will never defeat the people of the Reach!"
"Cough—cough—cough…"
The old Patriarch erupted into violent coughing, clearly enraged by his son's words.
"Then what do you want?" he gasped. "Do you mean to surrender to the Hewan people? Become their slave?"
"Not a slave," Cheeman said calmly. "A leader."
"Leader?" The old Patriarch sneered, coughing again. "Have you ever seen the people ruled by those noble lords? What difference is there between them and slaves?"
Cheeman shot back, "And what about our people? Are they even as well off as the so-called 'slaves' you speak of?"
"What did you say—cough, cough, cough!"
The old Patriarch struggled to sit upright in fury, but was seized by another fit of coughing.
He coughed so violently it seemed as though his heart and lungs were about to be torn out.
Cheeman stared at him coldly, making no move to help. Instead, he added fuel to the fire:
"Father, you are already old. Your stubbornness will only drag the Huya Tribe into the abyss of despair."
"Shut up!" the old Patriarch panted, cursing. "What? You think you can decide the future of the tribe? Wait until I die—"
"Good."
Before he could finish, Cheeman grabbed the tiger skin covering the bed and threw it over his father's head.
"Mmmmm—!"
The old Patriarch struggled violently, but his movements were firmly suppressed by his young, powerful son.
The fire at the center of the hut flared and flickered wildly, casting distorted shadows of father and son against the walls.
At last, the old Patriarch stopped moving.
Cheeman carefully laid the tiger skin back over his father and rearranged the scattered beast fangs on his body.
After finishing, he stared at his father's face for a long while. Then he viciously rubbed his own stiff features, forcing panic into his expression, and cried out anxiously:
"Father! What's wrong? Father! Saru! Saru!"
Hearing the shouts, Saru—the wizard waiting outside—rushed in.
"Look at my father! He suddenly collapsed!"
Saru leaned down and checked the old Patriarch's breathing, his face turning pale with shock.
He lifted his head and met Cheeman's icy gaze.
As if understanding something, Saru quickly lowered his eyes and said:
"I'm sorry, Master Cheeman. The Patriarch… has returned to the embrace of the gods."
"What? Father!"
Cheeman threw himself onto the bed, clutching the old Patriarch's body and wailing loudly.
…
"My lord, you should not accept the allegiance of someone like Cheeman."
On a high hill outside the Huya Tribe's camp, Todd Budflower advised Samwell gravely.
Samwell watched the distant activity within the camp and asked:
"What kind of person is Cheeman?"
"A kinslayer," Todd said sternly. "Someone who can kill even his own blood—what wouldn't he dare to do?"
Samwell pointed toward the camp.
"How many soldiers would it take to capture that stockade?"
Todd paused, then answered after some thought:
"Five hundred."
"And the casualties?"
"…Possibly heavy."
Samwell sighed softly.
"As for Cheeman, we can take this camp without losing a single soldier."
Todd frowned.
"My lord, why are you so determined to take this camp? After the previous battle, neither the Huya Tribe nor the other savage tribes in this forest dare to invade us anymore. We only need to develop our territory steadily."
Samwell sighed inwardly.
There were things he could not explain to Todd.
Peaceful development was too slow, while chaos was approaching too quickly. He didn't have that much time.
He had to increase the population of his territory as fast as possible—and absorbing savages was the quickest way.
The Huya Tribe was the strongest and most prestigious savage tribe in the region. Subduing it would be of immense significance.
Just then, the camp gates suddenly opened.
Seven or eight savages emerged, walking toward Samwell's position.
When they drew closer, it became clear that the one leading them was Cheeman.
He stepped before Samwell, knelt on one knee, and proclaimed loudly:
"Respected Lord Caesar, as the new Patriarch of the Huya Tribe, I, on behalf of all our people, submit to you!"
Samwell stepped forward and spoke solemnly:
"I, Samwell Caesar, under the witness of the gods, accept all members of the Huya Tribe as my subjects. From this day forward, I shall accept your offerings and grant you my protection."
...
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(End Chapter)