Chapter 152: The Beastmen Turn Back
Deep in the beastman nation's interior, a large beastman column was moving along a dirt road through the hills.
The force was made up mostly of bear-beastman warriors — bear heads on human bodies, moving in a loose marching formation, their heavy tread sending faint vibrations through the ground with every step.
Most of their fur was a dark brown-black, carrying a dull sheen in the sunlight. Iron axes and bone-tipped spears hung at their hips. A few carried massive wooden shields on their backs.
At the very front of the column strode a bear-beastman of exceptional size.
He stood a full head taller than anyone around him, with shoulders wide as a wall. Several old scars cut across the dark fur of his chest.
A pair of round bear eyes were half-narrowed, the corners of his mouth pulled downward, his face set in an expression of unmistakable displeasure.
Urgov, chieftain of the Giant Claw Tribe.
In build, his upper body bore a resemblance to "Brutal Claws" Wijek — one of those four-legged beast-type demi-humans from the Aberiion Hills. Both shared the same black bear form from the waist up.
Looked at from a human's perspective, at least from the upper half, they were nearly indistinguishable.
But bear-beastmen and the four-legged beast-type demi-humans were actually two entirely separate species.
Behind Urgov stretched a column of bear-beastman warriors that disappeared around the bend of the hills, too long to see its end.
As he walked, Urgov muttered a steady stream of grievances.
"That old bastard of a beastman king."
His voice was rough, throttled with barely contained fury.
"My warriors — my strength — and he buries us at the back of the entire army for the campaign to finish off the Dragon Kingdom!"
He swung one thick arm out, as though swatting at an invisible fly.
"We've been sitting at the rear and we can't even get a taste of the action! Every scrap of glory goes to those smaller tribes, the human meat plunder divided up with nothing left for us — my warriors couldn't fill a gap in their teeth!"
The more he talked, the angrier he got, his footsteps heavier and heavier, each one leaving a deep print in the road.
"And that's already bad enough."
He blew a hard breath out through his nose, nostrils flaring, the dark fur inside visible.
"Now it gets worse! Apparently there are human cavalry riders infiltrating the rear and causing trouble, and that old bastard sends me back to deal with these flies!"
His voice pitched up a notch. The bear-beastman warriors nearest him behind involuntarily pulled their necks down.
"My force barely fought at the front, and I get shipped back to do this kind of cleanup work! By the time I've dealt with these flies and made it back, whatever glory there was to claim at the main front will be long gone! I'll have nothing to show for any of it!"
Urgov heaved for breath, his chest rising and falling hard. He turned his head and fixed his gaze on a hyena-beastman walking just slightly behind his shoulder.
The hyena-beastman was lean and wiry, with long limbs and greyish-brown fur marked with uneven bands of dark splotching. A pair of yellow-green slit-pupiled eyes were slightly narrowed, as though he were quietly working through some calculation. He kept pace just behind Urgov, his steps light, his thin shoulders carrying a slight forward hunch — the posture of someone who had made a profession of attentiveness.
Grik. Strategist of the Giant Claw Tribe, and Urgov's most trusted adviser.
The beastman nation was a coalition of tribes, each with considerable autonomy.
Beastmen from other tribes occasionally settled among different ones, but a foreign beastman managing to become a tribal chief's trusted inner circle — as Grik had done — was genuinely rare.
The skill he'd built his position on was not hard to identify.
Urgov fixed his bear eyes on him and said bluntly: "Grik. Tell me. Didn't that old bastard just set me up?"
Grik's pupils shifted.
He leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice.
"My lord, there is no need to be troubled by this."
Urgov tilted his head sideways, those round bear eyes pinning Grik in place, a sharp breath coming through his nose.
"How so?"
The corner of Grik's mouth curved upward into a smooth, practiced smile.
"My lord, consider it from this angle. The beastman king fears you so deeply that he refuses to allow you near the main front — doesn't that prove your strength is already great enough to threaten him?"
Urgov stopped.
Those bear eyes blinked once. The fury on his face seemed to catch on something and stall.
"Hnn?"
A low, ambiguous sound came from the back of his throat.
Grik pressed on.
"Think about it, my lord. Why does the beastman king put you at the back? He is afraid you'll build too much prestige. You've led the Giant Claw Tribe to grow stronger year after year — your warriors are loyal to the bone. He sees this. How could he not be unsettled?"
"So he does this deliberately. Keeps you at the rear. Lets you claim no glory. Lets the smaller tribes take the front. That way your prestige doesn't grow, and he keeps sitting comfortably where he is."
The words landed exactly where Grik had aimed them.
The anger on Urgov's dark brown face drained away degree by degree, replaced by an expression of rising self-satisfaction.
He lifted his chin, the muscles around his jaw pulling up to show two rows of uneven yellow teeth.
"Hahahaha!"
He burst out laughing. Behind him, the bear-beastman warriors exchanged glances, none of them sure what their chief had found funny so suddenly.
The laughter ran on for a good while before it subsided.
Urgov reached out one thick arm and clapped a hand on Grik's shoulder. The force behind it was considerable — Grik's lean frame rocked forward, nearly pitching onto his face.
"You're right! That's exactly right!"
Urgov pulled his hand back, planted both fists on his hips, and strode forward with his chin up.
"That old bastard is just afraid of me!"
His voice carried something close to intoxicated satisfaction.
"Ha. I'd already noticed. Every tribal chiefs' council meeting, the way that old bastard looks at me is wrong. He's been scared of me."
Grik steadied himself and hurried to catch up, bent at the waist.
"My lord's wisdom is matchless."
That single word, wisdom, made Urgov preen even further.
"That old bastard is getting on in years. His strength drops a little every year." Urgov raised his right arm, bent it at the elbow, and struck a pose displaying the mass of his muscle. "Mine, on the other hand, grows a little stronger every year."
He let the moment sit.
A sharp glint passed through his bear eyes.
"Before long, my strength will surpass that old bastard completely."
Grik walked at his side and saw the hunger burning in his chief's eyes.
Just as I thought, he noted silently. This brainless fool is planning to take the beastman king's place.
The column kept moving.
After a few more paces, Urgov spoke again.
"Grik."
"Here, my lord."
"What do you think..." Urgov's gaze settled on the road winding ahead. "If I were to march on him now. While that old bastard is tied up at the front. Strike directly — wipe out the Iron Fang Tribe."
He pulled his gaze back to Grik. Those bear eyes were burning with naked ambition.
"How would that go?"
Grik's slit pupils contracted slightly.
His pulse jumped half a beat — but his expression held its deference.