Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Chapter 41: A Path Forward!

Logan spoke with an unsettling calm, his gaze sweeping over the gathered assembly.

"The Age of Famine has ravaged far and wide, claiming not only the beastmen in the southern deserts but also those dwelling in the northern barrens and the western savannahs."

He paused, considering his next words carefully.

"These boars and gnolls, they might very well be refugees fleeing the harshness of the northern wilds."

His voice grew emphatic, echoing slightly in the tense air.

"They rob to subsist, not out of malice! It's a misnomer to label them mere thieves. Rather, they're refugees, driven to desperation."

He glanced around, his eyes locking with those of his companions, Tyton and Cardia, who wore expressions of surprise mixed with realization.

"A true thieves' guild operates with precision, structured, militarized, and hierarchical, akin to a mercenary corps. What we see before us is nothing of the sort; it's a disorganized, desperate clutch of survivors."

Tyton and Cardia nodded silently, absorbing the gravity of his analysis.

"As long as they're retreating, why should we pursue them?" Logan questioned rhetorically. "Though disheveled, these boars are far from defenseless. A confrontation could lead to needless casualties."

As the thieves gradually withdrew, the elves and the orc guards of the caravan exhaled in collective relief. Yet, the moment was fleeting.

Logan spurred his warg forward a few steps, calling out to the retreating figures. "Hey, the large one leading, can we have a word?"

Confusion spread across the faces of Tyton, Cardia, and the wolf cavalry. They exchanged glances, accustomed to their leader's unpredictable tactics, and waited in silence.

Meanwhile, the caravan's relief morphed back into tension. They eyed Logan warily, their minds racing with thoughts of potential threats.

At the rear, the boar chieftain Gava trudged along despondently. He had spotted the wealthy, solitary caravan as a ripe opportunity, only for it to potentially slip through his fingers with the unexpected arrival of the wolf riders.

"There's barely enough food back at our lair," he muttered under his breath, worry creasing his brow. "If we lose this chance, where else will we find sustenance?"

In this undulating terrain, caravans are rare, and those that brave the journey usually move under the heavy guard of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of warriors, far outmatching any local bandits.

"Hey, the big one leading, can we talk?" The voice echoed from the ridge where the wolf cavalry held their ground.

Upon hearing the call, the wild boar man, Gava, halted abruptly, his hefty axe gleaming dully in the sparse light, as he turned to face the source of the voice.

The remainder of his ragged group also stopped, tension palpable in the air.

Observing their cautious halt, Logan pressed on, his voice carrying a note of authority mixed with a genuine offer. "You seem to be tribal refugees. I lead a formidable pack of beastmen in the southern wilds. Should you choose to join us, I assure you a steady supply of food and shelter."

As Logan's words sank in, Gava stood stock-still, the reality of their dire situation weighing heavily on him. His tribe, once thriving, was now a fragment of its former self, devastated by famine. Out of nearly two hundred of his people, only about thirty survived the harsh journey, the rest succumbed to starvation.

The group of jackal Gnolls they had met during their flight had also dwindled drastically from hundreds to a mere hundred, with today's skirmish claiming even more lives.

"Join these Wolf Riders?" The thought was both a beacon of hope and a stark reality check.

Gava's fellow survivors, a mix of quilboars and gnolls, quickly gathered around him, their faces etched with a mix of desperation and sudden, fragile hope.

Someone was offering them a lifeline, a rarity so profound it seemed divine.

Facing Logan, Gava managed to steady his voice, though his excitement was barely contained. "Honorable Lord Commander, may I trust in your promise?"

"Indeed, you can," Logan responded, his tone resolute yet calming. "We are all brethren under the beastkin banner. I pledge on the sacred name of the Beast God to shelter and feed you as one of our own."

All beastmen revere the pantheon of beast gods. Though numerous, any oath sworn in the name of a beast god is sacred in orcish culture, considered unbreakable and profoundly binding.

Logan, ever strategic, was earnest in his intentions. His interest in these boars stemmed not from mere chance but from recognizing their potential strength, a valuable asset he was keen not to overlook. To him, the vulnerability of refugees made them ideal candidates for allegiance.

From a distance of over 200 meters, the Quilboar, Gava, and his beleaguered band perceived the gravity of the moment. Unified in purpose, they knelt in submission toward Logan, proclaiming loudly, "Dear Lord Commander, we pledge to you our loyalty and our lives."

Seeing this, Logan understood the pact was sealed. Despite the common prejudices labeling orcs as brutish or unclean, their commitment, once given, was unwavering and true.

"Approach," Logan commanded, patting his mount, Fenrir, who leapt gracefully down the rocky incline toward the group.

Tyton and Cardia, though initially taken aback by how swiftly their chieftain had secured the allegiance of the band, quickly mobilized the wolf cavalry to descend from their vantage point and join Logan.

As Gava and his followers watched Logan approach, their deference deepened, their heads bowing even lower in respect.

Dismounting Fenrir when he was just three meters away from Gava, Logan stepped forward, extending his hand to touch Gava's forehead in a solemn gesture. "I accept your loyalty, my warriors!" he declared, invoking an ancient orcish ritual of allegiance, akin to the fealty sworn by human vassals.

"Rise!" Logan commanded, his voice resonating with the weight of new bonds formed.

"And what might your name be?" he inquired, a smile touching his lips as he contemplated the formidable force these thirty-odd wild boar people could become with proper arming and training.

Gava rose swiftly, his demeanor respectful as he addressed Logan. "My lord, I am called Gava."

"Gava? Noted," Logan acknowledged with a nod.

"Are all your kin accounted for?" Logan inquired, his eyes scanning the formidable figure of Gava, which seemed even more imposing up close.

"Sir, aside from those here, we have a dozen young Quilboar and gnolls pups back at our lair," Gava responded with a hint of concern in his voice.

Logan expressed surprise, as the survival of younglings among refugee groups was a rare beacon of hope. "Children, you say? That's indeed rare among refugees. They are usually the first to succumb."

He paused, mulling over their options. "We are headed to Kasros Canyon, and I can integrate your wild boar kin into our ranks," he explained thoughtfully.

Logan hesitated when considering the jackals. Though numerous, their combat prowess was limited, and he was reluctant to encumber his forces with them.

The gnolls among the group stirred restlessly, sensing their uncertain fate in Logan's plan, their unease palpable.

Gava, catching the tension, summoned his courage to address Logan, his voice carrying a mixture of hope and apprehension " What of the gnolls, what will happen to them".

Logan noticed the gnolls' unrest and Gava's concerned expression, and he reassured them with a gentle smile. "Fear not. It's not that I wish to leave them behind. Rather, I intend for them to join my tribe directly. I have a map here; the route to our lands is marked clearly. It should take no more than two days to reach."

He continued, acknowledging the potential within the jackals, "Though they may not be warriors, there are many roles they can fill within our tribe. We have a shortage of labor, and every pair of hands is needed."

His words aimed to soothe their fears, showing a path forward not just for the mighty but also for the young and the less formidable.