Michael began outlining his strategy, and Iskar listened intently, not missing a single word. Though a small part of him worried about the potential harm to his friend, the Michael he had co to know wasn't one to use people only to abandon them. By the end of Michael's explanation, Iskar felt reassured that his trust in his master had not been misplaced. If the plan succeeded, Yuran and his tribe could break free from the exploitation and tyranny of the five great tribes, finally gaining true freedom.
anwhile, Yuran, the chieftain of the Mountain Hare Tribe, visited the tent of Pharos, the chieftain of the Horned Ibex Tribe. Pharos had remained behind on the burning plains to evacuate his people, suffering a severe burn on his thigh in the process. Yuran had co to check on him.
"How are you feeling, Pharos? I brought so herbs that are good for burns," Yuran said, offering the bundle.
Pharos, lying on a makeshift cot, looked up at Yuran. His eyes carried the wisdom of many years.
"Thank you for coming, Yuran. Those are valuable—save them for your people. I've already been treated. A little rest, and I'll be fine," Pharos replied.
"Ha! Do you think they'll let us rest? They're desperate to work us to the bone. We haven't even received a single bean since yesterday. You've heard the orders, haven't you? They want us to eat grass as we march. Grass!" Yuran said, his voice filled with indignation.
A flash of anger crossed Pharos's gentle face but was quickly replaced by resignation, the result of years of learned helplessness.
"They truly see us as herbivores. But what can we do? We'll ration the food we've hidden and try to hold out. If it runs out, we'll gather the chieftains and plead with them, saying the fire burned all the grass and we have nothing to eat. They might throw us a little food to keep us alive," Pharos suggested, sighing.
Yuran clenched his fists, trembling with suppressed rage. The fine fur on the back of his hands quivered.
"This cannot go on. We've never received even a piece of at. They take every animal we hunt for themselves, claiming it's theirs. And we're people too! Have you heard about the Black Goat Tribe? They took away a freshly caught buffalo, and when the tribe protested, they mocked them, saying, 'If you're so desperate for at, cook your own children.' Then they threatened, 'If we don't get our at, we might just eat you instead.' And the worst part? They weren't joking."
Pharos lowered his head, sha clouding his expression. This was why the Pamir Empire was shunned by others on the Rubel continent. Many tribes with strong beastfolk bloodlines practiced cannibalism, the Lion Paw Tribe being a pri example.
Yuran stared at Pharos, whose gaze avoided him. "Pharos, how long does it take to reach the level of acceptance you've achieved in situations like this?" Yuran asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
Pharos reached out with his gnarled hand, gripping Yuran's trembling one. He saw in the young chieftain a reflection of his younger self, once burning with anger and despair. Yuran began to sob quietly, the rough texture of Pharos's hand conveying the hardships he had endured.
Pharos wasn't a coward or an opportunist. He had always fought at the front lines, a seasoned warrior who had survived countless battles. He had simply co to terms with reality.
"We must beco like trees, Yuran. Just stand firm, provide shade and fruit for our people, and endure. When our ti cos, we'll fall and beco firewood. That's the life we must live—for the sake of those who rely on us," Pharos said, his voice steady.
Yuran hesitated. Pharos's words revealed that he understood the dangerous thoughts swirling in Yuran's mind. With a stern gaze resembling that of Yuran's late father, Pharos admonished him. Yuran tried to pull his hand away, but Pharos held firm.
"Rember this. No tribe that betrayed the Empire has survived. A few escaped to the Drago Mountains, but that was during the Empire's early days. Don't entertain reckless ideas. If we're caught, every one of us will be torn apart. And even if we escape, what about those left behind in the territory?" Pharos's sharp words drained the strength from Yuran's hand, tears streaming down his face. Pharos gently patted his hand.
"Don't think too deeply about it. Just forget it all. There's no place in this world without discrimination. If such a place existed, I'd be the first to go, but only if I could take even the youngest lamb of the tribe. But where would you find such a place?" Pharos concluded with a bitter laugh, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Forcing the herbs into Pharos's hand, Yuran left and squeezed his body onto his rough cot. The tattered tent did little to block the cold winds of the plains. Shivering, he tried to sleep, but movent in the corner caught his eye.
Startled, he sat up, only to be overpowered and pinned down. As he struggled, a familiar voice hushed him.
"Shh! Yuran, it's . Stay still," the voice whispered.
Yuran's large eyes grew even wider as he stared at the figure erging from the shadows.
"Iskar?" he murmured.
The previous night, Yuran, filled with renewed hope after Iskar's sudden visit, began preparing for a secret eting. The tribes he invited were carefully selected, chosen from among the most trustworthy individuals. These were people he could rely on completely.
Among them, Yuran singled out the most agile and quick-thinking mbers, entrusting them with specific tasks. After spending the entire night pondering, he had finally decided to reveal his plan to the chosen tribes.
Given the extre tyranny of the five great tribes and the royal family, rallying the weaker tribes didn't seem overly challenging. Still, Yuran took every precaution to mitigate the risk of betrayal. Even among these tribes, there were significant disparities. Tribes that weren't part of the five great tribes but held so power often allied with the stronger ones, while others survived by scavenging the leftovers of such alliances.
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