Chapter 261: The Beast Lords

As the caravan pressed deeper into the heart of the village, the visitors’ bewilderment mutated into stupor. Along the sides of the path, pacing with naturality among the stone and mortar houses, they spotted dozens of white tigers. Yet what made the delegation’s guards grip their spear shafts tightly was the presence of a colossal beast: a tiger that towered over the size of the others.

The Tiger King walked along the paved streets. The villagers not only refrained from fleeing, but greeted it with bows, while them offered fresh cuts of meat as it passed. It moved like a pet integrated into the community. Within the royal palaces of their homeland, seeing caged exotic beasts was not uncommon, yet that apex predator walked completely free; it could slaughter a dozen men in a heartbeat, yet no one displayed concern for their safety.

A few yards further ahead, the caravan was forced to a halt.

A bull, whose height and mass made the visitors’ draft bulls look like scrawny calves, was lazily crossing the avenue. Upon sighting the beast with golden horns, the caravan’s cows began to low, shaking their harnesses as they attempted to surge toward it. The bull approached the young cows slowly, and in an instant, the herd fell into heat.

Witnessing the commotion, Brak reined in his mount and shouted at the animal with a commanding voice:

"Big Horn, get to your barn! You’re causing a mess with the guests’ animals."

The bull let out a snort that vibrated through the ground, but turning around, it plodded off toward the pens. The cows attempted to stumble after it, but the drovers managed to hold them back. The foreign envoys exchanged open-mouthed glances. In their minds as diplomats and strategists, the calculation was instantaneous: if they could acquire a breeding bull of that magnitude, their agricultural and livestock productivity would skyrocket to unthinkable levels, not to mention the logistics impact of moving tons of military supplies in half the time.

The chief envoy opened his mouth to inquire about the beast’s origin, but the words choked in his throat.

Walking straight toward them was a bear. Its four paws glowed with a deep, burning reddish hue, as if it were treading on live embers, granting it a lethal presence. Yet the exact same phenomenon occurred as with the previous predators: no one feared it. Smiling villagers approached to offer berries, cuts of salmon, and pats upon its fur. Even a couple of small children were riding happily atop its back, laughing as they held onto its neck; the visitors had not seen them initially since they were hidden behind its massive head, but as it passed by their side, they stood stunned.

Lastly, a shadow blanketed the caravan.

Glancing upward, they spotted a giant eagle circling the sky above the village. From afar, it had seemed like a hunting bird tracking them along the journey, but as it swooped lower, they realized it was not small in the slightest: its spread wings stretched dozens of meters across.

The shock struck when their eyes registered the riders strapped with harnesses onto the bird’s back.

How could such a creature—a sovereign of the skies capable of shredding a carriage with its talons—agree to submit before mere humans? To the envoys, raised on steel dominance and force, the scene unfolding before them was not merely unbelievable... it was surreal.

The chief envoy of the caravan, no longer able to contain the bewilderment pressing against his chest, looked at Brak with wide eyes as he watched a group of children stroke the scorching fur of the great bear.

"Do you not fear that these beasts might attack you at any given moment?" asked the ambassador, his voice choked with disbelief. "We are talking about apex predators... A single false movement and they could slaughter half your people before anyone could react!"

Brak let out a laugh that echoed above the hum of the marketplace. He adjusted his posture atop his white tiger’s back and tilted his head, looking at the envoy as if he had uttered pure absurdity.

"Fear them? And why on earth should we do that?" replied Brak naturally, with pride. "Those are no wild beasts; they are the blessed beasts of our great shaman. Only if he commands them to attack will they do so without a second’s hesitation. But so long as he gives no such order, they are as harmless as can be toward every inhabitant of this village."

Brak gave a firm pat to his mount’s neck, while the white tiger emitted a low purr that vibrated through the paved road.

"Not a single one of these creatures would ever dare disobey a word from our great shaman," added the warrior with devotion. "To them, his will is the supreme law of the forest."

The foreign diplomats exchanged glances of caution. The realization that a single man had not only crushed the vanguard of the Kingdom of the Golden Rose, but also held absolute mastery over calamity-class beasts, transformed this shaman into a strategically terrifying threat... and a potentially invaluable ally.

As they pressed forward along the main avenue, the commander of the guard escorting the ambassadors kept his eyes darting from side to side. Although the colossal beasts claimed the attention of most, his veteran instincts whispered that something else was watching them meticulously from afar.

He locked his gaze onto the stone rooftops and the reinforced wooden watchtowers lining the path. There, posted with composure, he spotted dozens of warriors.

Every single one wore identical uniforms fitted with immaculate silver armor of magic metal that gleamed under the sunlight. Slung firmly across their backs were black metal rods. Not a single soldier slouched, nor did a single one engage in chatter; they maintained a rigid posture, keeping their sights locked on the incoming caravan, evaluating every movement of the visitors with precision.

The guard commander felt a chill run down the nape of his neck. For a man who had spent his lifetime on the battlefields of major empires, exotic beasts might serve as an impressive spectacle, yet the true power of a nation was never measured in wild ferocity, but in discipline. And this tribe possessed a military discipline so strict and standardized that it rivaled—and in many aspects surpassed—the elite legions of neighboring empires.

"Impressive..." muttered the commander in a low voice, meant solely for the chief ambassador’s ears. "Look to the rooftops, my Lord. This is no mere gathering of villagers brandishing clubs. This is a professionally trained, flawlessly equipped army."

The envoy raised his gaze, taking in the impassive faces of the uniform-clad guards with their metal rods. The realization that a forest tribe had attained such a level of tactical standardization and order completely shattered whatever lingering prejudices they had carried with them.