Chapter 262: The Three-Front Pact

The wooden doors of the central longhouse swung open, granting entry to the diplomatic delegation. Inside, the vast chamber was illuminated by torches mounted along reinforced stone pillars.

Seated upon a raised wooden dais at the far end of the hall sat Kellar. He wore his shamanic robes, his cold gaze studying the incoming visitors with indifference. Flanking him stood Grok, his massive body bearing the thick scar where his shoulder had been reattached, and Lennis, holding a leather scroll of municipal records.

The chief envoy of Aethelgard, a broad-shouldered man clad in heavy furs and engraved plate armor, stepped forward alongside the ambassador of Valoria, a refined noble adorned in embroidered silk capes. Both men offered formal bows, though their eyes flicked nervously toward the shadowed rafters where Fenrir’s glowing eyes monitored their every move.

"Greetings, Great Shaman Kellar," declared the Aethelgard envoy, his booming voice echoing through the longhouse. "I am Lord Cedric of the Kingdom of Aethelgard, and beside me stands Ambassador Lucian of Valoria. We come bearing greetings from our respective monarchs, as well as wagons filled with gifts as tokens of respect before your grand and flourishing tribe."

Kellar leaned his chin against his hand, remaining silent as he considered their words. Smooth expressions and refined mannerisms could not deceive him; these people had crossed the valley with deeply hidden motives.

"Speak your purpose," said Kellar in a calm tone. "You did not march your caravans through the Ash Valley merely to give me gifts."

Ambassador Lucian stepped forward, unfolding an ornate parchment map across a carved timber table positioned before the dais.

"We shall speak directly, Chieftain," said Lucian, pointing toward the southern border outlined in gold ink. "The Golden Rose Realm is a disease upon this continent—an arrogant, greedy empire that seeks to enslave every free territory. They brought war to your doorstep, yet your people smashed their vanguard into dust."

Lord Cedric slammed his gauntleted fist against his chest with a heavy clang.

"We propose a joint military pact," declared Cedric. "Aethelgard attacks from the north, Valoria strikes from the east, and your Overlord tribe marches from the south. Together, we will breach their fortresses, tear down their capital, and eradicate the Golden Rose Realm from the map once and for all."

To sweeten the proposal, Lucian snapped his fingers. Four servants stepped forward, setting two iron-bound chests onto the floor and throwing open their lids. The contents gleamed under the braziers: stacks of pure gold ingots, uncut gemstones, and land deeds sealed with royal wax.

"Our monarchs offer you full recognition as a sovereign realm," added Lucian, gesturing toward the wealth. "Should you join our campaign, all lands extending three thousand miles south of the Golden Rose Kingdom shall be granted to your tribe permanently, alongside thirty percent of all spoils taken from the King’s vaults."

Grok narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening on his war axe as he looked at the piles of gold, while Lennis adjusted his spectacles, calculating the sheer value of the offer.

Kellar stared down at the glittering chests, his expression unreadable. He did not lean forward, nor did his eyes flicker with greed.

"A generous offer," said Kellar softly. "Gold, land, and the destruction of the kingdom that attacked my people."

Lord Cedric grinned, believing the negotiation was already won.

"Then we have an alliance, Shaman?" asked Cedric, extending his bare hand.

Kellar did not reach out to shake it. Instead, he straightened his posture upon the throne and looked at both ambassadors with a piercing gaze.

"A decision of this magnitude cannot be made over a chest of gold in a single morning," stated Kellar, his voice leaving no room for argument. "My captains and I must deliberate. Return to your quarters, enjoy the hospitality of our settlement, and I shall give you my final answer in three days’ time."

Ambassador Lucian frowned slightly, caught off guard by the delay, but quickly masked his disappointment with a polite bow.

"As you wish, Great Shaman," replied Lucian. "We await your council’s wisdom."

As the envoys gathered their servants and exited the longhouse under the watchful escort of the tiger riders, Grok stepped closer to Kellar’s side, staring at the closed doors.

"They offer much, Master," whispered Grok, his raspy voice heavy with thought. "With their armies joining ours, crushing the Golden Rose Realm would be simple."

Kellar looked out toward the window, watching the diplomats cross the paved avenue below.

"Nothing in war is ever simple, Grok," muttered Kellar. "Assemble Brak, Lennis, Thorin, and the captains. We have a council to hold."

Brak led the way, guiding the foreign diplomats and their carriages toward the northern sector of the settlement. After crossing an elegant paved stone bridge, the caravan arrived at an independent villa built under Kellar’s prior directives to accommodate distinguished guests.

The estate was situated directly along the shores of the lake. Anyone unfamiliar with the urban design or internal operations of the Overlord tribe would have assumed it was the most coveted plot in the village, thanks to its sweeping views, fresh lakeside breeze, and gardens.

Yet behind that veneer of luxury and hospitality lay a military design.

Viewed from above—from the aerial vantage point where Little Green patrolled the skies—the villa was encircled by a killing zone. On one side stood the army’s central headquarters, where hidden behind the battlements and embrasures rested ten Garnis cannons loaded and trained directly onto the estate’s windows, while all the tribe’s combat beasts rested freely within the courtyards. On the other side, the lake’s deep waters functioned as an impassable natural barrier.

Should the guests attempt a betrayal or surprise strike from their quarters, they would be forced to withstand the full brunt of Kellar’s firepower and beasts all at once, with zero avenue for retreat. The brilliance of the layout was that none of this was obvious at first glance; to the ambassadors of Aethelgard and Valoria, the estate appeared as nothing more than a serene country retreat.

Brak escorted the diplomats to the main entryway of the estate, swinging the double doors open with a welcoming gesture.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable and enjoy your stay," said Brak with a smile, offering a slight bow. "I shall proceed to gather with the great shaman to await his directives. In the meantime, I have arranged for a feast fitting of your status to be served shortly."

"We appreciate your tribe’s hospitality, warrior," replied Ambassador Lucian with a nod.

Brak took his leave with a polite bow and turned on his heel. However, the moment he stepped past the estate’s outer gate and out of the diplomats’ line of sight, the accommodating smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold glare.

As he passed beneath the guard tower of the army headquarters, Brak raised his right hand, flashing a series of swift finger signals toward the sentries posted along the battlements. The hooded guards nodded silently from the shadows, adjusting the sights of the ten Garnis cannons positioned behind the embrasures, executing the containment protocols around the estate.