Chapter 263: geopolitics

Kellar remained seated upon his carved wooden throne. Gathered around the main longhouse’s strategic table were strictly the tribe’s male leaders and commanders. As his women were navigating the second trimester of their pregnancies, Kellar had ordered them to step back from all military and administrative duties, ensuring they rested free from stress throughout their gestation.

The shaman swept his gaze across the faces present before breaking the silence.

"The men we have quartered in the northern villa are ambassadors representing the nations of Aethelgard and Valoria," explained Kellar in a calm tone. "They have come offering a three-front military alliance to crush the Golden Rose Realm, promising lands, gold, and sovereign recognition. What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Upon hearing the proposal, the reaction from the majority was immediate.

"It is the perfect opportunity!" exclaimed Lennis, adjusting his spectacles as he examined the map. "The Golden Rose Realm attacked us without provocation. Uniting forces with their natural enemies will guarantee our retribution and secure our borders."

"I concur," chimed in Brak, leaning his hands upon the timber table. "Should we strike in coordination from the south while Aethelgard and Valoria press from the north and east, the human legions will crumble within weeks."

Garik and the remaining captains nodded in agreement, voicing their support for marching to war and settling the score with their enemy.

Yet off to the side of the dais, Grok stood in silence. The warrior displayed not a trace of enthusiasm, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor with a furrowed brow.

Kellar registered his personal guard’s posture. Tilting his head, he fixed his gaze upon him.

"What is it, Grok?" asked Kellar softly. "Do you have something to say regarding this?"

Grok took a step forward, bowing his head in respect.

"No, my Lord..." muttered he in his voice.

"Speak your mind, Grok. I wish to hear your opinion," commanded Kellar.

The warrior let out a sigh before raising his eyes toward his master.

"I feel there is something off behind all of this, Master... It is a gut feeling that breeds distrust within me, and I cannot pinpoint why. I do not believe those people are worthy of our trust."

"I understand," said Kellar softly, nodding to his personal guard.

The shaman turned his head and swept his gaze across each of the commanders with a look that froze the room’s atmosphere.

"Since nearly all of you share the sentiment, we should march and wage war..." paused he before adding in a cold tone, "yet that would be the most foolish thing we could do in our history. I am disappointed in every person present."

A murmur of dismay rippled across the table. Although the captains held devotion to Kellar, that did not mean they lacked self-respect. The shaman’s words struck like a bucket of ice water, slamming into their pride.

"Look at this map," commanded Kellar, pointing at the spread parchment. "I feel disappointed because my intent for each of you is to stop being simple warriors eager for blood. In the future I am building, every one of you will govern a territory and master thousands, tens of thousands, or millions of lives under your command. You must learn to think like rulers, not savages."

Kellar remained silent, letting the weight of his words sink into their minds. Then, he leaned back and continued in a steady voice:

"I shall tell you a story that I hope you can comprehend."

The shaman interlaced his fingers and began the tale:

"Once upon a time, there was a prosperous tribe that lived in peace without attacking its neighbors. One day, this tribe received a proposal: they merely needed to march and strike a rival kingdom. The tribe did not grasp the political background, yet they viewed the offer as simple... To kill, plunder, and win glory, while other factions promised military assistance. Furthermore, that enemy kingdom was situated right to the north of their position, so they believed they could expand their borders northward."

The torches crackled in the hall’s quiet as everyone listened.

"The tribe marched with all its might toward their new target. Upon reaching the battlefield, they discovered that indeed, the enemy kingdom was there, waging an exhausting war against the other factions in a neutral state. No one was winning; they stood in a deadlock. When this new tribe crashed into the conflict, the attacked nation panicked and began defending itself fiercely on both fronts. And then something happened... the war entered a deadlock once more."

Kellar sat upright on his throne, looking at his captains.

"Who among you can tell me why?"

Lennis furrowed his brow, and was the first to hazard a guess.

"Because the attacked kingdom activated its hidden military reserves upon being cornered?" ventured the accountant.

"No," replied Kellar coldly.

"Did the terrain favor the defenders?" chimed in Brak, leaning his fists on the table.

"Nor that."

"Perhaps the attacked kingdom severed the new tribe’s supply lines and starved them out," interjected Garik, leaning his forearms onto the table.

"Or perhaps winter set in across the northern mountains, freezing their reinforcements before they could set up camp," added Thorin in a heavy tone.

Kellar merely shook his head in silence. Not a single one of his commanders managed to hit the mark.

"None of you grasp the nature of greed," declared Kellar, sweeping his gaze across the room. "The answer is simple: there was never a true deadlock. Each of the attacking forces was merely looking out for its own interests, and the arrival of the new tribe changed nothing about that. They simply continued doing what they had done from the start: withholding their forces to the minimum to let the other party handle all the dirty work."

The captains maintained a silence as they absorbed the revelation.

"The new tribe arrived unaware and launched an assault, believing in the false alliance," continued Kellar. "Seeing the new ally’s momentum, the two orchestrating kingdoms lowered the intensity of their own attacks even further, allowing the new tribe to shoulder the heaviest burden of the slaughter. This brought about a stalemate, but with a difference: the new tribe kept pouring everything into the front lines, bleeding out day after day, while the defending kingdom suffered equally devastating losses in its struggle to survive."

The shaman tapped the table softly with a knuckle.

"After weeks of warfare, both the tribe and the defending kingdom were spent, their armies shattered and their resources depleted. And then, the other two factions did what was obvious."

Grok, from the shadows of the dais, narrowed his eyes and set his jaw, whispering in a raspy voice that echoed across the longhouse:

"They annihilated both tribes..."