Chapter 268: All Loose Ends

Kellar offered a cold smile as he gazed down at the Valorian ambassador, whose face quivered from panic and desperate audacity.

"Well... it is not as though I wish to initiate further wars," Kellar responded in a low tone, "yet you have willed it so. Nevertheless, I can agree to what you propose. Wait a moment, it seems we have company."

The heavy thuds of giant feline paws echoed from the courtyard’s northern path. Out from the night shadows surged a contingent of tribal riders mounted upon war tigers. At the vanguard rode Brak, standing tall atop the back of the majestic Tiger King.

Dragged behind the beasts were two shattered figures caked in mud and blood: Count Evander Ellington and his advisor Benoit. Both were wounded and lingering on the edge of consciousness. Of the Black Wolf Knights, not a single trace remained.

Brak yanked on the binding chains, tossing the Count and his servant onto the paved ground, beside the kneeling Valorian diplomats.

"Good, good..." Kellar commented, observing the scene with satisfaction. "It appears you were able to overtake them."

"Of course, my Lord," Brak replied, dismounting in a fluid motion and offering an inclination of his head. "The instant you issued the command, we pursued them without pause."

Kellar had maintained a watch over their flight using his $[Eye\ of\ the\ Tribe\ Lord]$ skill, which granted him visual overwatch across every span of his domain. Initially, the shaman anticipated that the enemy cavalry might succeed in escaping beyond his range, as he lacked the desire to exhaust his beasts on a hunt. However, the moment the Count crossed the village’s outer perimeter, the Black Wolf Formation dissolved entirely.

Aethelgard’s knights were far more severely damaged than they appeared after absorbing the Garnis cannon detonations and the strikes from the mythical beasts. Dozens of their mounts collapsed to the stone at death’s door, and the survivors could barely drag themselves forward. Witnessing such vulnerability through his panoramic vision, Kellar hesitated not a moment and commanded Brak to launch the tiger cavalry to hunt down the remnants.

Kellar walked until he stood dead center above the gathered captives, resting both hands over his staff’s pommel.

"Now that my esteemed guests are present," Kellar declared in a tone that froze the marrow, "I suppose we shall bring forward the meeting we had scheduled for tomorrow... Does that suit you?"

Upon seeing the shattered silhouette of Count Evander Ellington tossed onto the stone like a bloodied rag, the Valorian ambassador felt the final flicker of hope evaporate from his chest.

They might have been arrogant nobles convinced that the forest tribes were beneath their lineage, but they were by no means fools. They were familiar with the reputation of the Count and the lethality of his knights. The Black Wolf guard was not a force that could be captured simply because someone willed it; they had earned a bloody renown across multiple military campaigns under the command of the previous Count, known throughout the continent as the Black Fang.

They were an elite cavalry unit forged to strike dread into open combat. Even when facing fortified siege formations or numerically superior armies, their collective charge was considered virtually unstoppable. To realize that a legendary force of such caliber had been intercepted, dismantled, and wiped from existence within minutes by the Overlord tribe’s warriors reduced the captives’ panic into a deathly hush.

The Valorian envoy pressed his forehead flat against the damp stone, trembling as his knees buckled. No threats remained to be uttered, no noble titles left to brandish, nor tales of military splendor to shield them.

Count Evander Ellington began coughing, spitting bile and blood onto the paved ground from the agony of his fractured ribs.

Kellar walked toward him, raising his hand to channel a stream of shamanic healing energy that wrapped around the noble’s torso, knitting his superficial wounds and stabilizing his vitals.

"Brak..." Kellar spoke, turning toward his captain with a tone of reproach. "Our esteemed guest has been left severely battered. Did I not explicitly order you to invite them back courteously?"

Upon witnessing the shaman’s hypocritical shift in demeanor, the captive diplomats could not help but roll their eyes amidst the pain and terror gripping them.

Lennis, catching onto the tactical play, stepped in without hesitation:

"Indeed, Brak. The shaman held our esteemed guests in high regard, yet you treat them in such a brute fashion. Prepare new accommodations immediately... Do you not see the deplorable state the estate was left in following those mercenaries’ riot?"

Brak grasped the theater his leaders were orchestrating before the captives on the spot. He bowed his head, assuming a submissive posture while wearing a faux-remorseful grimace:

"Forgive me... A thousand pardons, Great Shaman. It is entirely my fault; I was a bit aggressive. Their knights were extraordinarily formidable, and we simply could not contain ourselves during the clash."

Benoit, Aethelgard’s servant, seeing Kellar’s magic preserve his master’s life, bowed until his forehead touched the shaman’s boots.

"Thank you! Thank you for saving my master’s life, Great Shaman!" Benoit sobbed in relief.

Count Evander raised his eyes with difficulty, casting one final glance at Kellar’s silhouette before his eyelids grew heavy, blacking out into his servant’s arms.

"It appears the Count is indisposed," Kellar declared with composure, turning on his heel. "Escort our ’guests’ to new quarters under an honorable guard. The night is not meant for negotiations; it is meant for sleep. Let them rest a while."

The ambassadors and survivors from the Kingdom of Valoria let out a sigh of pent-up relief upon realizing Kellar had no immediate intention of executing them on the spot. The terror gripping their chests began yielding to cunning; within their noble minds, they started calculating that if they played their cards right come morning, leaving this savage land alive remained a possibility.

"This way," a tribal guard officer commanded in a dry tone, directing them toward the new quarters.

Shortly after being settled under strict watch, several members of Kellar’s medical corps entered the chambers carrying leather satchels. Without wasting a moment, the medics began inspecting their bodies for fractures, lacerations, and burns.

Following Kellar’s instructions, a medic produced a small glass syringe and administered a dose of morphine to each man. Within seconds, the unbearable agony that had the captives shivering dissolved, plunging them into a state of numbed tranquility. Next, the medics disinfected every incision with antiseptic solutions and set about dressing the wounds using fine suture kits Kellar had previously acquired from the shop.

The foreign soldiers and officers observed the procedure in fascination. Accustomed to relying strictly upon the costly healing magic of clerics, they were impressed by the efficiency of this magic-free method. The precision of the needles, the surgical thread, and the rustic yet flawless elegance of the tiny, polished metal instruments used by the tribal healers left them in hushed awe.

"There is no doubt..." one of the Valorian officers muttered, feeling the numbing effect of the medicine take hold. "This tribe possesses secrets that reach far beyond their firearms..."