Chapter 125: Oh shit, Elder Warren is still alive?!

When trust is broken, it is hard to repair. Ever since Chief Solan refused to retaliate against the Typhon Tribe, Elder Warren, along with a good number of Nemean Tribesmen, set off to take matters into their own hands.

They couldn’t bear to live among people who didn’t wish to eliminate their enemies. He wished to lead their people down a different path, one that didn’t have Solan’s softness weakening their people, but killing the chief, his friend, was something he wouldn’t or couldn’t do.

Divine Retribution. It was something everyone knew of in the village. If you killed a person in the village on purpose, you would be struck down by Lord Nemean, and there was no fooling a god.

So, Warren decided to leave, taking people with him.

First was setting up a small place to call home. He was thankfully able to sway people of all roles to join him. This allowed everyone to work their roles efficiently, regardless of the limited number of hands they had.

In the beginning, this worked out perfectly. It took some time, but their small settlement was made, and they were able to live in peace. They still worshiped Lord Nemean, but now they had a different chief, Chief Warren.

While the people celebrated their new home, the purpose of their departure from their old home did not slip their minds. So later, everyone began to prepare to take out the Typhon Tribe.

It took some time, but after a few months, by the time the Blessing Ceremony had ended and the new year had begun, Chief Warren was ready to begin his operation.

He and the warriors used the same tactic the Typhon Tribe used against them: Angler Poison. Warren studied the poison in secret for a time like this and couldn’t wait to give the Typhon Tribe a taste of their own medicine.

However, it seemed that fate was not on their side that day. When everyone had arrived at the Typhon Village, it had long since been abandoned.

"W-What is this?" He was in shock. The once great Typhon Village was reduced to nothing but rubble, with plant life overtaking everything that the people had once built.

"C-Chief Warren, c-could our Tribe have wiped them out?" One of the warriors asked

"That’s impossible. We would have crossed paths if that were the case. This...This is something different. Let’s investigate."

If only Chief Warren knew what he was getting himself into at the time, walking into the lion’s den without knowing.

They had discovered that the tribe had been wiped out and forced to migrate, as there were no bodies. So, after a few days of looking around, they all left to go back to their new home.

Some of them got pricked by plants, but that wasn’t anything to worry about. Being in nature meant that you would come across all sorts of plants and animals, so it was only natural that a person’s body would reflect that.

A few weeks later, however, would prove that whatever had pricked them was not natural at all.

First was the loss of strength, then constant hunger. After that, people began getting extremely sick, and one by one, they began dying.

Not even their healer could do anything about this. And soon, the healer died as well.

The hatred toward the Typhon Tribe was shared by many people, so when Elder Warren left, those who followed even took their families with them.

It was only after seeing their families die, their mates, children, and parents, when most of them realized that they had made a mistake.

"L-Lord Nemean! Lord Nemean! Please forgive us! We were wrong! Please have mercy on us! Have mercy on our children!"

They begged and pleaded, hoping and praying for their god to help them in their time of need. But all they were met with was silence.

If they had stayed in the Nemean Village, their prayers would have been answered, but as they were now on their own, their god did not listen to their cries.

Months went by, and the majority of the people who followed Warren were now dead. Men, women, and children. The Verminus Plant, a creature they had no knowledge of, took them out one by one.

Their safety was compromised, and the only thing the survivors could do was constantly travel to avoid being killed by whatever was after them.

First, they went north to the Helsik Tribe, but not only were they denied entry, but they were also attacked, losing some people along the way.

They contemplated traveling east, to the canyon, but that would mean passing through the place where the Verminus Plant had attacked them, so they threw out that option.

Traveling south meant returning to the Nemean Village, but everyone’s pride got the best of them. So, they decided to leave the safety of the mountains and travel into what’s known as the harshlands.

More months went by, more people died, and their suffering continued. Warren tried to rally everyone and give them hope, but his words fell on deaf ears.

The people were tired of him, only following because it was far better than being alone. But they made sure to let Warren know of their feelings, making him feel less than.

The harshlands got its name because of how brutal it was to survive in such an environment. Monsters lurked at every corner, which made finding a place to stay extremely difficult.

The animal and plant life were extremely hostile; the only animals in the area were beasts, while the majority of the plants were either monsters or poisonous.

The land was also very arid, making farming nearly impossible, and nearly every water source had some sort of contamination.

Everyone was angry, full of regret, and most importantly, tired. It got to the point where some decided that dying to monsters was better than dying to hunger or thirst.

Like that, the group’s numbers dwindled even more, leaving only a handful of people.

"Keep moving, I promise we’ll find a place to rest! You have to believe!" Warren tried instilling his people with hope, but nothing worked. They all moved and acted like zombies.

Still, they followed him, because if they did find a place to call home, a place where they could eat and drink away their malnourished bodies, Warren would see them as people who never turned their backs on him.

It wasn’t until a full year had passed that they finally found their sanctuary, a place to call home, a place they could eat, drink, and survive the harsh world they lived in.

"Is...Is that a moving village?" One of the people asked, awestruck by the sight.

"It’s sitting on the back of a large...turtle?"

Warren’s eyes lit up. "This is it, people! This will be our new home! Come, we need to get their attention!"

The group used all of their remaining power to signal for help, to get the village’s attention, or to stop the turtle from moving.

It took some effort, but eventually, it worked, and four people flew from the top of the massive turtle down to Warren and his people.

"Who are you?" The mysterious man asked, his body adorned in metal armor.

"I am...I am Warren. These are my people. We have been wandering the harshlands for the better part of a year. We’ve lost so many people and need housing. Please, take my people in. We can work in any way you need, and we have abilities if you wish for soldiers."

The mysterious people looked at each other, their faces covered by metal masks, making their expressions unknown.

"You are from the mountain, yes?"

Warren nodded subtly. "We are from a place known as the Nemean Tribe."

"If you renounce your allegiance to the Nemean Tribe, we, the Thrall, shall take you in."

Warren looked back, staring at the mountain off in the distance that had protected his former home for generations. Then, he looked back at the metal people.

"From this day forward, we shall serve the Thrall!" He got on his knees, showing his respect, and the others did the same, following Warren’s example.

"Good, our king would like to have a word with you."