Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Chapter 176: Common Enemy!

In full view of the assembled council, Arar sat with unwavering authority in the chief's chair, his posture regal, his eyes sharp as they swept across the gathered leaders. Each movement was deliberate, meant to remind everyone present who held power in this moment.

He surveyed the room, letting his gaze linger on each of the eight chiefs, who had come with great expectations. Their faces were lined with concern, desperation hidden beneath expressions of forced patience. They were not here for pleasantries: this was a matter of survival.

Finally, Arar's lips curled into a measured smile, and his voice, calm but commanding, broke the tense silence. "My esteemed chiefs, when it comes to the food crisis you face, I regret to inform you that the Adik tribe can offer no assistance."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, though no one dared interrupt him. Arar continued, his tone steady, "The famine grows worse by the day. Our own grain stores are nearly depleted, and the once fertile lands we depend on now yield little. We cannot afford to take risks. Our people would starve."

The chiefs exchanged quick glances, anger flashing in their eyes. It was as if a flame had been lit beneath them. After all this time, after all the discussions and hopes, they were being turned away? Why hadn't the Adik tribe said so earlier? Why let them travel here, hearts heavy with worry, only to receive this refusal? They had hoped for aid, not delays.

But despite their rising frustration, none of them spoke out. They couldn't afford to challenge Arar, not openly.

Then, Arar's voice softened, a hint of mischief in his tone. "However," he said, leaning slightly forward, "though my tribe has no food to spare, I do know where you can find it."

The words caught them off guard. The anger in the room quickly morphed into confusion. All eight chiefs turned their eyes to Arar, brows furrowed, searching for meaning in his cryptic statement. Food was the one thing none of them could find, no matter how far they traveled. What could he possibly know?

The eldest among them, a grizzled Beastman chieftain with deep scars marking his face and experience etched into every line, stood up. He bowed deeply, his voice a low rumble. "Chief Arar, if you truly know where food can be found, I beg you; tell us. We will be forever in your debt."

The others quickly echoed his sentiment, desperation spilling from their lips. "Yes, tell us, please. We are at your mercy." Chapter Continue:

The weight of their plea filled the room, thick as the scent of damp earth before a storm. Arar let the moment stretch before he spoke again, his voice brimming with purpose. "I gathered you here not just to speak of food, but of something far greater. This famine threatens not only your tribes but also my own. We are all standing on the edge of collapse.

But this threat; this scarcity, it connects us to something larger. To a force all of us have been cautious to name aloud: the Silvermane Tribe."

At the mention of the Silvermane Tribe, a wave of shock passed through the room. The name alone held weight, conjuring images of conquest, brutality, and fear. The Silvermane Tribe had become a colossus, growing ever larger by absorbing weaker tribes. But what did they have to do with food?

Arar saw their confusion and did not delay. "Our fields may be barren, but do you think the Silvermane Tribe suffers the same fate?"

The chiefs exchanged uneasy glances, unsure where Arar was leading them. One of the younger chiefs, quicker on the uptake, stepped forward. "You mean to say… the Silvermane Tribe has food?"

Arar's smile widened. "Precisely."

The room fell silent as the implication sank in. The chiefs' faces grew pale as they realized what he was suggesting. One of them, voice barely steady, asked the question they were all thinking. "You mean… we should go to the Silvermane Tribe for food?"

The Beastman chieftain's face twisted in disbelief. "That's madness! Walking into the Silvermane territory is as good as walking into a tiger's den. They would never lend us food, and even if they did, how could we trust them not to use it as leverage against us?"

Whispers of doubt echoed around the room. The idea of approaching the Silvermane Tribe, their enemy, for food was not just unthinkable; it was dangerous.

Arar raised a hand, silencing the rising tension. "I understand your fears, but think about it; if the Silvermane Tribe is thriving while we starve, what does that tell you? They are amassing power, food, and resources while the rest of us weaken. If we do nothing, if we don't act now, it won't be long before the Silvermanes come for us all."

The chiefs were silent, each one wrestling with the truth of his words. Arar had laid the stakes bare. It wasn't just about food anymore; it was about survival against a greater enemy.

"We must be clever," Arar continued, his voice now low and full of meaning. "We may not be able to fight the Silvermane Tribe head-on, but there are ways to turn this situation to our advantage. Together, we can ensure that this famine doesn't break us, it strengthens us."

The chiefs stared at him, a mix of fear and intrigue dancing in their eyes. Arar had not just offered them a solution to their hunger; he had given them a glimpse of a larger strategy. Now, it was up to them to decide whether to take the risk.

The room, once heavy with despair, was now alive with the weight of a dangerous possibility.

The other Beastman chiefs exchanged incredulous glances, the absurdity of Arar's suggestion hanging heavy in the air. How could he even propose such a thing?

One chieftain, his fur bristling with indignation, stood up, his voice quaking with barely contained anger. "Master Chief Arar, are you suggesting we go to the Silver Mane Tribe to beg for food? If that's your plan, then I will take my leave right now."

His frustration was palpable, a storm brewing beneath the surface. Even among wolves, there was pride, and this was a humiliation he could not bear. He felt that Arar was belittling them, mocking the fallen status of their tribes.

"Are you truly leaving?" Arar inquired, a calm smile still gracing his lips. There was no anger in his voice, only a curious challenge. "But tell me, if you leave now, how long do you think your tribe will last without food? How long can any of our tribes survive in this famine?"

The tension in the room was thick as the chieftains pondered his words. Even the chieftain who had stood to leave hesitated, the reality of their situation sinking in. The urgency of hunger loomed large; thousands of mouths to feed was no small matter.

"Honestly," Arar continued, leaning forward, "from what I've gathered, the Silver Mane Tribe has more food than they know what to do with. If they were suffering like us, why would the famine be worsening? This tribe, which started with only 2,000 Beastmen, has expanded dramatically in just over six months."

He paused, allowing the weight of his statements to settle. "They've grown stronger by annexing smaller tribes, taking advantage of our weakness. If the Silver Mane Tribe has the food we so desperately need, then why don't we consider borrowing some?"

"Borrow?" The room fell silent, eyes darting to one another, realization dawning. They weren't naive; they understood that "borrowing" food from the Silver Mane Tribe might come with heavy strings attached.

"Why is everyone so hesitant?" Arar pressed, his tone sharpening slightly. "The Silver Mane Tribe is ambitious. If we do nothing, they will only continue to expand, and we will become their next targets."

An older Beastman chief, his voice steady but filled with concern, interjected, "Master Chief Arar, are you suggesting we should unite to confront the Silver Mane Tribe?"

"Exactly!" Arar nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eyes for the old chief's perceptiveness.

"But even united, do we stand a chance against them?" the elder replied, his brow furrowed in worry. "The Silver Mane Tribe boasts a population of 50,000 to 60,000, with a formidable force of at least 30,000. Even if we combined our strengths, could we truly defeat them?"

The gravity of his words hung heavily in the air. The other chiefs fell into deep thought, wrestling with the implications. Arar's plan had merit, but the fear of facing such overwhelming odds loomed large.

With their tribes on the brink of collapse, the prospect of joining forces was tempting. They knew that without food, they would soon be left with nothing. The Silver Mane Tribe posed a direct threat; a cancer that could spread and consume them all if left unchecked.

Yet, could they truly muster the courage to fight back against such a powerful enemy? What if their efforts failed? The thought of facing death at the hands of the Silver Mane Tribe was daunting.

Just then, Artom, Arar's son, stood up. He looked at his father, receiving a nod of encouragement before addressing the assembly. "My Lords, Chiefs, Commanders, and Elders," he began, his voice steady but respectful. "May I speak?"

The chiefs turned their attention to Artom, curiosity piqued. In this moment, he felt the weight of their hopes and fears, resting on his shoulders.