"Have the refugees from the Small Fang Tribe and the Dragon Tusk Tribe been accounted for?"
Inside the dimly lit wooden council hall, the air was thick with unease.
For a moment, the heavy tension was lifted as the eldest priest of the Greenclaw Tribe finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Shasuryu Shasha, the tribal patriarch, remained quiet. He understood that, in moments like these, even his authority could not compare to the calming presence of the Elder Priest.
At times of crisis, it was the elders' voices that held the power to steady shaken hearts.
"Report the situation."
A black-scaled Lizardman warrior, seated in the corner, instinctively raised his head at the command. His voice wavered at first as he spoke.
"Fifty survivors have fled from the Small Fang Tribe."
His claws tensed against his knees as he continued.
"Thirty female Lizardmen. Fifteen children. Five elderly males."
"As for the Dragon Tusk Tribe, refugees are still arriving. We haven't completed the count yet."
His initial nervousness faded as he spoke, replaced by a subtle excitement creeping into his tone.
The others in the room instantly understood why.
Nearly all the survivors were women and children. The number of male warriors who escaped was shockingly low.
To the average Lizardman, this could be seen as a good thing—more potential mates, fewer competitors.
But to the leaders gathered here, it carried a far more sinister implication.
A hunting squad leader, his rough voice tinged with unease, was the first to put their shared thoughts into words.
"This isn't normal."
Indeed, it was anything but normal.
Zaryusu Shasha sat on the ground, one leg propped up, his scales faintly clinking as they brushed against the weapon hanging from his waist.
It was a strange, pale-colored weapon, its edge shimmering faintly in the dim light—a fusion of blade and trident.
The Frost Pain.
The treasure of their tribe.
A cold sensation seeped from the blade, forcing Zaryusu to steady his breath, suppressing the irritation clawing at his chest.
"In any battle, the most vulnerable are always the women and children."
Shasuryu Shasha finally broke his silence, planting his thick tail firmly on the ground and straightening his upper body.
His sharp gaze swept across the gathered Lizardmen before he continued.
"At the very least, the strongest warriors of the tribes should have had the best chance to escape. But they didn't."
His voice was low, heavy.
"And that means only one thing."
His claws clenched into fists. A wave of anger surged through him—accompanied by a chill that prickled at his spine.
The warriors of both tribes hadn't fled because they couldn't.
They had all been slaughtered.
And the one responsible…
A single, mysterious human.
One whose strength surpassed all prior intelligence reports.
Not a single warrior had escaped.
Only the weak were spared.
Was it an act of mercy?
Or was it simply indifference?
Neither possibility boded well.
A priest Lizardman hesitated before speaking, his voice laced with unease.
"The human… they must be a Magic Caster who commands third-tier magic. They summoned two angelic creatures during the attack."
Among all the priests present, the strongest among them—the Elder Priest—only wielded second-tier magic.
The gap was staggering.
"In all the information we have, that's the only ability this human has shown so far."
Another priest added, his scaled hands trembling slightly.
"But if they can summon multiple angelic creatures, it's likely they possess immense magical power."
The warriors of the Dragon Tusk Tribe had reported killing several of the summoned beings, but it hadn't mattered.
More kept appearing.
The realization sent a ripple of unease through the group.
Even if they could kill the summoned creatures, the human could simply call forth more.
Despite the growing anxiety, the Elder Priest remained composed.
He exhaled slowly before speaking.
"After all, there is only one human."
His voice was soft but carried an air of wisdom.
"Third-tier magic is powerful, yes. But it is not invincible."
"The Small Fang and Dragon Tusk Tribes collapsed because they were unprepared. We, however, now possess knowledge of our enemy."
"With the right plan, this human can be dealt with."
A low murmur spread through the council.
For the first time, there was a flicker of hope—a belief that, perhaps, this situation was not as dire as it seemed.
But then—
A cold, cutting voice interrupted the moment.
"You're making an assumption."
Zaryusu Shasha, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
His eyes glowed with sharp calculation as he posed the dreaded question.
"What if this human is far stronger than what we've seen so far?"
The room fell deathly silent.
A wave of unease crashed back over the gathered warriors.
A burly hunter Lizardman, his patience worn thin, snapped at Zaryusu.
"You're just a traveler among us! This isn't your place to question our elders!"
His voice was nearly a roar.
Zaryusu remained unfazed, his expression unreadable.
"I am merely speculating."
"Speculation or not," the hunter sneered, "are you suggesting we should run?"
Zaryusu narrowed his eyes.
"Are you an idiot?"
"If the human is even stronger than what we've seen, then any plan based on our current knowledge will be worthless."
He glanced around the room, his voice carrying a sharp edge of reason.
"We need to prepare for the worst-case scenario. That means ensuring our countermeasures don't just hurt them—they eliminate them."
"The Red Eye and Razor Tail Tribes need to be informed. We need a unified front. If we let this human slip away, we may not get another chance!"
Before the argument could escalate further, a booming voice echoed through the chamber.
"ENOUGH!"
The Elder Priest slammed his staff against the wooden floor.
The room fell silent.
His sharp gaze darted between the two quarreling warriors.
"We have no room for infighting."
His voice was low but carried undeniable authority.
"We must act—not waste time bickering."
The fate of their tribe depended on it.
The room fell silent.
The tension in the wooden council hall was palpable.
The Elder Priest finally broke the silence, his aged eyes fixed on Shasuryu Shasha.
"Patriarch, what do you think?"
Shasuryu lifted his gaze, his expression serious.
"Zaryusu is right."
"There may only be one human, but if he escapes, it will be a true disaster. We must eliminate him in one strike—no hesitation."
His tail coiled slightly, emphasizing the weight of his words.
"This isn't just our tribe's problem anymore."
A solemn agreement settled over the gathered leaders.
The decision was made.
The Greenclaw Tribe sprang into action.
Two Lizardman war parties were dispatched—one to the Red Eye Tribe, the other to the Razor Tail Tribe.
The destruction of two major tribes had changed everything.
Under normal circumstances, tensions between the various Lizardman clans made alliances difficult.
But this time?
Even the most stubborn chieftains understood the reality—cooperation was survival.
The Greenclaw warriors were ordered to stand vigil day and night, guarding against a possible human counterattack.
Meanwhile, a hunting squad was sent to scout the ruins of the Dragon Tusk Tribe, searching for any remaining clues.
As messengers traveled between the three allied tribes, warriors gathered.
The battle lines were being drawn.
Amid the chaos, life within the Greenclaw Tribe continued.
A thin Lizardman, a woven fishing basket slung over his back, moved casually through the village streets.
He nodded to the patrolling warriors as he passed, his steps unhurried, his demeanor unremarkable.
To any observer, he was just another tribesman going to fish.
But he wasn't.
The current situation made leaving the village risky, but for those who craved fresh prey, food was still a priority.
And fortunately…
The tribe was built near a lake.
After making sure no one was watching, the Lizardman reached the water's edge.
With a final glance over his shoulder—
"Plop!"
He dove in, disappearing beneath the lake's surface.
Beneath the water, the Lizardman swam swiftly, heading toward the lake's depths.
But as he emerged once more, something began to change.
His once-powerful frame started shrinking—his thick black scales pulling inward, his limbs narrowing.
From his forehead, new spiked ridges protruded.
In the blink of an eye—
He no longer looked like a Lizardman at all.
Because he wasn't one.
The truth was far more dangerous.
A burrower.
A member of a sparsely populated species that lurked in the Upper Lake region, hidden deep within the Great Wetlands.
And the proof of his true nature?
The sharp, pointed skull atop his head.
His webbed claws lifted, revealing a darkly glowing ring coiled around one of his long, sharp-nailed fingers.
A magic artifact.
The secret behind his disguise.
With it, he had walked among the Lizardmen, unnoticed.
"A bunch of simple-minded fools."
A sneer curled across his thin lips.
"The Lower Lake Wetlands should belong to us."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he scanned his surroundings.
Then, without hesitation, he slipped deeper into the Upper Lake region.
The Upper Lake Wetlands were a stark contrast to the Lower Lake's calm waters.
Here, danger lurked everywhere—from vicious magical beasts to the ever-persistent Frogmen, a race even the burrowers found infuriating.
As he moved, the burrower passed the outskirts of Frogman territory.
There, a massive, toad-like figure lay sprawled in the mud, its slimy skin glistening.
It rolled lazily, shifting with an almost careless motion.
Beyond it, several more Frogmen were doing the same, their movements eerily synchronized.
They had noticed him.
But only for a moment.
Their bulging eyes flicked toward him—then just as quickly, they lost interest.
"Tch."
The burrower gritted his teeth in irritation but did not slow down.
He knew better than to engage them.
Unlike the xenophobic, traditionalist Lizardmen, Frogmen didn't care about outsiders.
To them, wandering beasts, monsters, or even other sentient races were nothing of concern.
Not because they were friendly.
But because they were cold-blooded predators.
Frogmen lived by a strict hierarchy.
They didn't attack unless provoked.
They didn't hunt unless hungry.
And today?
They simply weren't hungry.
But if a creature stepped too far into their domain or showed the slightest sign of threat—
Their instincts would take over.
And there would be no mercy.
The burrower knew this all too well.
So he did what any wise intruder would do.
He hurried on without looking back.
The Frogmen remained motionless, their lifeless eyes staring into the distance.
For now, the burrower was safe.
But he knew better than to let his guard down.
Because in this swamp—
Predators never truly rest.
To the burrowers, both Lizardmen and Frogmen were nothing but fools.
And yet, for all their supposed wisdom, the burrowers occupied the smallest piece of territory in the wetlands.
The deep jungle wetlands grew more tangled as he moved forward, the air heavy with damp moss and creeping vines.
A faint mist curled low to the ground, shrouding the twisted roots and rotting foliage in eerie stillness.
Yet the burrower walked with ease, his movements quick and practiced.
Before long, he arrived at his destination.
An ancient, abandoned castle.
Nestled deep within the jungle, its crumbling walls loomed three stories high, half-consumed by nature's slow, unrelenting grasp.
The moment he set foot near the castle—
His entire demeanor changed.
His expression shifted from arrogance to awe, and his careful strides became measured, reverent.
Then—
"Hee-hee, what do I see?"
A chilling, sing-song voice echoed from behind him.
The burrower froze.
Just moments ago, he had been alone.
"A cute little lizard."
The voice dripped with amusement.
His thoughts raced, but his body reacted first.
Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead into the damp earth.
"My Lord, there is trouble among the Lizardmen."
"Oh?"
The voice hummed, playful yet detached.
"And why should I care?"
The air around him grew heavier, pressing down like an unseen weight.
Still, the burrower did not dare to look up.
"Something... strange has happened, my lord."
Slowly, he recounted everything—the destruction of the Dragon Tusk Tribe, the mysterious human, and the unusual mercy shown to the fleeing Lizardmen.
A long silence followed.
Then, a dismissive sigh.
"How dull. Leave."
The burrower did not hesitate.
He lowered his head even further, then turned and left as fast as his legs would carry him.
At the entrance of the decaying fortress, a slender figure emerged.
But as its shadow stretched across the damp ground—
It split into two.
"Hear me."
The voice was smooth, coquettish, yet laced with a quiet malice.
"I have no interest in petty Lizardmen squabbles. You've wasted too much of my time already. Pray that the next time you come, you bring me something of value."
From the third floor of the castle, a calm, detached voice cut through the air.
Click.
A rotting window creaked open, its brittle wood splintering from neglect.
From within the shadows, a figure emerged—a man draped in a black robe, his hooked nose casting a sharp silhouette against the dim light.
A human.
No one would expect to find a human here, in the depths of the Great Wetlands.
Yet, there he stood.
Dust and debris drifted from the window frame, but before they could settle—
They disintegrated.
A pulse of magic shimmered around him, dissolving the remnants into nothing.
Simply by standing there, he exuded an invisible force, thick with power and command.
The air itself felt oppressive, as though the swamp itself bent to his will.
His light brown eyes flickered with something unreadable as he gazed into the jungle.
"Angels…?"
"Church agents…?"
A cold smirk curled on his lips.
"Let's hope they don't interfere with my plans."
Meanwhile, within the ruins of the Dragon Tusk Tribe, Sakeer set down an aged scroll, rubbing his temples.
For the past two days, he had been immersed in study, deciphering the magical texts and techniques left behind by the Lizardmen.
Fortunately, he had kept one of their priests alive.
He stretched, cracking his neck before reaching down to scratch the head of the Barghest curled beside him.
His gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"Two days have passed."
"I wonder what the Lizardmen are planning now?"