Reborn As A Beastman With A System

The Adik Tribe was located 150 miles from the Silver Mane Tribe, and the Qatar Tribe a slightly closer 120 miles away. Despite the proximity, neither the Adik nor Qatar tribes knew anything about the disastrous defeat of the Coalition Forces at the hands of the Silver Mane Tribe, even after two days and a night had passed. The Coalition had been completely annihilated; not a single soldier had escaped to relay the grim news.

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'Early Morning'

The sun had barely risen when Artom, heir to the Adik Tribe, rode out with a small entourage of guards. Their destination: a cluster of eight small tribal settlements near the Adik Tribe's territory. It was Artom's first visit to the area, and he approached the settlement with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

As soon as they entered the settlement, Artom's face twisted in disgust. A putrid stench filled the air, assaulting his senses. He paused, covering his nose with a fur-lined hand, and grimaced. "It reeks!" he exclaimed, his sharp tone cutting through the stillness of the morning.

The guards glanced at each other nervously, not daring to respond. Artom stepped forward hesitantly, his boots crunching on the uneven ground littered with debris. Everywhere he looked, he saw piles of filth, feces, discarded bones, and other refuse. He couldn't tell whether the mess came from the orcs or their now-depleted stock of domesticated monsters. Either way, it didn't matter. It was revolting.

"They've probably eaten everything but the wolves," Artom muttered, kicking a broken wooden plank out of his way. "Disgusting!"

His sharp eyes scanned the settlement, taking in the sorry state of the place. The dwellings were a patchwork of crude construction; some houses were built of loosely piled stones, others were makeshift wooden huts that seemed ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. But what truly baffled him was the number of caves. Actual caves, carved into the hillside, being used as homes.

"Caves?" Artom said aloud, his voice dripping with incredulity. "Are they seriously living in caves? What kind of savagery is this?" He shook his head, both appalled and astonished. "The Adik Tribe may not be the grandest, but at least we've moved beyond 'this'."

As Artom continued deeper into the settlement, the scene grew bleaker. Beside some of the dilapidated homes, withered orcs lay sprawled on the ground, their gaunt faces staring at him with hollow, confused eyes. The sight was pitiful. These Beastmen were clearly starving; some too weak to even rise. He noticed one particularly frail figure attempting to sit up but collapsing back onto the dirt.

Artom frowned but didn't seem surprised. Word had already reached the Adik Tribe that these smaller settlements were on the verge of collapse due to severe food shortages. For over ten days, the orcs in this area had been surviving on one meager meal a day, just enough to stave off death, but not enough to live.

"Call over the remaining officials from these tribes," Artom ordered, his tone clipped and indifferent. He waved his hand toward his four guards, motioning for them to spread out. "I want them here now."

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"Yes, my Lord!" the guards responded, splitting up and disappearing into the settlement.

Artom remained where he was, looking out over the scattered dwellings that stretched for several miles. Despite the wretched conditions, he couldn't help but note the potential. The eight tribes combined might be small, but they still boasted a population of several thousand Beastmen. That was no insignificant number, even if they were weak and starving.

And that was precisely why Artom had come. His father, Alilang, had led the Coalition Forces in their war against the Silver Mane Tribe, leaving Artom behind to oversee the tribe and its neighboring settlements. As heir to the Adik Tribe, Artom saw this as an opportunity to solidify his legacy. Once the Coalition Forces crushed the Silver Mane Tribe and in Artom's mind, their victory was inevitable; the Adik Tribe would move swiftly to absorb these smaller settlements. Artom wanted to ensure he would be remembered as the leader who expanded their domain.

"This will all be ours soon enough," Artom murmured to himself, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Not long after, his guards returned, accompanied by a dozen or so Beastmen from the eight tribes. These were the political and military officials who served as leaders; each a fourth-level warrior. However, as Artom watched them approach, his initial confidence wavered. The warriors were in pitiful shape. Their steps were unsteady, their faces gaunt, and their bodies thin to the point of frailty. Artom suppressed a sigh of disappointment.

'Even the fourth-level warriors are starving,' he thought, shaking his head. 'How pathetic.'

The group of officials bowed deeply upon reaching him. Their voices, weak but respectful, rose in unison. "Greetings, Master Artom!"

Artom regarded them with a critical eye, his expression unreadable. "So these are the leaders of the eight tribes," he said slowly, mostly to himself. He gestured at the nearest one, a wiry Beastman whose ribs were visible beneath his tattered clothes. "Fourth-level warriors, starving like beggars," he muttered, loud enough for them to hear. "How is it you've allowed your people to fall into such a disgraceful state?"

The officials exchanged nervous glances but said nothing. They were painfully aware of their dependence on the Adik Tribe for survival. It wasn't just food they lacked, it was resources, medicine, and even the strength to hunt effectively. Artom's words stung, but they couldn't refute them.

Still, Artom's lips curled into a sly smile. This was exactly the kind of leverage he needed. These tribes were weak, desperate, and entirely at his mercy. The perfect opportunity to begin his campaign of annexation. For now, he would bide his time and play the role of the benevolent heir. But soon enough, they would kneel; not just out of desperation, but out of allegiance. And when they did, his place in history would be assured.

Artom waved his hand dismissively, surveying the dozen or so Beastmen standing before him. His sharp eyes took in their gaunt faces, sunken eyes, and trembling frames. The sight of leaders, those who were supposed to command respect and strength; reduced to this pathetic state made him sneer inwardly.

"Tell me," he said with a calm yet cutting tone, "are your eight tribes truly so destitute that even your leaders, your supposed strongest and wisest, are starving? Or have you simply given up on trying?"

The question hung in the air, cold and biting. The gathered Beastmen exchanged embarrassed glances, their expressions tinged with bitterness. None dared to answer immediately. Artom's words had struck at a truth they couldn't deny: their tribes were out of food, and they were running on sheer desperation.

Finally, one of them, a thin Beastman with hollow cheeks, forced a weak smile. "Master Young Chief Artom, it's true we're struggling, but there's no need to worry. Once the coalition forces return victorious from defeating the Silver Mane Tribe, there will be plenty of food for all of us."

"Yes," another chimed in, as if reassuring himself as much as the others. "The Silver Mane Tribe is rich in supplies. When the coalition wins, we'll feast like kings."

The others nodded in agreement, their voices rising in a chorus of forced optimism.

"That's right! Soon enough, there'll be no more hunger."

"Victory is near. We'll all be fine!"

Artom listened silently, letting their naive words wash over him. His lips curled into a smirk, though he kept his face otherwise unreadable. 'Fools,' he thought to himself. 'You think salvation is just around the corner? You don't even know what's coming.'

When the noise had died down, Artom spoke again, his voice casual but with an edge that made the gathered Beastmen bristle. "And what if I told you there was another way to ensure your survival, a better way? What if you joined the Adik Tribe?"

His words landed like a thunderclap. The gathered political officials froze, their faces shifting from confusion to shock and then to anger. For a moment, no one spoke. Then one of the older Beastmen stepped forward, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Master Artom," he began cautiously, his voice laced with suspicion, "what exactly do you mean by that?"

Artom's smile turned cold, and he leaned forward slightly, his sharp teeth glinting. "Exactly what it sounds like. I'm offering you and your tribes a chance to join the Adik Tribe. It's the only logical step if you want to survive."

The reaction was immediate. The gathered Beastmen erupted in outrage.

"Join the Adik Tribe? Never!"

"Do you take us for fools? We'll have food soon enough once the coalition returns!"

"There's no need to join anyone! Once the Silver Mane Tribe is destroyed, we'll reclaim our strength and territory."

The protests came fast and loud, accompanied by scornful glances and mocking smirks. Artom let them speak, his smile widening as their arrogance revealed itself. When the noise finally quieted, he burst into laughter; loud, harsh, and utterly devoid of humor.

"You pathetic fools," he said, his laughter cutting off abruptly, replaced by a voice as cold as ice. "You really think the coalition will save you? You think your problems will magically disappear once the Silver Mane Tribe is gone?"

His words sent a chill through the group. Their defiance wavered as uncertainty began to creep in.

"What are you saying?" one of them demanded, his voice less steady than before.

Artom's eyes glinted with contempt. "You've been living in a dream. Let me give you a wake-up call. Ever since your tribes were crushed by the Silver Mane Tribe and you came crawling to the Adik Tribe for refuge, your fate was sealed. Did you really think we would let you go back to your old ways once this was over?"

The gathered Beastmen stared at him, their faces pale with realization. Artom continued, his voice sharp and relentless.

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"This coalition wasn't just about destroying the Silver Mane Tribe. It was about consolidating power. Once the coalition returns victorious, the Adik Tribe will become the strongest force in this region. And when that happens, your eight tribes will have two choices: submit to us and be absorbed into the Adik Tribe, or resist and be wiped out."

"You can't be serious!" one of the Beastmen shouted, his voice trembling with anger and fear. "You dare threaten us like this? Do you think we'll just bow our heads?"

Another stepped forward, his fists clenched. "If the eight tribes unite, we'll be strong enough to resist even the Adik Tribe!"

Artom sneered, his sharp teeth flashing. "Unite? You can't even feed yourselves, let alone stand together. Your tribes are weak, scattered, and starving. What unity could you possibly muster? Face it, you're at our mercy."

The officials fell silent, their bravado fading as Artom's words sank in. The truth was undeniable. Their tribes were on the brink of collapse, and without the Adik Tribe, they had no means of survival. Yet the thought of surrendering their autonomy, their pride, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Artom straightened, his tone shifting from cold to almost conversational. "This isn't a threat. It's reality. The Adik Tribe is offering you a lifeline. Join us, and your people will have food, protection, and a future. Refuse, and you'll face the inevitable."

He stepped closer, his piercing gaze sweeping over them. "You have until the coalition forces return to make your choice. Choose wisely."

With that, Artom turned and walked away, his guards following close behind. The gathered Beastmen stood in silence, the weight of his words pressing heavily on their shoulders. For the first time, they realized the precariousness of their position and the ruthless ambition of the Adik Tribe.