My Kingdom Building Done Right!-Chapter 59: A New Wind Is Blowing From The East

Ulric didn’t trust the Ashclaw and Stormhorn Tribes, so he made it clear that the exchange could only take place in Grimjaw Mountain. The last thing they wanted was to get backstabbed during their journey.

Gromm and Ragan reluctantly agreed to his condition and had half of their men return to their respective tribes to report the situation.

They already felt anxious about how their Chieftains would react, especially Gromm, who was most familiar with his father’s short temper.

He was already in a bad mood, so Ragan made no effort to talk to him during their journey. The Head Hunter of the Ashclaw Tribe was still injured from one of Blitz’s lightning bolts.

Because of this, he no longer wanted to even come close to Ulric. He feared there wouldn’t be a next time.

Even so, Ragan still harbored a grudge. He vowed that once he reclaimed his men, he would immediately tell his chieftain about his suspicions.

In two months’ time, the middle-ranked tribes would send their representatives to collect their quarterly tribute from the lower-ranking tribes.

In short, the stronger tribes were collecting tax.

This allowed the weaker tribes like the Riverfang Tribe to retain their tribe’s name, as well as their respective hunting grounds.

Anyone who breached this agreement would be punished accordingly. There was once a tribe in the Borderlands who refused to pay their tribute and suffered the consequences of their actions.

All their men were killed, while the women and children were taken away as spoils of war by the stronger tribes.

Ragan was already planning to snitch on the Alborin Tribe as soon as he got back to his own camp.

Two days later, news of what had happened in the Black Wolf Tribe had reached the ears of the chieftains of the middle-ranked tribes.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to them. After Arlo’s death, the downfall of his tribe was already set in stone.

But they were more surprised about the one who managed to take the Black Wolf Tribe away. Unlike their expectations, it wasn’t the Ashclaw and Stormhorn Tribes.

It was the Alborin Tribe, whom Arlo had failed to subjugate.

"What an interesting development," the Chieftain of the Grimhowl Tribe, Hagen, muttered before glancing at the old shaman seated beside him. "What do you think of this unexpected outcome?"

"Would you like me to do bone reading?" the Old Shaman asked. "Or do you just want my opinion?"

"Your opinion, Gundar," Hagen replied. "I’m sure you don’t need to do bone reading to give me a piece of your mind."

The old man didn’t reply right away. He simply stared toward the east as if seeing something that was beyond his vision.

"A new wind is blowing from the east," Gundar said after a while. "It’s a breeze that brings changes, and the Alborin Tribe is at the center of it all. I have no idea how they managed to survive Arlo’s raid. But one thing is certain. Only a miracle could have prevented the inevitable from taking place."

"Even you... believe that what happened was a miracle?" Hagen smiled faintly.

"The previous chieftain of the Alborin Tribe was a close friend of mine," Gundar stated. "However, I am already too old to look after his people. If I were at least ten years younger, I would have invited Ulric and his tribe to join us."

"Why didn’t you invite them?" Hagen asked. "Don’t you trust me?"

"I don’t," Gundar admitted. "I don’t know when I will die. I also don’t want to pass away, worrying about what might happen to them when I’m gone. As long as I’m around, they will have nothing to worry about. But... even I can tell that my days are already numbered."

"You’re so dramatic," Hagen scoffed. "You’re only a hundred and twenty years old this year. You can even lift a bull with one hand. Who are you calling old? I have a feeling that you might even outlive all of us."

The old man chuckled because his Chieftain was being too optimistic. While he might still be strong today, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t live past his next birthday.

"By the way, I have a favor to ask," Gundar said.

"Speak." Hagen nodded.

"When it’s time for the middle-ranked tribes to collect the tribute, I want to be there to observe," Gundar stated.

Hagen frowned. However, a glance was enough to tell him that the old shaman was serious.

"Might as well." Hagen crossed his arms over his chest. "But when you do, don’t give them special treatment. The tribes in the Borderlands have laws. Those who break them will be broken in return."

"I know." Gundar nodded. "I just want to see Ulric one last time."

"Will you survive the trip, old man?"

"If I travel by road, I probably won’t make it. But if I fly, that’s a different matter altogether."

"I heard that there’s a Gryphon in the Grimjaw Mountain." Hagen smirked. "Won’t your giant hawk become its food if it approached its territory?"

Gundar narrowed his eyes. "I have a feeling that... what you speak of will not happen."

Hagen shrugged. "Well, as long as you’re certain you’ll be fine, then go ahead. But, remember this, Gundar. Your life belongs to me. You are not allowed to die unless I give you permission."

"What an unreasonable Chieftain you are." Gundar shook his head helplessly. "But don’t worry. I won’t die until the winter solstice."

"... That’s only five months away."

"Then I guess you still have time to build the biggest, grandest funeral pyre to send me off."

Hagen scratched his head. The old man was too casual when it came to his own death.

The old shaman had been serving their family for generations and had allowed them to prosper since the time that Hagen’s grandfather was still the chieftain.

Losing him would be a big blow to the Grimhowl Tribe, which was facing off some difficult challenges as of late.