Translator: CinderTL
Every year, the Orc Warchief Tent sent envoys to the various tribes, demanding vast quantities of livestock, furs, and even conscripting warriors into the Warchief Tent's army.
These demands were often harsh and merciless. Those who refused were branded traitors and purged.
In contrast, the humans only collected token tributes of furs and a few supplies, without forcibly conscripting people or livestock. For these tribes, the tribute was almost negligible.
Therefore, when the Expeditionary Force decided to abandon the four eastern water sources and retreat to Blackwater Lake, many tribes chose not to remain behind. Instead, they voluntarily followed the Expeditionary Force westward.
They believed that living alongside humans was safer than facing Abal's wrath.
Of course, this choice was also rooted in deep fear.
They knew that Abal would not easily forgive their "betrayal," and their only recourse was to seek refuge under human protection and flee as far as possible from the impending storm.
The Grasslands Expeditionary Force's policy of symbolic taxation toward the local tribes was not a spur-of-the-moment decision but rather a recommendation from Alvey, a scholar accompanying the army.
Alvey, a scholar from the Scholars' Tower in Gabella, was already well-versed in the histories of various races. After the outbreak of war with the Orcs, he returned to the Northern Three Lands and joined Andrew's Expeditionary Force as it advanced into the Grasslands. There, he observed and documented the customs and structures of the various tribes, quickly becoming a crucial advisor to the force.
He observed that while the Orc Clans of the Grasslands nominally submitted to the Chieftain's Tent, their ties to each other were loose. Once the Chieftain's Tent lost its deterrent power, these clans would readily align themselves with a new, stronger authority.
Based on this assessment, Alvey proposed a strategy: to gradually detach these tribes from Abal's rule through economic means, without provoking resentment.
He suggested that after seizing control of water sources, the Expeditionary Force should levy a minimal tax on the local tribes, such as furs, dried meat, or a few livestock. The value of these goods would be negligible, barely affecting the tribes' livelihoods, yet it would subtly establish a relationship of ruler and ruled on a psychological level.
"We must accustom them to surrendering goods to us," Alvey wrote in a report. "Even a few pelts signify their recognition of our presence and acceptance of our order."
The primary goal of this policy, Alvey believed, was to establish a sense of authority. If the Expeditionary Force took nothing, the tribes would see them as mere temporary visitors on the grasslands. If they demanded too much, it would provoke resistance. Only a moderate levy could strike the right balance between the two.
Andrew adopted this suggestion, and a symbolic taxation system was quickly established after the Expeditionary Force seized control of the water sources.
This strategy of "light taxation, heavy authority" proved effective in the short term. Many tribes began to view the Expeditionary Force as the new order-givers rather than mere invaders.
This also explains why many small tribes chose to migrate with the Expeditionary Force during its westward retreat—they had already come to see the humans as their new protectors.
In the harsh and unforgiving grassland environment, when practical benefits reached a certain threshold, honor took a backseat.
Abal led the main Orc force across the Rocky Mountains, once again setting foot on the soil of the Western Grasslands.
But his return failed to bring the expected surge of morale. Instead, it stirred a ripple of unease.
The tribal chieftains who had remained behind, unwilling to follow the Expeditionary Force westward, were summoned to an ancient altar—a place that once symbolized the authority of the Chieftain's Tent.
Standing on the high platform, Abal's gaze swept over the chieftains kneeling before him like a blade. His voice was low and filled with fury:
"Why do you submit to human rule? Why do you not fight them?" He demanded loyalty, dignity, and the pride that should define all Orcs.
The chieftains bowed their heads in silence. After a moment, an elderly Chief raised his head, his voice hoarse but tinged with grievance:
"We did not fail to resist. We tried ambushes, raids, even gathered armies of thousands... but they have iron armor, guns, and impenetrable fortifications."
He paused, a hint of resignation in his tone. "It's not that we fear death or don't want to win... but we simply can't defeat them. What else could we do? Watch our tribesmen and livestock die of thirst on the parched grasslands?"
His words struck like a heavy stone, weighing down the hearts of all the chieftains. They had tried to fight, but the human army proved far more powerful than they had imagined. With their water sources controlled and roads blocked, they had been left with no choice.
Abal's expression grew increasingly grim. He said nothing, merely glaring coldly at the chieftains who had surrendered to the enemy. He knew their excuses weren't entirely false, but that was precisely the truth he least wanted to hear.
The Grassland had changed!
He had to reclaim control of this land!
Abal didn't exchange another word with the chieftains. He waved them away.
The crowd at the altar quickly dispersed, leaving only his closest retainers standing behind him, their expressions varied.
Night fell. A fire pit was lit in the grand tent, casting flickering shadows across their solemn faces.
Abal sat in the main seat, silent, waiting for his subordinates to speak.
His eldest son, Ajil, was the first to break the silence.
"Father," he said, his voice filled with righteous indignation, "we cannot tolerate these chieftains' betrayal. They weren't forced into it; they chose cowardice over death. They accepted human rule, and many even followed them west. This is an insult to the Chieftain's Tent!"
He paused, a glint of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. "Those chieftains who surrendered to the humans should be executed, and their tribes brought under the direct rule of the Chieftain's Tent. Only by doing so can we deter the remaining tribes and make them understand the price of betrayal."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Shaman Otasi shook his head in disagreement. "Brute force will only make things worse."
His voice was deep and slow, carrying a hint of gravitas. "These tribes aren't monolithic. They've only chosen to follow the humans out of desperation for survival. If we launch a purge now, we'll only drive them completely into the humans' arms, even uniting them against us."
He raised his head, his gaze fixed on Abal. "You can't win hearts with swords and blades, Orc Chieftain."
Ajil snorted, ready to retort, but another voice cut him off.
"Perhaps we should start by securing a decisive victory," General Calem said calmly. "If we defeat the humans on the battlefield and reclaim Blackwater Lake, those wavering tribes will naturally return to our fold."
Arroya nodded in agreement. "Yes, a single victory is more intimidating and persuasive than a hundred dead chieftains. We must show the Grassland that the White Wolf Clan remains strong, that the Orc Warchief Tent remains strong."
Silence fell over the tent.
Abal didn't immediately respond. He simply stared into the fire pit, watching the flames dance over the burning charcoal.
He knew he had to make a choice, a choice that would determine the future of the Grassland.
(End of the Chapter)
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