Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Even if the alliance included only two formidable tribes, Logan knew the current strength of the Silver Mane Tribe could crush them with ease. In his mind, a scattered coalition posed no real threat, just more wolves for him to command. And if he could place a traitorous "wolf" among them, all the better.

The Duskin Tribe was perfect for that role, and Logan knew just how to ensure it.

"I'm going to pay your father a visit," Logan said, a calm smile crossing his face.

Mamuti's eyes widened in surprise. "You're going to the Duskin Tribe? Now?"

"Of course," Logan replied, voice unruffled. "Your father's leading himself and his tribe, to ruin. I'm simply going to correct his course." His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable edge of authority, one that sent a thrill through Mamuti.

Mamuti couldn't quite find the words to respond, but his heart raced with excitement. This young chieftain was a seventh-level powerhouse. Would his father dare resist such a force?

---

Moments later, the Silver Mane Tribe's military camp roared with life as two wyverns, mounted by Beastmen warriors, took to the skies, flanking the two leaders. At the front rode Logan himself, his posture steady and commanding atop his beast. Next to him, Mamuti felt the wind rush past as he glanced back at the camp below. The sight was overwhelming.

Ten thousand soldiers trained in formation across the vast grounds, their synchronized movements creating a rumble like thunder. Mamuti was awestruck; the power radiating from this single training ground was more than the Duskin Tribe could ever hope to muster. Compared to this force, the Adik-Qatar alliance was starting to seem laughable. Maybe, he thought, Logan was right, they were "overestimating their own abilities."

The wyverns soared at incredible speeds, covering over 200 kilometers an hour, and within mere minutes, the silhouette of the Duskin Tribe appeared below, nestled within the hills.

---

Half an hour later, Mamuti arrived at the private gardens where he knew his parents would be. His heart was pounding, not just from the flight but with an uneasy anticipation. As he stepped into the yard, a soft, gentle voice greeted him.

"Why are you here, my child?" His mother's voice wrapped around him like a warm embrace. She was standing under the shade of an ancient tree, her presence calm and graceful.

"Mother!" Mamuti smiled, his eyes softening as he approached her. This young female Beastmen, with her serene beauty, had always been a pillar of comfort in his life.

"Is Father here?" he asked, casting a glance around.

Just then, a deep, familiar voice interrupted. "Looking for me?" His father, Habak, strode in from across the garden, holding another woman, a much younger Beastmen; close to his side. Mamuti's face tensed as he took in the sight. His father had recently married this young woman, and it was clear that she was barely of age. Habak's presence in his mother's yard, parading his new bride, felt like a slap in the face.

Mamuti caught his mother's subtle reaction, the slight tightening around her eyes, the forced smile. His heart clenched, anger simmering beneath the surface. How dare his father bring another woman into his mother's sanctuary?

Swallowing his irritation, he forced himself to remain composed and greeted his father, "Father."

Habak's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you show respect to your mother?" he demanded, his tone carrying an edge of displeasure.

Mamuti ground his teeth, biting back his frustration. He gave a brief nod in the direction of the younger woman and muttered, "Mother."

The young Beastmen woman giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, and murmured flirtatiously, "Ah… my dear son," mimicking the maternal role with a mocking tone.

"What do you need?" Habak's gaze shifted to Mamuti, his expression unreadable. It had been a long time since he'd felt much pride in his fourth son. Mamuti's capture by the Silver Mane Tribe had left a bitter mark on their relationship, and Habak had all but dismissed him since then. If Mamuti hadn't come to him today, he might have nearly forgotten about his son's existence.

"Father," Mamuti replied, keeping his tone respectful despite the resentment gnawing at him, "there is a messenger here who wishes to speak with you."

Habak's interest piqued, his hand momentarily pausing on his young wife's shoulder. "A messenger? Who sent him?"

"He claims to be from the Adik Tribe."

At this, Habak's eyes sharpened, a look of realization dawning on his face. "The Adik Tribe? They must be here to discuss the alliance."

"Yes," Mamuti confirmed. "The messenger awaits you in the council hall."

Without another word, Habak released his hold on the young woman, his mind already moving ahead. Mamuti watched his father turn toward the council hall, his gaze shifting back to his mother, who stood silent and proud, yet betrayed by a glimmer of sadness.

As his father strode away, Mamuti clenched his fists, his loyalty to Logan solidifying even further. The Duskin Tribe was a fractured legacy, one built on petty displays of dominance and hollow alliances. In Logan, he saw the strength and unity that his tribe lacked, and it was to that strength that he felt himself truly devoted.

Habaek quickly let go of his young concubine, his face lit with anticipation, and hurried out of the yard, eager to greet what he assumed was an honored envoy from the Adik Tribe. Behind him, Mamuti straightened, his gaze hardening as he locked eyes with the young female Beastmen, Ba Niang. She froze under his cold, piercing look, then scurried away, her earlier confidence crumbling.

"Mother, I'll come back to see you later," Mamuti whispered softly, his voice filled with both warmth and apology.

His mother offered him a sad smile, a silent understanding between them as he turned and left the garden, his heart heavy but resolved.

---

In the council hall of the Duskin Tribe, Logan sat in the chieftain's seat, his posture relaxed, waiting. His expression betrayed neither arrogance nor nervousness; he was merely there, watching with a faint smile as Habaek strode in.

Habaek entered with a broad grin, expecting to see an envoy, a sign of respect from the Adik Tribe. But his smile quickly faded as he took in the sight of Logan sitting casually in his own chieftain's chair, exuding an air of authority.

"Who are you?" Habaek demanded, his tone shifting from welcoming to irritated. He was not accustomed to visitors taking such liberties, especially not a young stranger. The display felt nothing short of an insult.

Logan looked up, unperturbed. "Silvermane Tribe Chieftain, Logan," he said, smiling slightly, his words calm yet unwavering.

Habaek's face twisted in shock, quickly morphing into rage. "Logan, chieftain of the Silver Mane Tribe?" He stumbled for a moment, horrified. "You dare come into my tribe and sit in my chair? You must have a death wish!" Habaek's voice rose, and he immediately launched into action, his powerful frame surging forward. His fighting spirit ignited, and in a flash, he lunged at Logan, fist drawn with all the might of a seasoned sixth-level warrior.

But Logan didn't flinch. He simply glanced at Habaek with an air of disdain and, with a single wave of his hand, deflected the attack. To Habaek, it was as though he'd slammed into an immovable mountain. The force of Logan's casual gesture sent him hurtling backward, crashing into rows of seats.

*Crash!*

Habaek's body struck the council hall's seats with a sickening thud, each one splintering and collapsing under him until his motionless form came to a halt. Blood matted his mane, his once-proud face now a mask of shock and pain as he lay sprawled across the broken remnants of his own council chamber.

"Father!" Mamuti's shout echoed through the hall as he rushed to his father's side. He knelt down, hands shaking as he took in his father's battered form, twitching with the aftershocks of the blow. Blood smeared his once-strong jawline, and his eyes, though half-open, were glazed with fear.

At the doorway stood two more werewolves, stunned and frozen in place. One was Habaek's younger brother, Surshen, and the other was Kule, the warrior Mamuti had brought along to Silver Mane. Surshen's expression was blank, horror-stricken as he watched his brother, a sixth-level warrior of considerable strength; reduced to this state with a mere gesture. Kule, too, stared at Logan, his face drained of color. He had known Logan was powerful, but to see such a display firsthand left him shaken.

Logan's expression was unreadable as he looked at the fallen Habaek. For a brief moment, he turned his gaze toward Mamuti, then shifted it to the two warriors standing in the doorway. Calmly, he addressed them, his voice resonant but composed.

"I want the Duskin Tribe," Logan announced, his eyes sweeping over Surshen and Kule. "Who opposes? Who agrees?"

Surshen's face tightened, anger mingling with fear. "Who are you to demand this of us? And why do you think you can just…take our tribe?"

Logan's gaze hardened, yet he spoke with a cold logic, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I am Logan, chieftain of the Silver Mane Tribe. Your tribe has already lost its strongest leader." He glanced down at Habaek, who lay barely conscious. "And your so-called allies in the Adik and Qatar tribes? They'll only use you as cannon fodder while they pursue their own ambitions. What future do you see for Duskin under their rule?"

Surshen clenched his fists, his face defiant, yet he couldn't refute the truth in Logan's words. Mamuti, meanwhile, stood by his father's side, feeling a strange mix of pity, loyalty, and, unexpectedly, a surge of admiration for Logan's sheer strength and conviction. This was no mere threat, Logan was offering a choice, however ruthless it might be.

Kule, breaking his silence, took a step forward, his eyes locked on Logan. "Chieftain Logan," he began, his tone filled with reluctant respect, "I've seen your strength. You've proven it. But what future would Duskin have under Silver Mane's rule?"

Logan smiled, his tone shifting to something almost welcoming. "Under Silver Mane, there is growth. Expansion. A chance to be more than pawns in someone else's game. I don't need to promise you loyalty. I offer you purpose."

The hall fell silent, tension hanging heavy. In that moment, Mamuti saw the faintest flicker in Surshen's eyes, a crack in his resistance, a glimmer of something more than fear. And he realized that, for the first time, his tribe might truly find a future worth fighting for, one not defined by petty alliances but by real strength.

Logan stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over them once more, each word deliberate. "I ask again," he said, his voice as steady as steel. "Who opposes? And who agrees?"