Reborn As A Beastman With A System

The air grew heavy as the faces of more than a dozen werewolves from the eight tribes shifted abruptly, a wave of panic washing over them. Their earlier bravado dissolved into uneasy whispers, punctuated by one word that hung in the air like a curse:

"Unite?"

Agon, the young chief of the Adik tribe, snorted in disdain. His piercing eyes swept over the gathered werewolves, brimming with mockery.

"Unite?" he repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. "With what? The pitiful strength of your eight tribes?"

The room fell silent as Agon began pacing, his presence casting a long shadow over the assembly.

"You don't even have a single sixth-level strongman among you," he sneered, his tone cutting. "What do you think you can use to resist us? Hopes? Prayers? Empty alliances?"

The werewolf officials stiffened, exchanging anxious glances. Agon paused, turning to face them fully, his gaze cold and sharp as a blade.

"Let me offer you a choice," he said, his voice low but menacing. "If you voluntarily join the Adik tribe, you will be rewarded generously. Wealth, rank, a future. But…" He leaned forward, his fangs glinting ominously. "If you dare to resist, you will die. Every. Last. One of you."

His words echoed in the chamber like a death knell. A palpable wave of fear swept through the gathered werewolves. Their fur bristled, their claws twitching involuntarily. It was a brutal truth they couldn't ignore. Under the overwhelming strength of the Adik tribe, could they really resist? How could they?

One by one, the werewolf officials began to crumble under the weight of the realization. Their expressions shifted from defiance to despair, as if struck by bolts of lightning.

Agon seized the moment, his voice taking on a measured calm.

"So, think carefully," he said, his tone dripping with false patience. "If you express your submission now, I will personally inform my father. He may even grant you positions within the Adik tribe, not too high, not too low, but enough to survive. But if you wait; if you wait until my father and his warriors return triumphant, you'll lose this opportunity forever."

The silence deepened, broken only by the muffled shuffling of feet. Then, finally, one brave werewolf official dared to speak.

"Y-Young Chief," the official stammered, his voice trembling. "Why… why can't we wait until the chiefs return? Surely they can negotiate—"

Agon's icy glare cut him off mid-sentence. The room seemed to drop in temperature.

"Do you really think they're coming back?" he asked softly, his voice like a coiled serpent.

The question hung in the air, sinking into the minds of the werewolves like a heavy stone. Agon's lips curled into a sinister smile.

"You fools. My father, Alilang, planned this long ago. As soon as the war against the Silver Mane Tribe began, your chiefs were doomed. They won't return. Whether by their own sacrifice, or by my father's hand; they will 'die in battle.'"

His words hit like a sledgehammer, leaving the officials visibly shaken. Agon continued, his tone calm but merciless.

"No leaders. No resistance. That's how we take you. It's simple."

The silence stretched unbearably until, finally, two werewolf officials broke under the weight. They dropped to one knee, their heads bowed low.

"We… we are willing to surrender," one of them murmured, his voice heavy with shame.

Agon's eyes lit up, and a cruel grin spread across his face.

"Good," he said, his voice triumphant. "Very good."

He turned his gaze to the others, his expression hardening once more.

"And the rest of you?" he demanded.

The remaining officials hesitated, their claws digging into the ground as they wrestled with their pride. But Agon's cold, unyielding stare made their choice inevitable.

"I… we…" one stuttered before giving in. "We are willing to surrender!"

One by one, the others followed suit, each dropping to their knees with a mix of anger and resignation. Agon stood tall, his chest swelling with pride.

Victory was his, not just through strength, but through fear. His fangs gleamed as he smirked, savoring the moment.

"Excellent," he said, his voice almost purring. "You've made the right choice. My father will be most pleased."

But just as he was about to revel in his success, a loud commotion erupted outside the camp. The sound of approaching voices, of heavy footsteps, filled the air.

"They're back!" someone shouted from outside. "They're back!"

Agon froze, his smug expression faltering. His mind raced. Could it be? His father and the warriors returning already?

Eager to confirm, he rushed outside, the werewolf officials trailing behind him. A massive crowd had gathered near the edge of the camp; thousands of wolves from every tribe, eagerly awaiting the warriors they believed were returning in triumph.

But as Agon approached the commotion, his steps slowed. Something was wrong.

A line of wolf cavalry emerged from the distance, flanked by thousands of warriors. But as Agon's sharp eyes scanned the group, his heart sank. The emblems on their armor, the symbols etched into their banners, were unfamiliar. They didn't belong to the Adik tribe. They didn't belong to the eight tribes, either.

"No," Agon whispered, his voice trembling. His face paled as realization dawned.

"No… this isn't right…"

The werewolf officials behind him were equally stunned. They looked to Agon for answers, but he had none to give.

The cavalry drew closer, their presence ominous, their purpose unclear. Agon's earlier confidence evaporated like mist under the sun.

Who were they? And what did they want?

As the wolf cavalry thundered closer, the emblems on their armor became unmistakable. Agon's heart dropped. These symbols didn't belong to the Adik Tribe or any of the eight tribes. They were foreign, and worse yet, they were hostile.

"It's the enemy! Run!" A panicked roar tore through the confusion as people turned and dove into the crowd of gathered werewolves. There voice carried desperation, but not everyone reacted quickly. Many of the Beastmen stood frozen in place, bewildered and slow to process what was happening.

Before the chaos could fully erupt, one of the wolf cavalry officers galloped closer, Artom voice booming over the crowd. "Stand where you are! Anyone who moves will die!" His command carried the weight of absolute authority, and it was enough to freeze most of the werewolves in place. The fear in the air was palpable, and the sheer power behind the enemy's presence made resistance feel impossible.

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Meanwhile, in the Adik Tribe

The Adik Tribe, once a bustling and proud community, was now a shadow of its former self. Armed werewolf warriors patrolled every corner of the settlement, their presence suffocating. The elderly, women, and children were being corralled and led out of the tribe in long, weary lines. Confusion and fear filled their eyes as they shuffled along, uncertain of their fate.

Inside the grand hall of the Adik Tribe, where Chief Alilang once presided, a new figure now sat on the chieftain's seat, Kro, one of Covenas's trusted commanders. He sat with an air of quiet dominance, his sharp gaze assessing the reports coming in. The Adik Tribe had been completely taken under his control, and now his mission was nearing completion.

This operation wasn't just limited to the Adik Tribe. Bagen, another commander under Covenas, had been sent with a separate force to the Qatar Tribe, tasked with the same goal; bringing the werewolves of the conquered tribes under the Silver Mane Tribe's banner.

At that moment, two middle-aged werewolf warriors entered the hall. Their armor was scuffed, and frustration was evident in their expressions. Kro gestured for them to speak.

"Have you found him?" Kro asked calmly, gesturing for them to take a seat if they wished.

The warriors exchanged glances, then shook their heads. "No, my Lord," one of them replied, a note of regret in his voice. "The target's strength is likely beyond level six. He escaped after we chased him out of the Adik Tribe."

Kro raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. These two warriors were level six themselves, handpicked by Covenas for their skill. For someone to evade them suggested a level of power that demanded attention.

"More than level six?" Kro repeated thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. He assessed the situation with care, his sharp mind processing the implications. "If that's true, then it means we're dealing with a level seven warrior." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "No matter. If he escaped, so be it. He's not our primary target. Focus on rounding up the rest of the werewolves."

The warriors nodded and departed as another officer entered the hall, followed closely by two guards. Between them, they dragged a werewolf who looked battered and bloodied, his face pale but defiant.

"Lord Kro," the officer announced with pride, "we've captured Alilang's eldest son. This is Agon."

At the mention of the name, Kro's lips curled into a faint smile. He leaned forward, his predatory eyes locking onto the prisoner. "Agon, is it?" he said, his tone both amused and commanding. "Bring him closer."

Agon was shoved forward, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He struggled to stand tall despite his injuries, his piercing gaze meeting Kro's without fear. But inside, his mind raced with confusion and disbelief.

He had barely escaped the gathering place of the eight tribes, only to return to find his home under enemy control. The Adik Tribe had been completely subdued, and now the worst news of all had reached his ears, the coalition forces had been defeated. It didn't seem possible.

"How?" Agon muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. His thoughts spiraled. Tens of thousands of warriors and hundreds of powerful fighters had united against the Silver Mane Tribe. How could they have been defeated? It made no sense. His confusion burned into frustration, and frustration into anger. But there was no outlet for either.

Kro watched him, noting the flicker of doubt and rage in Agon's eyes. "Take him away," he said dismissively, leaning back in his chair. "Lock him up with the rest of the Adik family. Let him stew in his confusion." His tone was casual, as though Agon were a minor inconvenience rather than the heir of the defeated tribe.

"Yes, Lord Kro," the officer responded crisply. He gestured to the guards, who grabbed Agon and began hauling him out of the hall. Despite his defiance, Agon didn't resist. He knew it was pointless now.

Outside the Adik Tribe, the evacuation continued. The elderly, the weak, the women, and the children of the Adik Tribe formed a massive, ragged procession. Escorted by armed warriors from the Silver Mane Tribe, they marched under the watchful eyes of their captors. Their destination: the Silver Mane Tribe's lands, where they would be integrated or subjugated; under their new rulers.

Kro stood at the entrance of the hall, watching the endless lines of displaced werewolves with a faint smirk. This was victory in its most practical form. The Silver Mane Tribe was growing stronger, absorbing not just warriors but the families and workers who would sustain their power in the long term.

Though Agon's capture had been satisfying, Kro knew the real triumph lay in this, the submission of an entire tribe, their pride stripped away. Soon, with the Qatar Tribe and the other remnants under their control, the Silver Mane Tribe would truly be unmatched in the region.

"Let them march," Kro murmured to himself, watching the lines of werewolves stretch out into the horizon. "This is what it means to win."