The ongoing crossbow competition seemed tailor-made for the Cave Tribe.
On the training field, a dozen or so Cave Tribe crossbowmen lined up, aiming their swift crossbows at the target. The target itself was made of wooden stakes tied together with straw, and wrapped with hemp rope. It was reinforced with thick armor on the front, adorned with a red heart-shaped circle.
Haka Chak sat in the front row of the crowd, watching with satisfaction as the crossbolts shot through the air, piercing the red heart on the target.
After months of training, every adult male in the Cave Tribe had passed the official crossbowman test and could easily transition from craftsman to crossbowman. This achievement was thanks to Haka Chak... no, the divine intervention of the Godsend.
Everyone knew that, in the past, the Cave Tribe had only mastered the use of clubs and stone throwing. Weapons like bows and arrows—cool and stylish as they were—were simply out of their reach. Even ordinary hunting bows were so tall that a Cave Tribe person could hardly pull them, making them completely unsuitable.
Ancient records in the tribal stone tablet mentioned an ancestor who learned the art of blacksmithing from the dwarves, becoming the greatest craftsman in Cave Tribe history. He once specifically designed small bows and arrows for the tribe and even created the first bow-and-arrow guard in their history.
But little did anyone know, after a year of training, the soldiers in that bow-and-arrow guard were only able to kill field mice in the wilderness. They couldn't even bring down wild deer or sheep due to the lack of power.
The lack of lethality was a problem...
However, the Godsend had crafted a crossbow suited for the Cave Tribe, one that was truly functional for them.
Although this crossbow looked different from the usual bows—its bow was horizontal, with an odd grip added at the bottom—after a brief period of training, the tribe members realized that it only required aiming, without the need for prolonged bow drawing. It was practically custom-made for them!
The Godsend called it a "Swift Crossbow," not a bow, but to the Cave Tribe, it was undoubtedly a bow! It shattered the history of the Cave Tribe's inability to use bows, cementing Haka Chak's name in the tribal stone tablet.
As Haka Chak thought of this, he almost wished to roll to the Godsend's feet and kiss them a thousand times.
The crossbow competition was a team event. The Hunter Spear Territory now had four official crossbow units. The Godsend said that the unit that won would reward its captain with a bronze medal.
Last night, the Lukak brothers had sworn an oath that they would not compete with Haka Chak for this medal.
As the leader of the Cave Tribe's three-man gang, it was rightfully his.
Recently, the Cave Tribe had been working furiously to build structures and fortresses in the Buffalo Camp. The name "Buffalo Camp" was also his idea, and the Godsend liked it so much that they even had it engraved prominently on the fortress.
If only the Godsend weren't so averse to Cave Tribe women, Haka Chak would have long given all his women to the Godsend.
Suddenly, the crowd stirred. An air of anxiety and tension began to spread.
"Quiet! Quiet! Keep quiet!" Haka Chak shouted angrily.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
The crossbowmen, clearly disturbed, fired their bolts, but many missed the red heart and even hit outside the target.
Haka Chak turned pale with rage. He stood up sharply, glaring at the murmuring tribe members behind him. His gaze shifted, and he saw that everyone was secretly glancing at someone standing next to the Godsend in the distance.
As his eyes met, the person smiled back at him, standing out from the crowd like a rooster among hens.
Haka Chak's face instantly turned pale, and he quickly sat back down, his heart pounding. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the ground. The performance of the crossbowmen no longer mattered.
That was the God of Death...
The God of Death that the Cave Tribe feared with a single glance...
"Why are those Cave Tribe people so scared of you?" Kent asked, amused by Haka Chak's reaction. His followers nearby, who had just stood up to greet him, also seemed curious about the beautiful woman standing next to their lord.
"I don't know," Water Stream replied with a smile, glancing around the training ground. "Did you raid another slave camp? Why are there so many more people here?"
"Yeah, raided two slave camps, all from the Bloodstone Family," Kent nodded. "What you see here isn't even the full number. We've moved a bunch of Forest Alliance slaves to the Buffalo Camp. When the Red Tiger Family's caravan arrives, we'll check if there are any of their tribespeople. If there are, they can take them. The rest will stay behind to work for a year."
"And what if they all want to leave?"
"Not for free. Even if they're all from their tribe, I rescued them, so I deserve some gold as thanks."
"Kent Skinner," Water Stream laughed, covering her mouth.
Kent looked helpless. After telling her a story, he didn't expect her curiosity to be piqued, and now she insisted on hearing more. Reluctantly, Kent ended up sharing a story about the notorious Kent Skinner.
Water Stream was quick to use the nickname.
"Hey, I'm not a Kent Skinner! The people in my territory need to eat, and I have to make money for them."
"Strange. I've never heard of a lord who makes money for their people."
"The lord of Peach Blossom, though, makes money for his people. It's called investment."
"Investment?"
"Yes… means I spend one gold coin on my people, and later, they can earn me ten, a hundred, maybe more..."
"Really strange. Did you strike gold in the valley?"
"..."
The Gladiator Tournament was the highlight of the competition. The Barbarians and Half-Orcs had spent many days preparing for it. Water Stream watched with interest as the ragged group of individuals entered the arena. They had only recently joined the territory, and their supplies were still lacking. Although they had received hot baths and cleaned up, their clothes had yet to be replaced.
There were already five or six hundred Half-Orcs and two hundred Barbarians. This number wasn't large, but in some highland military camps, this was a comparable number of slave soldiers. The difference was that these warriors were not slaves—they were aspiring fighters with the dream of shedding their past.
Is this what Kent used to build Peach Blossom City? A human lord, yet surrounded by a large group of foreign warriors, including the once meek Cave Tribe men, now trained into brave ranged fighters. What would the tribal leaders or military commanders of the highlands think when they saw these foreign warriors?
The crowd suddenly erupted with cheers, waves of excitement building with each cheer.
The guards around Kent smiled awkwardly, while Kent looked at Water Stream with a strange expression.
"What's going on? What are they laughing at?" Water Stream asked, confused. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed what had happened.
"Some of those guys might have heard your story..." Kent chuckled.
"They want to challenge you."