The northern tribesn step out from behind the trees, one by one, forming a loose circle around the carriage.
The air tightens.
The driver reacts instantly, drawing his sword with a sharp ring of steel.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he shouts.
“This is a grave sin!”
From among the tribesn, a tall man steps forward.
His aura is steady, restrained, unmistakably at the Blood Seal realm.
“We an no harm,” the man says evenly.
“We only wish to invite the captain to our residence for a talk.”
He must be the leader, rin thinks.
From inside the carriage, rin calls calmly, “Enough.”
He speaks the driver’s na, his tone steady, unmistakable.
“Put the sword away. Calm yourself.”
The driver hesitates, then lowers his blade, though his grip remains tight.
rin then addresses the tribesn directly.
“If it’s a talk,” he says, “how about we have it at my ho?”
“It’s nearby.”
A brief pause follows.
The leader studies rin’s face, weighing sothing unseen.
Then he nods.
“Alright.”
rin gestures lightly to the driver.
“Continue.”
The carriage rolls forward again, wheels creaking softly.
Behind it, the northern tribesn follow on foot, maintaining distance but never falling behind.
Soon, the carriage turns onto the private road leading into the Duan estate.
Guards at the gate tense at the sight of ard tribesn but do not move as rin’s insignia cos into view.
rin leans out and gives an order.
“Take them to the Dusk Pavilion,” he says.
“Serve them food and wine.”
The guards bow and move to comply.
The carriage continues inward and stops before the main house.
rin steps down.
Uncle Chen, the housekeeper, approaches at once.
“Uncle Chen,” rin says, “we have guests.”
“I’ve sent them to the Dusk Pavilion.”
“Send people to attend to them properly.”
“Yes, young lord,” Uncle Chen replies without hesitation.
rin walks into the house.
Along the corridors, servants and maids pause and bow respectfully as he passes.
rin returns their greetings with brief nods and enters his room.
Inside, he places the pill bottle on the table and removes his Divine Guard uniform, changing into loose, comfortable clothing.
When he steps out again, Uncle Chen is waiting.
The housekeeper lowers his voice, concern evident.
“Young lord,” he says, “those guests… they are northern tribesn.”
The concern is justified.
Many northern tribes remain enemies of the Song Kingdom.
Associating with them can be fatal in the political arena.
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The war that ended a few years ago—
the one in which rin’s father died—
It was fought against a coalition of northern tribes.
Even now, the kingdom’s wounds have not fully healed.
rin answers calmly.
“Don’t worry,” he says.
“They aren’t from enemy tribes.”
He does not know exactly which tribe they belong to, but he knows enough.
They lived openly in the city for months.
No official agency disturbed them.
That alone rules out enemy status.
Uncle Chen exhales slowly.
“I hope so,” he says.
Together, they walk toward the Dusk Pavilion.
The corridor of the main house stretches long and quiet, its wooden floor polished smooth by years of footsteps.
Soft lantern light spills from carved brackets along the walls, casting warm halos that sway gently with the night breeze.
As rin and Uncle Chen pass, maids move silently ahead of them.
One lifts a small oil flask and carefully pours it into a lamp whose fla is close to dying, coaxing it back to life.
Another trims a wick with practised fingers.
No one speaks.
Only the faint crackle of fla and the whisper of cloth broke the stillness.
They step out of the main house and into the garden.
Cool night air greets them.
Stone paths wind through trimd hedges and low trees, the garden illuminated by a crescent moon hanging low in the sky.
Stars scatter faint light across the open space, while lamps mounted on slender poles outline the paths in soft gold.
They walk onward.
The sound of voices grows clearer—low, restrained, unfamiliar accents.
Beneath it runs the gentle murmur of water.
An artificial stream appears ahead, its surface reflecting moonlight in trembling lines.
A narrow stone bridge arches over it, worn smooth at the centre.
rin crosses first, his steps unhurried.
Below, water flows quietly over rounded stones.
On the other side, night-blooming flowers line the path—white and pale blue petals open to the darkness, releasing a faint, sweet fragrance that drifts lazily through the air.
The Dusk Pavilion stands ahead.
Open-sided, elegant, its roof curved upward at the corners like a resting bird.
rin steps inside.
A large round table dominates the centre, laid with dishes and wine jars, steam still rising faintly.
The northern tribesn sit around it, backs straight, hands resting on their knees.
No one has touched the food.
No one has lifted a cup.
Their eyes follow rin as he approaches.
An empty seat has been left for him.
rin takes it without ceremony.
“Let’s eat first,” he says calmly.
“Then we can talk.”
A maid steps forward at once, bowing slightly as she places the first dish before him—chicken dumplings, neatly arranged, their aroma warm and inviting.
rin picks one up and takes a bite.
The filling is tender.
The seasoning is simple.
He chews slowly.
Across the table, the tribesn remain motionless.
rin glances up.
Seeing them still hesitate, he speaks again, his tone even.
“Eat,” he says.
“There is no poison in the food.”
A mont passes.
Then one of them reaches for a cup.
Another follows.
Soon, cautious movents spread around the table.
Hands lift chopsticks.
Wine is poured.
Food is tasted, first sparingly, then with growing ease.
The conversation has not started yet.
Only the sounds of eating, the clink of porcelain, the murmur of the stream beyond the pavilion.
Ti passes.
The dishes are empty.
Wine jars are replaced with tea.
rin sets his cup down and lifts his own tea, the steam curling faintly before his face.
He takes a sip.
Then he looks around the table, his gaze steady.
“How is Yin Li related to all of you?”
The leader speaks, his voice low but firm.
“Yin Li’s real na is Toga.”
“He is from our Mammoth Tribe.”
Behind rin, the housekeeper exhales softly and leans closer, whispering with clear relief,
“It is a neutral tribe, living in the Great Lake Valley.”
rin nods once.
The leader continues, “We sent him to gather information from the Black Dog Gang.”
rin listens, his expression unchanged, but his thoughts move quickly.
The Black Dog Gang’s butcher business relies heavily on at sourced from the Magoon Mountains.
They have long-standing partnerships with multiple mountain tribes.
Did the Black Dog Gang steal sothing from the Mammoth Tribe?
The question sharpens in his mind.
“Why?” rin asks simply.
Outwardly, he does not look eager to solve the case, yet in truth, he very much intends to.
Every solved case brings rit points.
rit points an access to resources, pills, techniques, and materials locked behind status and wealth.
Even as a noble, many doors remain closed to him.
rin leans forward slightly, attentive.
The leader’s hands tighten on the table’s edge.
“While most of our warriors were away hunting,” he says, “the Black Dog Gang attacked our tribe.”
“They captured several of our won.”
A sharp gasp sounds behind rin.
“What?” the housekeeper blurts out, unable to restrain himself.
His shock is genuine.
Slavery exists in the Song Kingdom, but it is strictly regulated.
Every slave must be registered with the court.
Capturing won directly—whether for slavery or worse—is a grave cri.
rin’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Did your tribe not have defences against the Black Dog Gang?”
The leader lowers his head.
“We trusted them,” he says.
“For years, we were in a cooperative relationship.”
“They supplied at. We supplied hides and mountain herbs.”
“We were caught off guard.”
rin nods slowly.
“And did Toga find anything about those won?” he asks.
The leader hesitates, then answers,
“Toga’s last ssage said he was getting close to where the won were being held.”
Silence settles over the pavilion.
rin takes a slow breath.
“So,” he says, “you ca to to ask for help locating them.”
The leader pushes his chair back and stands.
One by one, the other tribesn rise as well.
They bow deeply toward rin.
“Lord,” the leader says, his voice thick,
“Please help us.”
“If you help us find our won, our Mammoth Tribe will be forever grateful.”
The others echo together, voices overlapping with sincerity and restrained desperation.
rin does not answer imdiately.
He considers the situation carefully.
Helping them will almost certainly solve the Yin Li case.
It will also give him leverage and a foothold in the northern mountains.
Access to tribal resources—beast blood, mountain herbs, rare bones—will co far more easily through trust than force.
After a mont, he speaks.
“I will help you,” rin says calmly.
“But you must understand this first.”
“The won may no longer be alive.”
A ripple of pain passes through the tribesn, but none interrupts.
“And,” rin continues, “you must follow my arrangents without exception.”
The leader clenches his fists, then bows again, deeper than before.
“We understand,” he says.
“If it helps us recover our won—”
“or take revenge—”
“We will follow your arrangents.”
rin nods once.
“Good.”
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