Chương 164: 164：An Offer They Can't Refuse

The freezing rain sluiced off Soren's dark-brown cloak. It dripped onto rotting leaves that had been decaying for untold years, emitting faint, muffled pats in the silence. Soren followed closely behind Ilya and El. They had been navigating this hidden, primeval forest flanking Broken Tooth Canyon for three hours now.

The path leading to the Half-Elf camp—if it could even be called a path—was so treacherous and hostile that even Soren, who had endured the most grueling extreme jungle survival training in his past life, was secretly alarmed. Highly toxic camouflage vines. Bubbling swamp sinkholes hidden beneath the muck. Venomous vipers disguised as dead branches hanging from the canopy. Every single step was an absolute test of human survival instincts.

Relying on the penetrating insight of his [Eagle Eye] and the faint, intermittent pricks of warning from his [Danger Sense], Soren effortlessly bypassed every single lethal trap. He didn't ask a single question. He simply matched their steady pace, displaying absolute, unreserved trust in the female Half-Elf leader. Finally, the ancient woods parted. Resting atop a natural, suspended plateau woven together by the colossal roots of towering banyan trees, an incredibly crude encampment revealed itself.

There were no solid stone walls here. Just defensive barricades fashioned from sharpened, toxic wood. There were no stone houses to fend off the freezing wind. Only leaky, ramshackle huts built into tree hollows and thatched with broad banana leaves. A musty, damp chill intertwined with the bitter scent of boiling, unknown roots permeated the air. The absolute second Soren's tall, imposing human frame crossed the wooden barricades, the previously quiet camp plunged into violent, explosive chaos!

"A human! It's a filthy, red-blooded human!"

"Why did the Leader bring a human back?! Is our location compromised?!" Shing! Clack! Accompanied by the crisp sounds of drawing blades and nocking arrows, over a hundred highly hostile, deeply guarded figures instantly emerged from the treehouses and from behind the barricades. The Half-Elves' pointed ears twitched high. Their emaciated faces, tormented by chronic starvation, radiated pure, unadulterated hatred for humanity.

The vast majority of them, much like Ilya, shared tragic pasts of being ostracized, enslaved, or even butchered by human society. An older, one-armed Half-Elf veteran went as far as aiming a venom-coated bone arrow directly at the space between Soren's eyes. He only needed a single word from Ilya to skewer this uninvited guest. Faced with this hair-trigger, murderously tense standoff, Soren didn't even twitch toward the longsword at his waist. Instead, he let his hands hang casually by his sides.

His gaze swept openly across the perimeter. He stood perfectly still, his composure as unshakable as a mountain facing a collapsing sky.

"Lower your weapons! Stand down, all of you!" Ilya's brow furrowed tightly as she took a massive stride forward, her authoritative voice booming across the camp. As the singular faith and supreme commander of these Half-Elves, her orders held absolute authority. Though the taut bowstrings weren't fully released, the arrowheads were lowered a fraction. Ilya turned, deliberately exposing the half of her face branded by the red-hot iron to her people.

She took a deep breath, her expression solemn as she made her grand declaration:"My people, stow your hostility."

"The man standing before you is not the greedy, bloodthirsty nobles who raised their butcher's knives against us."

"This man is a Commander of the Silvermoon Kingdom's Crimson Moon Knights, the Lord of Greywater Village, Lord Soren!"

"Just a few days ago, it was him who personally led a lone force to storm the heights of Lone Cliff! In less than an hour, he severed Garrosh's head and utterly annihilated the five hundred elites of the Bloodaxe Battalion entrenched there! He left absolutely no survivors!" Ilya's words profoundly, violently shook the hearts of every single Half-Elf present. The camp fell dead silent; the only sound left was the wind rustling through the leaves.

"The... the Bloodaxe Battalion?" The one-armed veteran who had just been aiming his bow began to tremble violently. It wasn't just him. All around, the eyes of countless Half-Elves who had suffered horrific tragedies instantly turned red. The Bloodaxe Battalion had been stationed in the Misty Swamp for years. Their hands weren't just stained with human blood. Countless Half-Elf families who had merely gone out to forage had been brutally tortured and slaughtered by those sadistic Black Iron Orcs.

Their very skulls had been hollowed out to make drinking bowls!

"To annihilate the Bloodaxe Battalion... he is the savior who avenged my murdered brother..." Faced with this world-shattering truth, their hostility rapidly evaporated. It was replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated awe. The fiercely proud Half-Elf warriors slowly stepped out from behind their cover. The way they looked at Soren completely shifted. It was the absolute reverence reserved only for a powerhouse capable of eradicating elite orcs. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent.

Report any appearances on Amazon. Under Ilya's guidance, Soren was invited into the largest treehouse at the center of the camp. Even their most grandiose display of hospitality amounted to nothing more than a crude clay bowl of hot tea, brewed from rainwater and bitter vines. Soren didn't act the least bit reserved. He took a massive gulp of the crude tea, drinking it as if it were the finest nectar. There was no need for empty pleasantries.

Soren knew perfectly well that when negotiating with a brilliant female commander like her, beating around the bush with fake diplomacy was utterly meaningless.

"Leader Ilya. I have tasted your tea, and I have seen your camp." Soren placed the crude bowl down on the tree-stump table. His previously mild gaze instantly turned razor-sharp and overwhelmingly aggressive.

"Your warriors possess flawless archery and natural camouflage, but your logistics are on the absolute brink of total collapse."

"Your elderly and your children are suffering from rheumatism and typhoid caused by the acid rain. You can't even produce a single iron-tipped arrow!" Soren stood up, staring directly into Ilya's faintly glowing emerald eyes, brazenly laying his ambitions completely bare:"I risked my life coming here entirely alone today for one single purpose."

"I want you to lead all of your people out of this rotting mud pit where not even pigs could survive, and integrate into Greywater Village!"

"I, Soren, swear this oath. As long as you step under my banner, the impenetrable fortress of Greywater Village will be your sanctuary. I won't just equip you with premium black iron armor and military-grade longbows—I will ensure your elderly, your women, and your children eat piping hot meat and Swamp Tubers until their bellies burst at every single meal!"

"We only have one thing to do in this fucked-up world: prepare for war, and send every last one of those orcs trying to enslave us straight to hell!" This blunt, yet obscenely tempting declaration of integration made the atmosphere inside the treehouse incredibly tense. Ilya sat by the fire pit, her emotions in violent turmoil. She genuinely, desperately wanted to give her people a hope of survival.

Soren's actions today—saving those human slaves—also definitively proved he wasn't a cold-blooded, traditional warlord. However, the profound trauma of being used, betrayed, and physically branded by human nobles made her utterly terrified of handing the lives of nearly two hundred of her kin over to a human Lord she had known for barely half a day.

"Why the hell should we believe the big words of a human!" BANG! The already battered wooden door of the treehouse was violently kicked open. Four incredibly agile figures, radiating cold moisture and biting hostility, took massive strides into the room. These were the four absolute apex elite Half-Elf warriors of the camp. Their leader, a man named Farness, held two mud-stained bone daggers in a reverse grip, exuding an aura of untamed defiance.

"Leader Ilya respects you as a hero who fights the orcs, but that doesn't mean we Half-Elves are going to become your slaves!" Farness glared fiercely at Soren's imposing frame, his words overflowing with the unique, fierce pride of the Half-Elf race:"Who the hell knows if your so-called victory over five hundred Bloodaxe elites was bought by sacrificing the lives of your heavy-armored grunts!"

"You human noble generals are best at hiding behind shields and barking orders!"

"We Half-Elves worship the laws of nature! We only bow to true strength! If you want us to bleed for you, just running your mouth isn't enough!"

"Stand down! Do not show disrespect to Lord Soren!" Ilya snapped, waving her hand fiercely. But Soren simply raised his hand, physically blocking Ilya. A look of genuine amusement spread across his face. Military loyalty was never bought with mere words. It was forged by beating men into submission. If he wanted to conquer these fiercely proud warriors, he had to display absolute, overwhelming, and crushing physical dominance!

"Since running my mouth isn't enough, then I suppose I'll let my fists do the talking." Soren unbuckled his longsword and slammed it—scabbard and all—onto the wooden table. He turned his head, his posture radiating an invincible, peerless confidence:"I will make a bet with you."

"Me. Against all four of you."

"And not in this cramped little room. We fight out there, high up in the forest canopy you take so much pride in! No weapons. Just pure, unarmed close-quarters combat and climbing agility!"

"Within the time it takes an incense stick to burn... if I lose, or if I fall from the canopy, I, Soren, will turn around and walk away without a single word. And that entire wagon of raw Black Iron Ore stays here as my apology."

"But if I win..." Soren pointed a rigid finger right at the utterly dumbfounded Farness, his tone ringing with ironclad finality.

"You, and every single Half-Elf in this camp, will put on the battle tabards of Greywater Village!"