Chương 238: 238：An Offer They Cannot Refuse

"Talon." Soren dropped the formal title. Leaning forward slightly, his piercing gaze locked directly onto the Chieftain, ruthlessly exposing the unit's most fatal vulnerability to his face:"How long are you going to lie to yourself?" Talon froze.

"What... what do you mean, My Lord?"

"I haven't brought any orders from high command, nor have I transported any high-tier supplies." Soren pointed a finger toward the door.

"I just took a walk outside. Your warriors possess an astonishing, terrifying combat strength. But look at them! You don't even have a single decent iron sword among you! Your stomachs are shriveled from starvation, and you are eating bark and gnawing on snow!" Soren's voice gradually rose, filled with the harsh, biting severity of a man furious at squandered potential:"Do you truly believe the high command of the Ironpeak Duchy gives a single damn about a foreign unit like yours? Wake up!"

"In the eyes of those nobles draped in gold and silver, you are nothing but disposable sacrifices meant to catch Orcish arrows! The harder you fight, the more terrified of you they become! They are actively praying that you get bled dry by the Orcs or freeze to death in this blizzard! They want to use the Orcs' blades to exterminate a pack of 'savages' they cannot control!" Every single word was a lethal blade to the heart, violently shattering Talon's psychological defenses. Talon's massive frame violently jolted.

His face instantly drained of all color. He opened his mouth to argue, but found himself entirely unable to force out a single syllable. Deep down, he knew better than anyone that Soren's words were the absolute, brutal reality of the dark politics operating on this merciless frontline! Seeing the window of opportunity perfectly aligned, Soren abruptly stood up to his full height. A terrifying, suffocating aura instantly filled the tiny stone room. He finally unveiled the true purpose of his visit. Recruitment!

"Talon, take your men and leave this graveyard." Soren laid out his terms with absolute, unyielding certainty: "The Steppe Barbarians will integrate entirely into Greywater Village! You will become my, Soren's, personal vanguard!" Talon sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, absolutely dumbfounded by this sudden recruitment offer. Before he could even process it, Soren threw out a set of exorbitant conditions that were fundamentally impossible to refuse.

"All you have to do is nod!" Soren swept his hand, issuing an incredibly generous, absolute guarantee:"I give you my word, right here, right now! The moment you join Greywater Village, I will provide an endless supply of dried meat! I will make sure your soldiers eat until grease drips from their chins every single day! I will supply premium wheat flour so your men never have to gnaw on another piece of tree bark as long as they live!"

Soren stepped directly in front of Talon, enunciating every single word with maximum impact:"And that's not all. All three thousand of your men will be completely re-equipped by me! Every single warrior will be outfitted in cleave-resistant [Black Steel Full-Plate Armor]! You will be issued master-crafted Black Iron weaponry capable of shearing through iron like mud!"

"I will forge you Steppe warriors back into the absolute apex of combat strength! I will clad you in the most impenetrable armor in the world, so you can personally crush those arrogant nobles and butcher the Orcs who look down on you!" The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Inside the stone cabin, the only sounds were the sharp crackle of burning firewood and Talon's incredibly heavy, ragged breathing.

Having spent half his life on the vast steppes and the desolate borders, Talon possessed absolutely zero conceptual understanding of Greywater Village's astronomical wealth. He didn't even comprehend the sheer, kingdom-toppling financial power required to field an entire army in Black Steel Full-Plate within the Silvermoon Kingdom. But!

"Endless dried meat," "premium wheat flour," and "master-crafted weaponry." Those words were dripping with irresistible temptation, flawlessly striking the absolute most desperate needs of Talon's soul. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He thought of his brothers freezing outside, losing their toes to frostbite because they lacked winter coats.

He thought of his kinsmen brutally hacked to pieces by Orcish axes simply because their rusted weapons shattered mid-swing. A turbulent storm raged within Talon's heart, his face twisting in intense, agonizing struggle. The offer was far too alluring—so intoxicatingly tempting that he almost threw himself to his knees on the spot to swear absolute fealty to Soren.

However, the deeply ingrained stubbornness and absolute sense of responsibility etched into the bones of a Steppe warrior violently suppressed his impulse. Talon gritted his teeth. After a long, agonizing silence, he heavily pushed himself to his feet and bowed deeply to Soren.

"Lord Soren..." Talon didn't dare meet Soren's eyes.

"The terms you've offered are incredibly tempting, and exactly what we need to survive. On behalf of my brothers outside, I, Talon, thank you for your boundless magnanimity." He abruptly raised his head. His scar-riddled face was painted with an agonizing, painful resolve:"But... we swore a heavy blood-oath to hold this pass to the last man! If we retreat now and allow the Orcs to cross our borders, we Steppe men would be treacherous, oath-breaking cowards."

"I deeply appreciate Your Lordship's kindness. But regarding this matter... forgive me, I cannot accept today. Let us... discuss this at a later date!" Forcing those words out was sheer, unadulterated torture for Talon. Hearing this rejection, Renn, standing in the back, became so anxious he opened his mouth to argue. But Soren merely raised a hand slightly, instantly silencing the monk. Soren stared deeply at Talon for a long moment.

Rather than showing a single trace of fury at being rejected, an entirely unbothered, easy smile resurfaced on his face.

"Good. The men of the Steppes value their oaths above their lives. I respect that." Soren cleanly and decisively pulled his cape back over his shoulders, refusing to waste a single breath on useless persuasion:"The gates of Greywater Village will always remain open to you and your brothers. Talon, make sure you survive." With those parting words, Soren led Renn and took massive strides out of the stone cabin, disappearing into the howling blizzard.

He left Talon standing entirely alone by the fire pit, his eyes brimming with a profound, agonizing sense of loss and regret. Departing the mountain pass of the Broken Blade Mountains, Soren regrouped with Lyra and the seventy Black Steel elites hidden behind the snowbanks. The detachment immediately embarked on a forced night march back toward their territory. Riding through the biting, freezing wind, Renn spurred his horse to ride alongside Soren.

He finally couldn't hold back the intense confusion burning in his chest.

"My Lord, your subordinate simply doesn't understand!" Renn furiously scratched his bald head, his face a mask of bewilderment and anxiety.

"You offered the absolute most exorbitant terms on the entire continent! You were even willing to generously bestow Black Steel heavy plate! Talon was obviously tempted beyond belief! Why did he have to give such a vague, half-assed answer like 'discuss it at a later date'?"

"Does he just not want to come with us at all? Did we just waste this entire trip for nothing?" Amidst the blizzard, Soren sat tall in his saddle, his black cape violently whipping in the wind. He turned his head. Seeing Renn's desperate impatience, a deeply calculating, Machiavellian smile blossomed on his face.

"For nothing? Renn, you still don't understand human nature." Soren's voice was exceptionally clear and absolute in the blizzard, surgically piercing right to the core essence of the negotiation:"Did he actually reject me just now? Did he say he swore absolute, dying loyalty to the Ironpeak Duchy?" Renn froze, replaying Talon's words in his head.

"I suppose... he didn't."

"And that is exactly the key!" Soren's eyes burned like torches; he had completely seen through Talon's psychological defenses long ago.

"The Steppe Barbarians value honor and loyalty, but they are also exceptionally pragmatic. The fact that he didn't outright refuse, and instead tried to stall with 'discuss it at a later date,' proves that his psychological defenses have completely and entirely collapsed! It guarantees that our absorption plan has an over ninety percent probability of absolute success!"

"The only reason he hesitated is, firstly, he lacks a direct, visual understanding of Greywater Village's true military might. And secondly, he is chained by that absurd blood-oath to 'hold the pass'." Soren raised his head, staring into the gloomy, overcast sky. His entire being radiated the absolute, chilling precision of a mastermind strategist.

"Since he needs an excuse... then we will simply manufacture the most brutal excuse imaginable for him." Soren violently hauled back on the reins. His warhorse skidded to a halt in the center of the snowfield. He spun around, issuing a draconian military order to Lyra and Renn:"Pass down my command! Have Meyer immediately deploy his absolute most elite goblin scouts! They are to establish airtight, round-the-clock surveillance on all movements within the Broken Blade Mountains!"

Soren's gaze was terrifyingly oppressive, every single word dripping with tyrannical authority:"That starving, freezing pack of Barbarians absolutely will not survive the Orcs' next main-force assault."

"Remember this! When the Orc Alliance army launches a full-scale siege on that pass... when those Steppe warriors are pushed to the absolute brink of annihilation... and when the utter scum of the Ironpeak Duchy entirely abandons them to die..." Soren raised his right hand and violently clenched it into a fist:"My forces from Greywater Village absolutely will not sit by and watch!"

"We must descend at that exact, pivotal microsecond with the absolute posture of Saviors! We will physically rip them from the jaws of a catastrophic meat-grinder! Once that is done, even if I actively order them to leave, that proud warrior Talon will lead every last man under his command to willingly throw themselves at my feet and swear absolute, undying fealty!" The blizzard gradually morphed into a torrential downpour of freezing rain.

Tiny shards of ice pelted the muddy water, relentlessly washing over the narrow trail leading away from the Broken Blade Mountains. Soren led the seventy frontline elites clad in Black Steel heavy plate, accompanied by Monk Renn and the throwing-knife master, Lyra. The detachment was currently executing a completely silent, forced rapid march back toward the territory of Greywater Village.

Though their fine-steel war-boots continuously trampled through deep, humus-filled mud pits, they didn't produce a single trace of chaotic noise. The tactical discipline of this unit had long since been etched into their very bones. Just as Soren's mind was still rapidly calculating the subsequent phases of his master plan to entirely swallow the Steppe Barbarians...