In the surroundings, some wept as they held bodies that no longer moved.
A woman clutched a man whose chest had been opened by something sharp. A child shook a father who would never wake. The sounds of grief mixed with the sounds of fear until Damian could not tell where one ended and the other began.
His frown became even heavier.
Lesser Things.
This was what some prideful Warriors called those without Mana. Or those who really could not use Mana.
In the Lands of Stone, status was everything.
And others... chose to lord it over many.
On the body of the Butcher of the Golden Tribe, one could see faint coiling snakes of blue Mana. They writhed beneath his skin like living things, visible only at the edges of perception. This being held power that made him look like he had the force of a mammoth contained within human flesh.
And Damian, even though crippled, still remembered what this sense of oppression meant.
He had felt it before.
He had a worried expression when he looked toward Uncle Adam.
He could already see things going in a very bad direction soon.
His eyes tracked Elena, who was still rushing toward the Chieftain. Her fiery hair streamed behind her. Her face was twisted with fear for her father.
She was not thinking.
Damian’s eyes flashed, and he moved decisively.
Uncle Adam continued toward the center of the tribe while Damian caught up to Elena in three quick strides. He stuck his foot out silently, timing it perfectly with her momentum.
They tumbled together.
The rough stone and mud hit his body hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. His palms scraped against earth that had been walked by generations. His knee cracked against something solid.
But he ignored the pain.
He ignored the shocked and hurt expression on Elena’s face as she tried to understand what had just happened.
He covered her from the line of sight of the Warriors ahead, his movements steady and calculated as he scooped mud from the ground and began smearing it over her head and face.
"What are you..."
She tried to fight him off, but even with his scrawny body, he was still fast!
His hands moved with precision drilled into him by years of training that his shattered foundation could not erase.
He was doing all of this because he could already see how events would unfold.
Elena would rush toward the Chieftain.
The Butcher of the Golden Tribe, who had just explicitly said he came here to get women of this tribe as tribute, would look at her.
And he would add her to the list.
Even though she was a bit chubby and muscular, as the daughter of the Chieftain, Elena was well-kept. Her skin was not weathered by too much sun. Her features, beneath the dirt and the fierceness, held a certain quality that men like the Butcher would notice.
And as much as Damian may be able to turn his gaze away when misfortune fell upon those he did not know...
His sentimentality would likely act up if he watched an unfolding scene of brutality against someone he knew very well.
It wasn’t to say he was some hopeless young fool in love as such a thing was not even a thought or a possibility for him, he simply carried sentimentality for the girl who pestered him these past few years.
This actually fell on another violation of the Doctrines of Uncle Adam.
The Doctrines of Stone, as he liked to officially call them.
The Second Doctrine: Never let emotions cloud your judgment, and never get attached to anything or anyone. Too many men have died from sentimentality.
Never get too attached. He followed this Doctrine closely for the most part as he did not form many relationships in this Tribe.
Damian shook his head as he got up.
He whispered to Elena while keeping his eyes on the scene ahead.
"Stay down for now. Let’s see if Uncle Adam can calm things down. Stay behind me."
His voice was steady despite everything.
"Remember the Second Doctrine."
He tried to remind her of a Doctrine that even he seemed close to violating.
...!
Elena’s eyes were wide with conflicting emotions. Fear for her father. Anger at being restrained.
But she stayed down for now.
Damian turned toward the scene ahead where Uncle Adam arrived beside the Chieftain.
And the old Warrior... transformed.
It was not a physical change, not truly. Adam was still the same gruff man with bronze skin and weathered features. Still the same thick muscles earned through decades of violence. Still the same tired eyes that had witnessed too much death.
But the air around him shifted.
His aged body straightened with a soldier’s bearing, and snakes of blue Mana began to coil visibly beneath his skin. They moved like the ones on the Butcher, rising to the surface and then diving deep again. Power that had been sleeping now stirred.
Uncle Adam had not shown this side of himself often.
Not in the years of farming and hiding.
Not in the quiet moments of teaching Doctrines to a crippled prince.
But now, facing the Butcher of the Golden Tribe, the old Warrior let his strength become visible. His spear, chipped and worn from use, suddenly looked far more dangerous in hands that remembered how to kill.
He spoke, his voice moving across the bloodied center of the tribe.
"Friend."
The word held no warmth.
"How about we end things without any more bloodshed? How about a bit of...diplomacy?"
...!
Damian watched on with a calm yet tense expression.
He saw Uncle Adam putting into practice another one of his Doctrines.
The Ninth Doctrine of Stone.
If you can solve things with diplomacy, do so.
Because once a battle begins, you either live, or you die.