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The setting sun bathed the land in a warm glow, casting long shadows over the rugged terrain.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of the sanctuary's flora, mingling with the ever-present dust of this post-apocalyptic world.

As he passed Corora, her voice broke through the silence.

It was soft, yet filled with a tension that Lyerin could sense from the moment she spoke.

"Lyerin..." she began, her voice carrying a note of hesitation. He paused slightly but didn't turn around.

Corora took a deep breath and continued, "Is it really true that you just pretended to like me because you were cursed by the Devil Horned Tribe? Or..." her voice faltered for a moment, but then she gathered herself, "or is it because you hated me for moving on my own without telling you about it?"

Lyerin stood still for a moment, not turning to face her. His head began to think why she asked this, but he didn't really care about it. So he wouldn't care less of his answer.

The truth, bitter and raw, wasn't something he felt the need to sugarcoat. With a cold, detached voice, he answered, "Both."

He didn't look back at her as he continued walking.

Behind him, Corora's face went pale.

The weight of his words hit her like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she felt a strange, sharp pain in her chest, something she hadn't felt in a long time.

It wasn't physical—it was deeper, emotional, like something had cracked inside her.

Suddenly, she clenched her fists, biting back the tears that threatened to fall.

But she quickly shook her head, forcing herself to stay composed.

It was the first time Lyerin had hurt her, but it wouldn't be the last. She convinced herself that it wasn't really about her. It had to be about the fact that she had made decisions without consulting him.

That was his issue—he hated not being in control. And now, she could feel his attention shifting toward Sophia.

She could see the way he looked at her.

Corora steeled herself, a fire igniting in her chest, "No, she thought. I won't let Sophia replace me. I won't let him cast me aside."

Vowing to herself that she would never lose her place, Corora squared her shoulders and followed after Lyerin.

Meanwhile, Lyerin reached the group of people gathered around a makeshift camp.

.His expression was unreadable as he scanned the faces of the outsiders who had joined his tribe, most of them still unnerved by the events of the day.

The old man remained silent, his earlier bravado was completely extinguished after the brutal display of power by Lyerin's tribe.

"Have you eaten?" Lyerin asked, his voice carrying a slight edge, though it seemed like a casual question. read more at NovelFire_mp,y,r

The group nodded collectively, still uncertain of what Lyerin's next move might be. Satisfied with their response, he continued, "Are you familiar with the ruined magical world?"

The question caused a few of them to stiffen.

The ruined magical world was a place of mystery, a fractured land where they could gain abilities to protect themselves in this apocalyptic world.

Again, the group nodded, though with less certainty this time.

They knew of it, yes, but they didn't know why he asked this.

Lyerin, his eyes sharp and calculating, took in their reactions. "Good," he said simply. He then turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the last rays of sunlight were giving way to the deepening shadows of night.

The sky above them was painted in hues of orange and purple, and the air had grown cooler.

His gaze shifted to the horses gathered nearby, massive eldritch beasts that had been transformed through the tribe's ancient protectors.

Their bodies were muscular, their forms larger than any ordinary horse, and their heads resembled that of minotaurs—though instead of bull-like features, they bore the elongated faces of horses.

Their eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and their powerful hooves dug into the ground with a sense of restrained strength.

These creatures were his tribe's pride, their protectors and warriors, and they were now at their peak.

Lyerin nodded to himself, satisfied. "It's time," he said, his voice firm. "I'll take you all there. To my tribe in the ruined magic world."

There was a ripple of unease through the group, but no one dared protest.

Lyerin's authority was absolute, and they had no choice but to follow.

As the group began to prepare for the journey, the night air grew heavier.

The shadows around them seemed to grow darker, thicker, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, without warning, a notification appeared before him, its chime echoing in his mind.

[ Ding!

[ Due to the chieftain's desire to make his tribe a war tribe, the Stonehooves tribe will be sent to the Valley of Orcs after reaching the required level of the tribe—Peak Level Two. ]

Lyerin's heart froze. His confident smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer disbelief.

"What?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words of the notification repeated themselves in his mind, but they made no sense.

The Valley of Orcs?

He hadn't planned on this, hadn't anticipated this consequence.

How had his desire to turn his tribe into a war tribe led to this?

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information, but nothing made sense.

For the first time in a long while, Lyerin felt a cold wave of fear wash over him.

The Valley of Orcs was a death sentence.

The tribes that were sent there rarely returned, and those that did were broken beyond repair.

It was a battleground, a place where only the strongest could survive, and even they faced impossible odds.

The others noticed his sudden shift in demeanor, but they didn't understand why.

The old man, Corora, and the rest of the tribe looked to Lyerin for guidance, for leadership, but he remained frozen in place.

What they didn't know is his mind was screaming, What the hell is happening?

But there was no time to dwell on the fear. Lyerin, gritting his teeth, forced himself to regain composure.

He couldn't show weakness, not now.

The tribe was watching, and he needed to stay strong, no matter what.

He let out a deep breath, his face hardening once more. He had no choice. If they were to survive this, they would need to prepare.

Lyerin glanced over the gathered people—his tribe, his allies, and the newcomers. They had no idea what was coming.

But he did.

With a slow, determined tone, he muttered under his breath, "We're not ready for this…"

Yet, even as the darkness settled over them and the threat of the Valley loomed, a part of him thrilled at the challenge.

This was the world they lived in now—a world where only the strong survived, where tribes were forged through blood, war, and death.

And Lyerin had no intention of losing.

But still, the weight of that single word—what?—hung in the air like a curse, refusing to leave his mind.