LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Forceful Recruitment
The leader of the Demon Ibex clan, a subgroup of the Demon Horned tribe, known as Ralon, watched as the members of the Demon Horned Tribe departed. He turned to his subordinates, issuing a swift command. “Fetch the shaman. We’ll need his wisdom here. I’ll stay behind to ensure our guests do not create further chaos.”

The Ibex warriors nodded, their powerful legs propelling them down the mountain path to the tribal village.

Ralon remained, his imposing figure standing as a symbol of authority and control amidst the rocky terrain.

Lyerin and his group, still in their transformed Ibex forms, stood uneasily, their wild eyes darting around, gauging their new circumstances.

The medieval men, now humanoid Ibex, were visibly nervous, unsure of what to expect.

They were astounded when Ralon began speaking to them, asking questions with an air of casual curiosity.

“Tell me,” Ralon started, his tone conversational, “where do you come from? Your behavior and appearance are quite… unusual for Ibex.”

Lyerin, unfazed by the questioning, responded smoothly, his voice steady. “We are from a distant land, one that is not familiar with your customs. We have been wandering for some time, seeking a place to belong.”

The medieval men exchanged bewildered glances, amazed at how easily Lyerin answered the leader. Ralon, intrigued by Lyerin’s calm demeanor, pressed further. “And how long have you been traveling?”

“Many moons,” Lyerin replied without hesitation. “Our journey has been long and fraught with challenges.”

Ralon nodded thoughtfully. “Your journey must have been arduous. How have you managed to survive in such a wild state?”

Lyerin’s eyes gleamed with a hint of pride. “We have relied on our strength and unity. It is not easy, but we manage.”

The medieval men were stunned by Lyerin’s composed responses. They had never seen him so articulate, so at ease in a situation that was, by all accounts, bizarre and tense.

Ralon continued his inquiry, his interest clearly piqued. “Your strength is indeed impressive. But tell me, what drives you? What is your purpose in coming to our lands?”

Lyerin’s expression remained neutral. “We seek a place where we can prove our worth and find acceptance, but most of all, women. Your tribe’s trials offer us that opportunity.”

Ralon’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a hint of respect in his gaze. “A noble goal. Our tribe values strength and determination. If you can prove yourselves, you may find what you seek.”

The conversation flowed easily, with Ralon asking more casual questions about their travels, their experiences, and even their preferences in food and drink.

Lyerin answered each question with a calm assurance that left his companions in awe.

They had expected their leader to be confrontational, but instead, he was displaying a remarkable ability to navigate the conversation diplomatically.

One of the medieval men, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, finally spoke up. “How do you know so much about us? Your questions are very… specific.”

Ralon smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “As a leader, it is my duty to understand those who come into contact with our tribe. Knowledge is a powerful tool, and I have learned to wield it wisely.”

The medieval man nodded, impressed by Ralon’s wisdom. The leader’s ability to command respect and maintain control was evident, and it was clear that he was a formidable figure among the Ibex tribe.

As the conversation continued, the atmosphere gradually relaxed.

The medieval men, still amazed by Lyerin’s composure, began to feel more at ease.

Ralon’s presence, while authoritative, was also reassuring. He seemed genuinely interested in understanding their situation, and his questions, though probing, were not hostile.

The sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the mountain.

The Ibex warriors returned, accompanied by the shaman, an elderly figure with a long, flowing beard and eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. He approached Ralon, nodding respectfully.

“Ralon,” the shaman said, his voice deep and resonant. “You summoned me.”

Ralon gestured toward Lyerin and his group. “Shaman, these wanderers seek to join our tribe and prove their worth through our trials. I have spoken with them, but I believe your guidance is needed.”

The shaman studied Lyerin and the others with a discerning gaze. “Indeed, they are… different. I sense a powerful energy about them.”

Lyerin met the shaman’s gaze without flinching. “We are prepared to face your trials and prove our worth.”

The shaman nodded slowly. “Very well. The trials will test your strength, your spirit, and your resolve. If you are true in your intentions, you will succeed.”

Ralon turned to Lyerin, his expression serious. “This is your chance. Show us what you are made of, and you may find the acceptance you seek.”

Lyerin’s eyes gleamed with determination. “We will not disappoint.”

As the stars began to shimmer in the night sky, the shaman’s presence grew even more imposing. His eyes, reflecting the flickering flames of the campfire, held a mysterious depth.

He raised his staff, and the warriors of the Demon Ibex clan formed a circle around Lyerin and the medieval Ibex from the kingdom.

“Hold their hands,” the shaman commanded, his voice carrying an eerie authority.

The leader of the Demon Ibex Clan of Demon Horned Tribe and his subordinates complied, each grasping the hand of an outsider.

The medieval Ibex, still in their transformed forms, felt a wave of nervousness but complied, thinking it was a ritual of welcome or initiation.

But then, something shifted.

The air grew tense, and the shaman’s lips curled into a sinister smile.

“Haha!”

Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed maniacally, a sound that echoed off the rocky cliffs and sent chills down the spines of the medieval humans in Ibex form.

“Grehahahhaha!”

The leader and warriors of the Demon Ibex clan joined in, their laughter a cacophony of menace.

“Krahahahhaha!”

“Nyrahaahahahha!”

“Araahahahhaha!”

Each burst of laughter felt like a hammer blow to the medieval Ibex, and beads of sweat began to form on their brows.

They exchanged worried glances, their unease growing with each passing second.

This was not the ritual they had anticipated.

The shaman finally ceased his laughter, his eyes burning with cruel amusement. “You fools,” he began, his voice dripping with disdain. “Did you truly think you could deceive us so easily?”

The medieval Ibex stiffened, their worst fears confirmed.

The shaman continued, his tone mocking. “We know exactly who you are. Humans, using transformation scrolls to infiltrate our tribe. Did you think your charade would fool us?”

The leader of the Demon Ibex tribe stepped forward, his expression one of contempt. “This madman,” he pointed his mouth to Lyerin,” answered my questions with such smoothness and ease. It was almost impressive. But we are not so easily duped.”

One of the Demon Ibex warriors chimed in, his voice filled with scorn. “You think you can pretend to be one of us? You are nothing but impostors.”

The medieval Ibex from the kingdom felt their hearts sink.

Their carefully crafted plan had unraveled, and now they stood exposed and vulnerable.

Are they going to die!?

Are they going to be tortured!?

What will happen now since they are found out!?

They could only stare in helpless silence as the shaman continued to berate them.

“You are stupid,” the shaman spat, his eyes narrowing. “Did you really believe you could enter our sacred grounds and not be discovered? Your arrogance is astounding.”

The leader of the tribe nodded in agreement. “You wanted to become members of our clan so desperately? Very well, we shall grant you your wish.”

With a swift motion, the shaman produced a vial of dark liquid and began to chant in a guttural language. The medieval Ibex watched in horror as he approached them, his staff glowing with a sinister light.

“Since you wish to become Ibex clan members so badly,” the shaman sneered, “then you shall become one—truly and permanently.”

The shaman dipped his fingers into the vial and began to draw intricate symbols on the foreheads of the medieval Ibex and Lyerin.

The liquid felt cold and heavy, like a curse seeping into their very souls.

The medieval humans in Ibex form trembled, their fear palpable.

Lyerin, however, remained calm. His expression was one of serene confidence, as if he had anticipated this turn of events. He met the shaman’s gaze without flinching, his eyes steady and unyielding.

The shaman finished his work, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now, you will be bound to us, truly becoming part of the Ibex clan. You will never return to your human forms.”

The leader of the Demon Ibex tribe smirked. “Welcome to your new life as a member of the Ibex Clan of Demon Horned Tribe, impostors.”