The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Jowaryan tribe – 2
Jolthar leaned forward, patting Maelruth’s neck. “Don’t worry about us. We know what we’re doing.”

Eran mounted his horse, still smiling. “If you say so. Let’s get moving. The Jowaryan tribe is waiting, and I’d rather not keep them guessing about whether the Kaezhlar clan can still handle its allies’ concerns.”

With that, the group of knights set off, with Jolthar riding Maelruth while Eran led the way on horseback.

As they passed through the gates of the estate, the whispers of the onlookers faded behind them.

***

In the heart of a vast, endless desert, where scorching sands concealed millennia of forgotten histories, there existed a civilisation unlike any other—the people of the Daryen Valley.

They were not humans, yet they bore the most intricate semblance of humanity, walking among the world with forms that could deceive even the most discerning observer. Their lineage was steeped in legends older than the mountains that cradled their domain, whispered to be one of the most formidable races to ever traverse the earth.

The valley itself was a marvel of contradiction—a verdant sanctuary nestled within the unforgiving desert landscape. Their civilisation sprawled across the valley’s heart, with strategic outposts perched like vigilant sentinels along the surrounding mountain ranges. Intricate sand castles rose from the ground, their architecture blending seamlessly with the golden terrain, creating structures that seemed to breathe with the very essence of the landscape.

Despite the harsh desert environment, the Daryen Valley flourished with an abundance that defied natural laws. Water cascaded through hidden channels, nourishing lush vegetation that spread like emerald veins across the valley. Plants thrived where logic suggested only desolation could exist, and life pulsed through every corner of their remarkable domain.

At the core of their existence stood their most sacred connection—their unwavering devotion to Eloda, their divine deity, whose presence was felt in every grain of sand, every whisper of wind.

But the current moment was far from the glorious past that defined their civilisation.

The tribe’s legendary strength had deteriorated, leaving them vulnerable in ways they had never been before. Where once hundreds of warriors would have stood ready to defend their borders, now only a handful of strong members remained capable of holding their fortifications.

It was in this precarious moment that Belan arrived, accompanied by four women, standing before the valley’s entrance at one of the mountain outposts.

The guardian of this outpost was a man of imposing presence—six feet and five inches tall, with a dark complexion that spoke of generations of desert lineage. His stance was both protective and challenging as he confronted the unexpected visitors.

One of the women, Lysandra, stepped forward with deliberate grace. Removing the cloth that had concealed her face, she revealed herself to the guardian.

Instant recognition flickered in his eyes—a history unspoken but deeply understood passed between them.

“Why are you here?” the guardian demanded, his voice carrying the weight of unresolved memories and tribal protocol.

Before Lysandra could respond, a young man came running—Sgard, whose urgency transformed the atmosphere.

“Bhil!” Sgard exclaimed as he breathed for air. The long run made him sweat profusely.

“It was me who called for them,” Sgard said, his dialect different from the ones spoken in the midlands.

Bhil, the man at the outpost, was surprised as he said, “What? Why?”

Sgard calmed down and replied, “Because we need help, Bhil, you know that too.”

Bhil tightened his jaw as he held the long spear tighter. He asked, “Does your father know?”

“No, I will take them to father now.”

Bhil sighed as he said, “You better know what you are doing. Calling the woman who abandoned you was little.” He then returned back to his post.

His comment brought up complex emotions in both Sgard and Lysandra. Sgard was her son, and she left the tribe when he was little, leaving him behind.

Lysandra’s history was complex. She had left the tribe years ago when she joined the Blue Rose Seragilo, a decision that had undoubtedly created ripples of controversy within their tight-knit community.

The guardian’s warning was clear: their presence was not welcome, their arrival fraught with potential disruption.

But Sgard was determined. Lysandra hugged Sgard and looked him up and down; he was now big and all grown up. Her tears welled up, as did Sgard. He was in his late teens, strong and youthful.

With a mixture of youthful defiance and familial connection, he was prepared to lead them directly to the jarl—the tribal leader who would ultimately determine their fate. The tensions simmered—a delicate balance between ancient traditions and immediate necessities.

Sgard loved his mother and understood why she had to leave. He had been in contact with her, once in a while sending letters to her. Now that the tribe was in danger, he asked for her help.

Lysandra being one of the strongest Dames of the Blue Rose, she had Blue Rose’s matriarch’s respect and value, and it was the reason the matriarch sent along her daughter with others.

–

The Daryen Valley civilisation had always been more than a mere tribal society. They were guardians of knowledge, keepers of mythological traditions that predated written history.

Their ability to appear human while possessing something fundamentally different sets them apart from every other known race. Each member carried within them a profound connection to their ancestral lineage, a spiritual depth that transcended ordinary understanding.

Eloda, their revered deity, was more than a religious icon. She represented the very essence of their existence—fertility, motherhood, protection, and the cyclical nature of life and death. Her influence permeated every aspect of their society, from their architectural designs to their complex social structures.

As Sgard prepared to lead Lysandra and her companions toward the heart of their civilisation, the outpost guardian’s reservations were palpable.

Years of tribal protocols of maintaining strict boundaries against outsiders had been ingrained into their cultural blood. Yet something about this moment felt different—a subtle shift in the universe’s forces that governed their existence.