"Alright, Cain. Why don’t you tell me why you only brought one wagon of iron ores when I demanded four?" Leone asked. "Does your father think I’m some kind of pushover? Hm?"

Cain didn’t dare to answer. Ulric already had his fists clenched. He feared that if his answer annoyed them, he would get another beating.

As the oldest son of the Chieftain of the Darkmane Tribe, he had enjoyed many privileges and benefits.

Due to his position, he had neither experienced any hardship in life nor suffered pain like what he was experiencing now.

For someone who had lived a blessed life, the pain he felt was enough for him to fear the young man looking down at him from the stage.

"You can’t answer?" Leone smirked. "Do you want me to order Ulric to loosen your jaw for you?"

"W-Wait! I’ll talk!" Cain replied in a panicked voice. "I don’t know why my father only prepared one wagon when you asked for four!"

"You don’t know?"

"Yes! I don’t!"

Leone raised his hand, to which Ulric unclenched his fists, making Cain sigh in relief. He had completely taken control of the situation, making everyone watching this scene look at him in fear, respect, and admiration.

Even the chieftain of the middle-ranked tribes didn’t dare do what he was doing because it would lead to war. Yet, from his posture and gaze that reeked of confidence, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t afraid of the Darkmane Tribe!

For the barbarians who lived in the Borderlands, the concept of a lower-ranking tribe defying a high-ranking tribe was pure madness.

Only those who had a death wish would do so!

"Do you know the similarities between me, you, Vlad, and Lord Wayne?" Leone asked, his tone calm.

"I-I don’t know," Cain answered because he understood that if he didn’t answer, he would only experience pain. Feeling pain for the first time was enough to loosen his mouth.

"It’s because we are all born privileged," Leone stated. "Thanks to our parents, we stand above others by birthright. However, that is where our similarities end."

Vlad and Wayne looked at the young man beside them with solemn looks on their faces. They had no idea what he would say next, but that didn’t change the fact that he had their full attention.

"If you were stripped of your position as the son of the Chieftain of the Darkmane Tribe, then what are you?" Leone asked.

"I... don’t know," Cain replied.

"I’ll tell you the answer." Leone smiled faintly. "You’ll be a nobody. At most, you’ll be a thug who bullies the weak and fears the strong. You’ll be someone bound to die a dog’s death once he messes with the wrong person... just like now."

Cain shuddered in response because Hassan, who was hiding in Leone’s shadow, used that moment to unleash his killing intent towards the pitiful heir of the Darkmane Tribe.

His face grew a shade paler, while his breath grew ragged.

"As for me, I was stripped of everything when I was exiled here in the Borderlands." Leone gazed in the direction where the Kingdom of Britannia was supposed to be, which was to the northwest of Grimjaw Mountain.

"And yet, I stand before you here today. Without help from my birthright privileges," Leone added. "I stand here not as a defeated noble nor someone who bullies the weak yet fears the strong. Kael, who am I?"

Kael didn’t hesitate to stand straight and shout in a firm and powerful voice.

"You are the Great Chieftain of the Aslan Tribe! The one who stood against all odds and united the lower-ranked tribes under his banner! The golden lion of the east, Leone Frontera!"

Leone gave Kael two thumbs up in his heart. This vassal of his really was the most eloquent among his retainers.

"That’s the difference between us," Leone declared. "You’re still using your father’s position to your advantage, while I’ve built this tribe from scratch. I, who had nothing but the clothes on my body when I was exiled, rose up to become a chieftain in the Borderlands."

Wayne lowered his head and subconsciously clenched his fists. He had come here to judge Leone as the second oldest son of the Warclaw Tribe, a position that held considerable power in the Borderlands.

He then wondered what kind of achievements he could have accomplished if he wasn’t born privileged.

If he was only born as an ordinary barbarian, would he be able to achieve something great?

Vlad, on the other hand, only looked at his idol with more reverence. If not for his self control, he might have already knelt in front of Leone and pledged his allegiance to him.

He wanted to do that, maybe in private, but not in the presence of so many people.

"Also, let me be perfectly clear about one thing," Leone added. "I’m not scared of the high-ranking tribes. Have you all forgotten? I am an exiled noble of the Kingdom of Britannia.

"My Father is a Viscount. He manages two towns and a city that has a total population of three hundred and thirty-thousand people. The army he commands number over ten thousand. Though, if he gave an order to enlist all the able-bodied men in his territory who could fight, the number of soldiers under his command would swell in the tens of thousands."

The young man then shifted his attention towards the warriors of the Darkmane Tribe before looking at them in contempt.

"If my father and the Darkmane Tribe should go to war, your pathetic tribe will cease to exist," Leone said firmly. "But, the funny thing is that I don’t even need my father’s help to deal with you and your pathetic lot."

He then shifted his attention back to Cain, who was still looking at him with a pale expression on his face.

"All of you think the Aslan Tribe can’t win against the Darkmane Tribe." Leone smiled faintly. "And you’re right. We won’t win against them in battle."

Hearing him admit that he had no chance of winning against the Darkmane Tribe made people wonder why he still dared to offend such a powerhouse despite knowing this fact.

Fortunately, Leone’s next words answered their questions.

"We might not win against them, but we certainly won’t lose."

His words were filled with confidence that those present on the scene couldn’t take their eyes off of him. This young man, who seemed to shine faintly under the rays of the sun, stood tall and proud.

His vassals gazed at him with pride, while his tribe members looked at him with admiration.

This was their Great Chieftain!

The person whom they served.

"Well then. Since your father thought that he could bully me, should I send you and your brother’s head back to him?" Leone asked in a teasing tone. "Perhaps I ought to turn him into the Borderlands’ laughingstock—let him be known as an incompetent chieftain so arrogant, he sent his heirs to die in the Aslan Tribe.

"Sure, it might infuriate him so much that he’d order his army to march here to wipe us out. However, I will guarantee you this. The Darkmane Tribe will suffer so much from this war that they will never dare to raise their heads again in the Borderlands."

He then walked toward his throne and sat on it. The young man then rested the side of his face on the palm of his hand and eyed Cain calmly.

"Mind giving me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?" Leone asked. "Since I have every intention of offending your father, ending your life here wouldn’t really change anything.

"I’m sure even if I let you live and release both you and your brother, he will still find an excuse to wage war against us. Aren’t I nice? I’m giving him a reason to attack. I’m sparing him the trouble of coming up with a justification."

At those words, Hassan increased his bloodlust. Though, this time, he didn’t just target Cain. He also unleashed it toward the members of the Darkmane Tribe, the Warclaw Tribe, and the Grimfang Tribe.

This made the warriors look at Leone in shock. This kind of killing intent shouldn’t be possible for someone as young as him.

This kind of killing intent could only be unleashed by someone who had killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people in their lifetime!

Leone wasn’t aware that one of the warriors that belonged to the Bloodtusk Tribe began to look at him with a complicated look on his face.

He was hailed as the strongest warrior of the Bloodtusk Tribe, yet he had failed to do anything during the war.

It made him realize that the fragile-looking young man, whom he could easily kill if he was able to go within striking range, might be the person he was waiting for his entire life.

Someone who would stand his ground, even in the face of those who were stronger than him.