Duke’s words were intermittent, his emotions agitated yet restrained, fitting the image of a young tribesman whose home was destroyed and who had endured hardships.

The energy fluctuations around him, the details of his clothing, and even the deep-seated hatred all matched the identity of a soldier in retreat from the Liufeng Tribe.

The sentinel squad leader carefully sensed his energy, inspecting some deliberately left old wounds from fights with the invaders, her vigilance slightly eased but not entirely relaxed.

"Wait here. I need to report." She signaled for the other sentinels to keep an eye on Duke, then turned around and used some kind of moonlight communication magic to send information internally within the tribe.

The wait was not long.

Soon, an older elf, wearing a priest’s robe and exuding calmness, arrived accompanied by a team of guards.

He carefully inquired about more details of the Liufeng Tribe’s downfall, characteristics of the chieftain and some notable warriors, and Duke’s experience during his breakout.

Duke answered fluently, and the implanted memory fragments played their perfect role at this moment, even supplementing some vivid yet vague details, which gradually dispelled the priest’s doubts.

Finally, the elder priest nodded: "The tragedy of Liufeng we have heard of. Lord Ysera has ordered to gather all willing to resist. Ying Ye, welcome to the Moon Scar Tribe. Your hatred is our hatred. Come with me first; you need rest, and you need to understand more of our rules here."

Duke lowered his head, his voice low yet firm: "Thank you for your shelter, sire. Ying Ye is willing to contribute his small part to drive out the invaders."

After successfully passing the initial scrutiny, he was led by the elder priest through a hidden fence naturally formed by animated thorns with warning and repelling effects, officially stepping into the territory of the Moon Scar Tribe.

In the territory, the moonlight and natural energy flowed like sticky honey in the air, with every breath seeming to absorb faint essences.

This was a manifestation of the strong radiating power of the Level 3 Moon Well, the Eye of the Moon Scar, even in the peripheral areas, far denser than the central areas of those Level 1 or Level 2 tribes.

They walked along a carefully maintained forest path paved with smooth white stones. On both sides of the road, it was no longer a completely wild forest but rather a scene of planned landscapes.

Patches of magical herb gardens emitted different lusters and auras, planted with elf-exclusive plants Duke had either seen or not seen in intelligence reports.

Several small ponds with crystal-clear water and moonstones at the bottom had silver fish swimming around.

Occasionally, some quaint and elegant tree houses, partially embedded in ancient trees or built amongst thick branches, were spotted, blending seamlessly with the forest, their windows glowing softly with light from luminous plants or moonstones.

The elves encountered along the way gradually increased in number.

Most moved hurriedly, yet their demeanor carried a confidence and discipline belonging to a strong tribe.

Warriors wore lightweight yet well-enchanted leather or chain armor, carried bows or spears, their eyes sharp. Priests donned robes with unique Moon Scar Tribe patterns, holding short staffs or holy emblems, their expressions solemn.

There were also some ordinary elf folk working in fields or workshops.

Everyone who saw the priest leading Duke would bow slightly, casting curious, assessing, or slightly sympathetic glances at the unfamiliar Duke following behind.

For a retreating soldier seeking refuge, these reactions were reasonable.

After walking for about a quarter of an hour, they veered off the main path leading to the central area of the tribe and turned onto a narrower trail.

The surrounding tree houses became sparse, replaced by a relatively open, cleared forest glade, which served as a temporary camp for newcomers seeking refuge.

The camp was quite large, with a capacity for around a hundred people.

The living facilities were relatively simple, mostly utilizing existing giant tree holes, simple shanties built, or animal skin tents spread directly on thick moss.

In the center of the camp, there was a small clearing with several bonfires burning special scented wood for warmth and lighting, the flames a pale blue, almost smokeless.

Scattered around the clearing were some rough wooden stumps and stones, seemingly serving as seats or workbenches.

Currently, there were dozens of elves in the camp.

As the intelligence stated, they came from different, ill-fated tribes.

From the subtle differences in clothing and equipment, and the occasional different accents in their conversations, one could distinguish at least five or six different origins.

The atmosphere was indeed heavy.

Most had faces with lingering fatigue, sorrow, or taut vigilance.

The pain of a destroyed home, dispersed tribesmen, and being uprooted from their homeland was palpable.

Conversations were kept low, and laughter was almost nonexistent.

The air was filled with a faint smell of herbs, sweat, and an invisible pressure.

Yet simultaneously, one could feel a slowly forming solidarity against a common enemy.

As Duke entered the camp, many gazes focused on him, and among those gazes, apart from scrutiny, came a growing sense of shared fate.

A few elves practicing archery at the edge of the clearing stopped their actions, nodding slightly at him.

An old elf repairing leather armor with crude tools looked up at him, raspingly saying, "Another one... Welcome, child, find a spot to rest."

The elder priest leading Duke spoke a few words to an old one-eyed warrior who seemed to be temporarily in charge of the camp: "Ying Ye from the Liufeng Tribe, a newcomer. Arrange things according to the rules." Then turned to Duke, "Ying Ye, this is Iron Fir, once a commander, now in charge of daily operations at the camp. He will tell you the rules here.

Remember, here you are all comrades longing for revenge, willing to fight to drive out the invaders. Obey the arrangements, train hard, prove your worth. The tribe will not let a true warrior go unrewarded."

After speaking, the priest turned and left, leaving Duke in this temporary home mixed with sadness and resilience.

The one-eyed Iron Fir approached, his gaze measuring Duke up and down like a ruler, pausing momentarily on the scimitar at his waist and the deliberately left old scars on his body.

His voice was like two stones rubbing together: "From Liufeng? Heard you got beaten badly. Getting here alive is quite a feat. In the camp, no fighting or stealing others’ belongings, follow all actions by the whistle.

There are fixed training, patrol, or labor tasks every day, perform well, and you’ll get extra rations. If you want better weapons, potions, or to learn stronger combat skills, you earn them through your performance and accomplishments. No freeloaders or cowards here, understood?"