Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 124: War At Our Doorstep

Chief Bellamy and Lars strolled through the bustling heart of the Tribe of Three settlement, walking slowly to take in the sight.

Bellamy hummed, pleased, as he took in the various sights and smells in the air.

The settlement around them was a hive of activity where the warriors trained, the smiths hammered out weapons out of the limited supply of iron they had, and the scouts gathered in loose groups to report sightings and movements.

Not a hint of what they were planning must get out. Either to the Ross soldiers or to the other tribes deep in barbarian lands.

Anybody entering the settlement would be able to tell what they were planning. With the clanging of metal, the shrill cries of their wyverns, and the low, steady rhythm of war drums, there was only one thing it would lead to.

War.

A small smile appeared on Bellamy's face as he shaded his eyes and looked up. Even the skies were not safe from their preparations.

Above them, wyverns circled in lazy but controlled spirals. They were no longer just creatures of pride anymore. No longer a symbol of their fading strength.

No.

The wyverns were now war machines. Their riders, dressed in the usual leather and bone armor, gripped reins tightly, as they kept up with their training.

He watched as one wyvern dived in a sudden burst of speed, its rider performing a barrel roll close to the ground that made those who had stopped to watch cheer. Morale was at an all time high. For the first time since he assumed the role of chief, things were looking up.

He could count at least fifty wyverns circling above them. And they were just the aerial forces, a fraction of their army. Their ground forces, training their bears outside the settlement, were the main bulk of their forces.

And all these wouldn't be possible without the outsider.

He reached down to his side, his fingers brushing against the pouch containing the precious berry powder. The pouch's weight was inconsequential but its impact was massive.

He turned to Lars, raising a brow. "How did you get your hands on so much berry powder? Enough for this many Druids? Green Trees don't grow beyond the barbarian lands, do they?"

He glanced back at their own Green Tree. It had stopped producing berries since that day. The day they'd been cursed.

Lars didn't break stride, adjusting the small pack tied to his back as he answered. "I got it in the same way you've been getting it all these years. My former master traded with many tribes. Secretly and through a barbarian proxy, of course."

"Small deals here and there, each tribe believing they were parting with a minor fragment of something worthless. Individually, the berries weren't much. But together, when combined from multiple Green Trees, it created enough powder to jumpstart what you see around us."

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. "And yet, the one who wanted to use it all is dead."

"Yes." Lars agreed, expression flat. "But plans outlive people. And ambition, that lives on in others."

They passed a group of young warriors practicing under the barked orders of a female Druid. Spears moved in unison, shields locked. Not the disorganized warriors Albion had known in the past.

"Why help us?" Bellamy asked, watching the drill. "Why help destroy the Ross family?"

"My reasons are my own." Lars answered. His chains were almost gone. The moment the Tribe of Three attacked the Ross family, it would disappear. His work here was done.

"Let's just say, there are debts I had to pay. As long as your people don't look beyond the Ross family, you will have time to destroy to your heart's content. And my debt will be paid."

Lars stopped, turning around to look at the Green Tree standing at the center of the settlement. It stood like a giant above the longhouses, its bark cracked, and its luminous veins flickering instead of glowing.

"It's dying." Bellamy said softly. "We need to kill the curse. Or all would be lost."

"And as always, that's none of my business." Lars said, turning to look at Bellamy. "We have a deal. I'll return for my favor. Be ready when I do."

Bellamy stretched a hand and Lars returned the gesture, both gripping each other's forearm. "You'll get it."

Lars gave a curt nod and disappeared through the gates, leaving for places unknown.

Bellamy watched him go before turning back toward his people. His eyes roamed over them again, remembering a time when they'd gone to war just like this.

A time after the long dead Lord Ross had left their lands. The day when the disaster had begun.

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30 Years Ago

Bellamy had been just shy of his twenty first winter. His father, Chief Ilyan, stood in his war tent, arms crossed and face twisted in fury.

"They accuse us of cavorting with their enemy, Albion?" He spat. "Not a single one has ever set an eye on a soldier of Albion before! Not a single one has talked to them or stepped one foot into their land! Never!"

Bellamy stood beside him, silent. His heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of anger and dread.

"This is not a matter of us cavorting with their enemy!" Ilyan continued, voice rising as he paced. "This is about power. The Tribe of Stone sees our strength. Our prosperity. Our proximity to Albion. They see a threat and they use that Albion noble to justify their greed."

He turned sharply to one of the war Druids. "They've wanted our land for years. Our berries. Our tree. And now, Ross' visit gives them the excuse."

"And that foolish Ross!" He turned on his heel again. "Building that damn wall at the border!"

"The wall." Bellamy said quietly. "Lord Ross is building it fast. Faster than even our own builders believed possible with the power they have."

Ilyan nodded grimly. "Listen carefully and learn, Bellamy. A wall is not just a defense. It's a message. A message that they either plan to contain or eradicate us. And I'll not sit around and wait to see what it is."

One of the older Druids stepped forward. "Then we attack first, Chief? Strike before we are cornered?"

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Ilyan shook his head. "Not yet. We still have the Tribe of Stone behind us. We cannot leave our lands with an enemy at our back. Prepare! Blood shall be spilled."

Bellamy felt a stone settle in his stomach. War was at their doorstep. And the tribe, still strong, would need to be stronger.

He looked through the flap of the tent at the Green Tree, glowing then, with power.

That was one of the last times he saw it truly alive.