I Am the God of Games Chapter 207 - Sibling Rivalry

Chapter 207: Sibling Rivalry

The Long-Ears’ tribe had settled in an elevate area full of reefs and faced the sea, with every house having an ocean view even if it wasn’t exactly warm even in spring.

But that was nothing good, because the vertical cliff that kept them over twenty-meters above the sea would not ensure their safety.

Tsunamis and other natural disasters notwithstanding, the proximity meant any sea monster that could leave water for brief periods could attack them. After all, they could climb the reef cliff or simply leap over those twenty odd meters—it was no problem for most sea monsters with their ma.s.sive bodies or their suction cups.

Any smart tribal chief would never set up camp here, but it was not as if the Long-Ears’ chief was a fool: he only decided to settle the tribe here because they had no choice.

After all, every other place in the Vierlin Plains were either occupied by other nonhuman tribes or claimed as hunting grounds. The Long-Ears only had themselves to blame for being the weakest tribe—not because they had few young and strong individuals, but because they were physically weak and clearly didn’t have any unique ability, and therefore couldn’t compete against other nonhumans.

As such, their kind was naturally denied any place to live, ending up having to choose a place as isolated as it was dangerous.

“Chief, we can’t go on like this! Three of us are dead in just a month!” A middle-aged Rabbitman with long gray ears complained unhappily. “The children wouldn’t have anything to eat even if we try to bear more and make up for numbers! If this continues, our tribe would be extinct in a few years!”

“Worry not, Rangka. This is only temporary—I shall find a way so that our tribe would live in comfort. You must believe in me!”

The other Rabbitman—the tribal chief of the Long-Ears—resembled Rangka in appearance, but he was older and skinny. He was no longer as tall as a typical Rabbitman, and he was grasping a long, worn and yellowed staff with his hand that was grown full of calluses.

It is a symbol of the Rabbitfolk’s tribal chief, and legend has it that it was forged out of the first magical plant that the first Rabbitfolk tribal chief had grown: the Yamallante Hollow Bamboo.

One should mention here that despite the grandness of that name, it actually was nothing special aside from a simple sign of ident.i.ty.

At the moment, there was unconcealed weariness on the tribal chief’s face who clearly had not slept well for a long time. Even so, there was despair in his gaze when he spoke ever so determinedly. “Just hold on a little longer…”

Rangka watched the chief, hesitating to speak but eventually gritting his teeth to voice out what was in his heart. “Brother, us aside, the other tribesmen are never going to accept that if this continues!”

“Are we really not going to show fealty to the Grayclaw tribe? Even if we are weak and couldn’t fight, we remain one of the three oldest nonhuman races—if we submit, they would act in our best interest even if it’s in the name of our forebears! Even if we couldn’t return to our old lands, settling down on some fertile soil would still be better than this h.e.l.l!”

“Rangka, I will let this go once because I understand your concern for the tribe. But never mention a word about swearing fealty anymore.” The Rabbitfolk chief—Rangka elder brother warned severely. “The Grayclaw tribe is no longer what they once were! We definitely must never join their ilk, let alone bend the knee before them! Even if our tribe might not die just to avoid slavery, we at least mustn’t submit to those who had given up on the glory of their ancestors!”

“Glory of their forebears? Brother, are you saying that—”

Rangka was looking at his brother’s pensive gaze and became bewildered as if he had immediately understood, but before Rangka could say another word, a deep and sinister voice spoke just behind them.

“To h.e.l.l with the ancestors’ glory! Swordtail was right—you Long-Ears are not going to keep your act together even after we chased you off to this place!”

The two Rabbitmen completely didn’t notice them approaching.

As they turned in pale shock, two figures had appeared less than three hundred meters from the Long-Ears’ settlement.

One of them was no different from the werewolves described in knight novels, although he had a tuft of red mane that extended from over his head down to his tail.

Rangka knew who that was: Nedlan the Bloodclaw, famous even amongst the wolf-folk for his cunning and ruthlessness!

And he must have been the one who had spoken out just now.

The other nonhuman stood almost three meters tall, but though his tiger-like head clearly showed no emotion, his cool gaze alone left the long-ears feeling severe pressure and terror. Anyone looking closely could also notice his two ma.s.sive fangs could no longer be kept within his jaw and jutted out like a dagger from his lower jaw, adding to his fearsome presence.

Rangka had never encountered another nonhuman like him, but in the instant that he saw that Tigermen, he remembered the word about an ancient Sabertooth Tiger Warrior appearing amongst the Tigermen who dwelled over the Vierlin Plains.

“This is the hunting grounds of us Long-Ears!” The chief of the Long-Ears tribe stood up despite his pale face and the pressure that the two interlopers were exuding, asking directly. “What are you doing here?”

“Hmph, this one’s feisty! But that’s about it…” Nedlan the Bloodclaw said, licking his sharp claws before turning to his companion beside him, his eyes full of wariness. “Who’s going first? You or me?”

“You first. I’ve no interest in bullying the weak.” The Tigerman Warrior said calmly.

Nedlan laughed shrilly at that and lunged at the Rabbitfolk chief. “As King Swordtail ordered, I’m taking your life! Blame yourself for being an eyesore even though you’re so weak!”

Nedlan’s claws were as sharp as knives—having a crimson glow, they resembled splas.h.i.+ng blood whenever he slashed with those claws. That was how he earned the name of Bloodclaw.

Even so, the seemingly frail Rabbitfolk chief suddenly brandished his long bamboo, moving agilely and unusually movements to keep the Wolfman at bay despite having far less strength. In fact, Nedlan’s face and body was already struck and bruised by the bamboo several times, inflicting burning pain and yet Nedlan never actually reached a sleeve!

The Rabbitfolk chief was surprisingly powerful. Nedlan was bamboozled by his bamboo-ish appearance!

“d.a.m.n it—!” Just as Nedland became frenzied and was about to fight to the death, he was sent flying into the distance by the Tigerman with a single punch.

“Just stop it. You’re not winning against this one.”

The Tigerman Warrior appeared to have his interest piqued even as he turned to the Rabbitfolk chief. “Not bad. Why not serve under me? I could appeal for Mister Swordtail’s grace and show mercy on your tribe.”

“Apologies, but I must refuse.” The Rabbitfolk chief said with no hesitation.

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Already in an attacking stance, the Tigerman Warrior punched out at the Rabbitfolk chief the instant he finished speaking.

***

Unlike Nedlan’s flurry of swift attacks, the Tigerman struck his opponent where it was vulnerable without playing around.

It was even more frightening that his swelling muscles filled every move he had with great power and peerless burst of strength—even if it did not flow well without any sort of ‘chain’ or ‘press’, each blow was as rapid as it was dynamic!

The Rabbitfolk chief escaped the Tigerman Warrior a few times, only to still end up cornered and forced to parry with everything he had. Eventually, he too was punched into the air, but that blow broke more than a fifth of all his bones unlike Nedlan’s case.

His death was sealed in the absence of shamans and medicinal herbs.

“Brother!” Rangka exclaimed in sorrow even he held on to the chief who kept vomiting blood. “Are you alright?!”

“Use martial arts… bring smiles to the tribe…” The Rabbitfolk chief used his last bit of strength to hand Rangka his staff, and eventually stopped breathing in his arms.

“So, what are your plans?” The Tigerman asked Rangka quietly despite the Long-Ear’s warped look on his face. “Are you going to keep that promise and inherit his will, or swear fealty to me?”

Rangka stayed silent for a long time while holding the ritual staff, but eventually started to laugh dismally.

“Well there’s only one choice isn’t there?!” He rose and snapped the staff in two over his knee. “I shall swear fealty to you!”

“Hahaha!” The Tigerman guffawed. “You Rabbitfolk are quite interesting! I’ve changed my mind now—I won’t purge your kind, then!!!”

Meanwhile, Rangka bowed like a loyal subject awaiting a reward, waiting for what the Tigerman would say then.

“From this day forth, you shall be the new chief of the Rabbitfolk!” The Tigerman said, generously bestowing Rangka the t.i.tle of chief.

But just as the drama was almost over, a voice suddenly spoke out from the crossroads leading to the Dark Tidal Coast.

“Swordtail’s lackey, I’m guessing? Your ilk really loves using sibling rivalry for plot. Is that due to Swordtail’s poor tastes?”

“What?!” The Tigerman turned in the direction of that voice, his pupils dilating right then.

Zonyan Grayclaw—the rightful heir of the Grayclaw tribe’s former chief who was supposed to be dead was slowly approaching them.

“I was about to rest here with the Long-Ears and prepare for what we plan to do next, but it seems that you get to be the first tribute. Here begins the first of many battles that we, believers of the G.o.d of Games shall now wage in the Western Continent.”

Chapter 208: Guda Sensei!

Laybit had wanted to drop by and inform his tribe before heading out again, leading those three fellows who had appeared out of nowhere but who didn’t look like bad guys to the Grayclaw tribe.

But before he could return, he had witnessed his own father being slain.

He immediately lost all rational as his impulse screamed for him to charge the enemy, only to be stopped by Vulcan.

After all, the Players could see levels—and since a Level 5 thrash like Laybit was never going to win against the Level 35 Tigerman Warrior, charging blindly was nothing less than a meaningless death.

That said, the Players did not have to worry about all that either.

If one were to call Edward’s party top Players for averaging above Level 40, Zonyan Grayclaw would be second-tier because of his infamous bad luck that prevented him from getting a party to farm dungeons, which also kept him at Level 38. Still, he was basically mainstream since most other Players remain at that phase.

Vulcan had joined the Church of Games at the same time as Zonyan, but he was just Level 37 because he was kind to newbies and often farmed dungeons with them. On the other hand, Terry and Jom who joined the Church of Games much more recently were actual newbies and therefore were only Level 20.

And at the moment, Zonyan had changed cla.s.s to Berserker Swordmaster while Vulcan had changed cla.s.s to Evil Blade Spirit Swordman. Joey himself had reached the level to change cla.s.s too, but he was too busy helping with the daily quests required for exchanging the t.i.tanic halfway through his cla.s.s-change cla.s.s and so remained a Ranger.

In level alone, the Players were clearly a cla.s.s above, with both Zonyan and Vulcan being superior compared to the Tiger Warrior. They would have an easy time beating him up if he were an ordinary monster.

The problem was that Zonyan could see that the Tigerman was a Saber-Tooth Warrior who had the bloodline legacy of his ancestors—just by observing the battle between him and Laybit’s father without really fighting him. Even if he wasn’t a Boss in the game system, he was an opponent with an elite module.

After all, it would take some effort to defeat an elite beast with a level difference of 3.

“Is that one powerful?” Vulcan asked Zonyan quietly since he wasn’t aware of the unique traits that sets different nonhuman races apart.

“An elite monster if my hunch isn’t wrong. The very-powerful type,” Zonyan replied.

“Are you going to be alright?” Vulcan became worried immediately.

“I’ll keep him busy. You and Joey hurry up with that Graywolfman and then come help—and relax, all Graywolfmen are a little crazy, taunt them and you’ll have an easy time,” Zonyan replied softly.

Zonyan nodded.

It was a common strategy for the Players to have their tank distract the Boss, allowing the others in the party to quickly get rip of the Boss’s minions before rallying to defeat the Boss.

“Be careful. Don’t get killed.”

“You too.”

The pair b.u.mped their fist, understanding each other perfectly.

While the Players did not fear death, they were in the Western Continent which had no Lifestone. In other words, they would be revived in the Eastern Continent even if they had the Ankh of Revival with them when carelessly drop dead. That would also mean they suffered the t.i.tanic’s sinking for nothing, and had to start all over again by exchanging a new boat…

Hence, Vulcan took Joey with them to try taking down the Level 23 Graywolfman, saving the Tigerman for Zonyan.

Meanwhile, the Tigerman sneered. “Kill me as tribute? You’re brave… It’s always been a pain for me seeing you Grayclaws throw your weight around—it’s time for us Mountain Tigers to take the crown of Vierlin!”

Zonyan understood his intention from those words immediately: That Tigerman was planning an uprising, and would even take a weak tribe like the Long-Ears under his wing.

Be that as it may, Zonyan kept up his tough act. “You say that, and yet you work for someone like Swordtail… You’re really not being honest to yourself, or could you be a tsundere?”

Zonyan had actually learnt the term ‘tsundere’ on the Player’s forums. Someone fellow with the ID ‘Call Me Ball’ coined it, and it somehow became widely used.

And despite not knowing what tsundere meant, a vein bulged over the Tigerman’s forehead since he knew that it meant nothing good from the context. “Mister Swordtail is one of the few whom has gained my respect. I’m willing to work for him before defeating him, while you, on the other hand…”

The Tigerman then lifted his chin slightly, poising himself as if a tiger prepared to strike. “I know who you are—Zonyan Grayclaw, the weak former chief! To think that you’re alive when Mister Swordtail presumed your death… with that being the case, allow me to reunite with the ghost of your ancestors, and remember to tell them that it was Roaring Mountain Tiger who had slain you!”

Meanwhile, Zonyan took a deep breath. He unsheathed his blade from his hip and handily flicked it over his palm, cutting a narrow gash over his palm for a buff.

“Grateful Dead!”

“You’re hurting on the get-go? That’s your strategy?!”

With that, Roaring Mountain Tiger did not say anything else. Every muscle over his body tightened like rubber bands pulled to its limit, and he shot forward like an arrow at Zonyan in the next split second!

Be that as it may, the Berserker skill branch was basically stronger when more HP was traded for Attack, which allowed them to end the fight quickly during quick farming and when facing weaker enemies. On the other hand, stronger enemies would end the fight quickly against a Berserker.

Nonetheless, since Zonyan’s aim was to buy time until Vulcan and Joey could come help him, he only used Grateful Dead at the beginning and didn’t keep using Berserker skills. Instead, he adopted the simpler style of parrying and knockback style of Kengyokus.

And that irritated the Tigerman very much.

After all, conflict between the tribal warriors of the Vierlin Plains were actually crude brawls where blows were plain and direct. In such cases, the great strength of nonhumans would always make up for the lack of skill against normal humans, and even the Swordmasters of the Eastern Continent would have a hard time fighting here—unless it was enchanted or possessed some unique trait, the blade would break no matter how excellent it would be, and that would be how one fighter could take ten alone.

Nonetheless, that was what would happen under normal circ.u.mstances. The Players know that their weapons have certain durability, and it wouldn’t break unless it parried a divine weapon or an enemy with divine trait.

And just after a brief trade of blows, Zonyan realized that he had worried too much.

In stats alone, Roaring Mountain Tiger was quite powerful after having awakened his Saber-tooth Tiger bloodline. He was equally matched with Zonyan despite being three levels below, and his strength was even a whole notch above!

But that was also all there is to it.

Combat skills developed without principles aside from bullying the weak was as much as a mess as it was inferior—Zonyan would always have the perfect chance to retaliate against every single blow.

It was just like how certain newbie instructors found themselves superior just because they were dueling with newbies in the Dark Souls series…