"Alright, we need to hide this tiger skin well, don't let it get snatched by the bandits!" Zakarli looked back.

"Oh dear, you're right!" Gwenk hurriedly covered the cart with branches and leaves.

"Gwenk, take the cart and hide in the grove for a while," Galarand instructed.

"Don't worry, escaping is my expertise!" the ugly dwarf acknowledged.

Azzan was eager to join the fight against the enemies.

"What are you doing here!" Her brother didn't give her any face, "There's going to be a battle ahead, you'll just get in the way!"

"How is a tribal battle none of my business!" The sister was clearly unhappy to hear that.

Galarand, however, understood his brother's feelings more. Recalling how Sagyi was carried away by a tiger a few days ago still sent shivers down his spine.

"Sagyi, I have a task for you, okay?" Galarand said, "Stay here and protect Princess Azzan, and this valuable tiger skin too. Don't let Gwenk steal it. Can you do that?"

Sagyi was excited at first, thinking he would join the battlefield too. But it turned out to be just an excuse to send him away.

"Protecting the princess is an arduous task. Not only can you not let her sneak away into danger, you have to keep her happy, or she won't marry you."

"Oh well...you're right, in your eyes I'm just a kid after all. I'll protect Sister Azzan then. But Brother, you're really underestimating me. I'll prove it to you when I have the chance!"

So Galarand went to the village with Zakarli, while Sagyi took Azzan and Gwenk to hide in the grove.

Arriving at the village entrance, the old butler ran up crying in greeting: "My prince, you've returned! We're in big trouble here!"

Zakarli signaled him to stay calm. The two youths walked among their clansmen, facing the group of Seza straight on. The men on the other side all held large blades, wooden clubs and other crude weapons; Flageldan's tribesmen consisted of elders, women and children, holding various farming tools. It was clear that if a fight broke out, it would be a bloody battle, with Flageldan's side having only a slight advantage in numbers.

"Who are you?" The burly man leading the Seza glared at the two boys.

Seeing him up close, the man was even more towering, easily over seven feet tall, not counting the deer antler headdress. His head was shaved bald except for two small braids at the sides, contrasting his brawny stature.

The blocky shape of his head and flattened face, with eyes like two tiny tadpoles, gave him an intimidating look. His face and body were covered in tattoos, indistinguishable from painted oils.

He wore a fur vest, animal bone pauldrons, and fur pants - more decor than actual clothing. A necklace with large and small animal bones hung on his chest. From his attitude, he was clearly a fierce character.

"I'm the prince of this place, called Zakarli," Zakarli answered calmly. "And who might you be?"

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"I'm Wawa Boy. The leader of this group of Seza," the big guy grunted. Despite his size, he didn't seem older than twenty.

Galarand stifled a laugh at the side. This giant of a man called himself Wawa Boy! Was he trying to act cute! Wawa Boy was displeased to see the reaction. He scolded, "What's so funny! Since I was little my mom called me this. A real man doesn't change his name or reject his heritage - I'll still go by this when I'm old!"

Zakarli quickly gestured for Galarand to shut up, worried they would start fighting over a careless word. Maintaining composure, he asked: "Wawa Boy, what brings you and your people to our tribe? We didn't invite you!"

"We're here to trade!" Wawa Boy said curtly. "Take these furs of ours and give us a hundred barrels of wheat!" As he spoke, his men brought over dozens of animal hides.

Zakarli glanced at them - mediocre quality that definitely weren't worth that much grain. Moreover, the tribe didn't even have that much food stocked, obtained little by little through trades up north. It was for themselves to eat, who would happily give it away!

He clicked his tongue and said, "Ah, that might be difficult. One hide for one barrel, twenty at most. I still need to check if the tribe even has that much to give you."

"What?" Wawa Boy's eyes popped up in anger. "That's too little, it's not even enough to eat! We came with a hundred men, each carrying back one barrel! I said a hundred barrels, so it must be a hundred!"

Zakarli spread his hands helplessly. "We don't have much excess food ourselves. There's really nothing to exchange for this stuff. Why not go somewhere else and see who's willing to trade? Whoever gives you a good deal, make the trade with them!"

"No way!" Wawa Boy rejected outright. "We came all this way, to trade with you! You have to trade! Don't be unreasonable!"

Zakarli frowned, thinking the other side was the one being unreasonable. "Who's unreasonable? Twenty barrels, take it or leave it. If you think it's too little, take your goods elsewhere. We have plenty of these small animal hides here, we don't need your bundles."

"You crook!" Wawa Boy didn't have an extensive vocabulary, just clenching his teeth in anger. He balled his fists and asked sinisterly: "Little prince, how many barrels of food is that head of yours worth? Enough for a hundred barrels? My furs, plus your little brain, discounted to a hundred barrels of food for your tribe - how about it?"

Galarand watched in amusement without a word. He had no concept of pricing at all. Zakarli looked quite shrewd, with the air of a sly merchant. Just then, the old butler whispered into Zakarli's ear. Being close by, Galarand overheard too:

"Messengers have been dispatched urgently to the chieftain. They estimate it'll take two hours at the earliest to get back."

Hearing this, Zakarli showed no panic, as if it was good news. He waved his hand and asked: "Wawa Boy, what skills do you brutes have? Dare to compete with our tribe's warriors?"

"Compete? You're asking for death!"

"How about this - we'll have a competition!" Though young, Zakarli spoke with flair. "Your furs start at twenty barrels. For every game we win, an extra ten barrels. How about it?"

"Hahahaha! Did I hear right? Ten more barrels per win - we'll bleed you dry!"

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourselves. We don't have that much grain even if you win every round. Three games to decide the winner. If you win all three, I'll generously throw in another twenty barrels, seventy total. That's fair, right?"

It sounded like a good deal, so Wawa Boy agreed without hesitation.

"Alright, compete in what? You name it."

"Naturally, the traditional sports of our nomadic tribe," Zakarli smirked.

"Hmph! You weaklings dare compete with us! Asking for death!"

"We'll see about that. Don't be too shocked when you lose face!" Zakarli remained confident with arms akimbo, taunting smugly, "So Wawa Boy, who will you send out for the first match?"

Wawa Boy pointed to one of his men. This guy was a tad smaller than Wawa Boy, about an inch shorter. Still a big brute. His hairy face looked ferocious. He strode out from the ranks, thumping his chest and saluting his leader.

"This is my deputy, called Aoao."

Galarand had to stifle his laughter again. These barbaric tribes really had such amusing names.

Zakarli paid no mind, looking around. Among the tribespeople was a scrawny, runty kid, maybe twelve at most, with a pointed head and crooked teeth - a bit dim-witted.

"Hey you, come here! You'll do!"

Mocking laughter rose from the Seza crowd.

"Name your game, I'll oblige to the end!"

"Those were your words! This little guy is pretty capable!" Zakarli was raring to go. Everyone pricked up their ears, waiting to hear what he would propose for the competition.