"I heard you won, Grant Family. The war a few days ago..."
Lucille Xing stood beside the Ninefeather Bird, carefully smoothing its feathers. It was noon, the sunlight harsh and blinding. On the left side of the aviary, Joseph Qiao sat on the ground, silent and tense. The news had come—Grant Family crushed the northern eleven tribes' attack without effort.
Word is, a lot of people died. Seven days have passed. Joseph Qiao watched as prisoners, bound with ropes, were dragged back to Grant City. The market has been bustling—Grant Family selling the slaves.
Yesterday, Joseph Qiao saw Edward Grant return to Grant City, excitement written all over his face. The northern eleven tribes suffered heavy casualties. Rumors swirl—why hasn’t King Grant wiped them out? The Grant Family could destroy the northern tribes without even calling on the three major clans.
What Joseph Qiao feared most was for his father and his people. This war—utterly hopeless, with no chance of victory. The northern eleven tribes had become nothing more than stepping stones for the Wynn Domain and Sage Domain. Joseph Qiao understood why King Grant held back: he didn’t want to give the northern domains any excuse to enter Grant Domain.
And the southern Yao Domain watched, hungry for chaos. If war broke out, the Yao Domain’s tribes would pounce like vultures.
Except for the young leaders and a handful of soldiers, most of the elders wanted nothing to do with war.
"Joseph Qiao, are you doing this on purpose?"
Lucille Xing stood before him, anger burning in her eyes. Joseph Qiao managed a stiff, awkward smile.
"Fine. Leave the rest of the cleaning to me. Go get some sleep."