LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

At sunrise, the camp was filled with the low hum of restless murmurs.

The soldiers, still smarting from their failed hunt, gathered near the central fire, their expressions a mix of frustration and desperation.

The chill of the morning air did little to cool their rising tempers as they exchanged heated words, their voices tinged with bitterness.

"This is pointless!" one soldier exclaimed, his arms flailing in frustration.

He was a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, his voice booming loud enough to rattle the nearby tents. "We've searched everywhere! There are no mana beasts left in these woods!"

Another soldier, a woman with short-cropped hair and a bow slung over her shoulder, stepped forward, her voice laced with irritation.

"He's sending us on a wild goose chase, that's what this is. He must know there's nothing out there. Why else would we all come back empty-handed?"

A third soldier chimed in, his voice lower but no less accusatory. "Maybe he's testing us, trying to break us down. Or maybe… he's hiding something."

The group's attention turned toward Lyerin's tent, its flaps drawn tightly shut. The mere sight of it seemed to amplify their frustrations.

"I'm sick of this!" a younger soldier blurted out, his face red with anger. "Why can't we just demand that he opens the portal? What's stopping him from letting us go back to Earth right now? We've done enough for him!"

A ripple of agreement spread through the group, their muttered complaints growing louder.

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"Yeah, why does the portal only work for his so-called tribe members?" one of them asked, her voice sharp with accusation. "We built this place for him, didn't we? We risked our lives to follow his orders! Doesn't that make us part of his tribe?"

"Exactly!" another soldier added, his fists clenched at his sides. "If he can lift the Borgias Family's enslavement mark, then he can open the damn portal for us! What's the holdup?"

The grumbling continued to escalate, the soldiers' anger and confusion feeding off one another.

The forest, once alive with hope at the prospect of returning to Earth, now felt suffocating, its trees looming like silent witnesses to their growing despair.

Their voices rose in unison, each person adding their grievances to the cacophony.

"Does he think we're fools? That we don't see what's going on here?" a grizzled veteran growled, his voice dripping with venom. "He's stringing us along, keeping us trapped here for his amusement!"

"It's not fair," another soldier muttered, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "We've done everything he asked. Why does he get to decide who can use the portal?"

The accusations flew thick and fast, each one more impassioned than the last.

They questioned Lyerin's motives, his methods, and his apparent indifference to their plight.

The soldiers were tired, hungry, and increasingly disillusioned. To them, Lyerin's silence was an insult, a refusal to acknowledge their sacrifices.

Finally, unable to contain their frustration any longer, a group of soldiers marched toward Lyerin's tent.

Their boots thudded heavily against the ground, their weapons hanging loosely at their sides.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

They hesitated only briefly at the entrance before one of them—a tall man with a determined expression—raised his hand and slapped the tent flap aside.

"Lyerin!" he called out, his voice filled with barely restrained anger. "We need answers!"

The flap moved, and out stepped Lyerin, his crimson eyes calm and unbothered.

His presence alone was enough to silence the group momentarily, their anger briefly tempered by the unsettling aura he carried. But the moment passed, and their grievances spilled forth like a dam breaking.

"Why are you doing this to us?" the tall man demanded, his voice shaking with emotion. "We've done everything you asked! We built this tribe for you, followed your every order, and now you're making us jump through hoops just to use the portal? Why?"

Another soldier stepped forward, her fists clenched tightly. "And why does the portal only work for your so-called tribe members? What makes them so special? Aren't we the ones who made this place what it is? Don't we deserve to go home too?"

Lyerin raised a hand, silencing them with a simple gesture. His gaze swept over the group, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of his presence settle over them like a suffocating fog.

"You misunderstand," Lyerin finally said, his voice smooth and measured. "It's not that I don't want to send you back to Earth. The portal isn't some magical doorway that works on mere whim. It is… an engine."

His words hung in the air, confusing the soldiers. They exchanged puzzled glances, their anger momentarily replaced by curiosity.

"An engine?" one of them asked hesitantly.

Lyerin nodded, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim morning light.

"Yes. Like any engine, it requires fuel to operate. In this case, that fuel comes in the form of mana beast cores. The stronger the core, the more energy it provides. Without sufficient fuel, the portal cannot function."

The soldiers stared at him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"But we can't find any beasts!" someone blurted out. "There's nothing out there! How are we supposed to power the portal if you've already wiped them out?"

Lyerin's lips curved into a faint smile, but he said nothing, his silence only fueling their suspicions. The soldiers' frustration bubbled up again, their earlier anger reigniting.

"This isn't fair," one soldier muttered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You're keeping us trapped here on purpose, aren't you?"

Lyerin's gaze flicked toward her, his smile widening just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "Fairness," he said softly, "is a matter of perspective."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the soldiers to stew in their frustration and uncertainty.

They watched him go, their minds racing with questions and doubts. For all their complaints, they knew one thing for certain: they were playing Lyerin's game, and he was the only one who knew the rules.