Ram's dismissive words, combined with the clan leader's and the giant tribe elder's conversation, made Shin recall the civil war recorded in history books, which had ravaged the kingdom decades ago.
He couldn't help but suspect the clan leader was plotting to reignite that war.
After all, Ram's talent was absurdly exceptional. Even though the Ghost Tribe was reduced to a single village, every member was a powerhouse.
With Ram, who, despite her young age, already surpassed the clan leader in strength, they might have a chance to unite the demi-humans and seize control of the kingdom.
"... Let's discuss this later. Continue the ceremony for now."
The clan leader, hearing Ram's comment, showed displeasure but said nothing more, closing his eyes to rest and ignoring the three children.
"Hmph, should've done that from the start."
Ram wore a smug victor's expression, while Rem bowed to the clan leader, apologizing for her sister's rudeness.
Lately, Ram had been like this—uncompromising toward everyone except her parents, Rem, and Shin... though, to be fair, she wasn't exactly gentle with Shin either.
The ceremony proceeded in this odd atmosphere, but somehow, it felt more like Shin was marrying into Ram's family, with Rem's marriage to him as an afterthought.
Despite the kingdom not enforcing monogamy, Shin still felt like he was stuck in a one-husband, one-wife dynamic... probably because the Ghost Tribe valued strength so much.
The days that followed returned to their usual calm.
The giant tribe elder left the next day, and the rare visitor to the village was gradually forgotten.
Life continued slowly. Shin hung out with his "child brides" as usual, then spent nights by the river focusing on mastering the Light Lance Matrix, repeating the cycle day after day.
About a month after acquiring the Light Lance Matrix, while Shin was, as usual, practicing magic alone late at night, firmly declining the twins' offer to play, something unusual happened in the village nearby.
... The moonlight that night was eerily bright, and in the dense forest near the village, strange shadows appeared unnoticed.
More precisely, they were a group of figures cloaked in black robes, their heads and faces hidden by hoods, making it impossible to discern their gender.
Each held a cross-shaped dagger. From their attire and weapons, it was clear they weren't here for sightseeing or passing through.
These black-robed figures lurked silently in the shadows of the trees. Around 2 a.m., when the village was fast asleep, they finally moved.
They slipped into the village from all directions, effortlessly opening the doors of one house after another and infiltrating silently.
The Ghost Tribe, lulled by years of peace, didn't notice the intruders.
Known for their unmatched strength and hailed as the mightiest demi-human race, they were no different from ordinary people when caught off guard, perishing in their sleep without resistance.
It wasn't until the intruders reached the clan leader's home—one of the few with real combat experience, a former leader in the demi-human army—that their actions were exposed.
"—GAAAHHH!!!"
A thunderous roar pierced the sky, rousing the sleeping villagers.
The white-haired but still vigorous clan leader, his forehead glowing with radiant twin horns, tore an intruder in half with his bare hands.
More black-robed figures surrounding his house raised their hands, hurling fireballs, wind blades, and earth spikes, unleashing a barrage of diverse magic.
But the white-haired old ghost, wielding a rusty, dulled greatsword, charged out of his house, effortlessly slicing the surrounding intruders in two.
Noticing every household engulfed in flames, his body trembled, his eyes blazing with fury.
Letting out a beast-like roar, he swung his greatsword, charging at the distant shadows rushing toward him to vent his rage.
Despite being shrouded in black robes, these enemies, skilled in both magic and combat, fell like straw before the old ghost, none able to withstand him.
Clearly, the gap in strength was vast. Even fighting alone, the old ghost had the power to slaughter them all.
But... for some reason, despite having entered ghost transformation, he used no magic. His magical and physical strength showed no enhancement, and the glow of his horns dimmed bit by bit, his movements growing sluggish.
For a human, tiring quickly would be normal, but a Ghost Tribe member's stamina shouldn't be so poor.
As if realizing something too late, the now-lethargic old ghost was surrounded by the black-robed figures, who seized the opportunity to plunge their cross-shaped daggers into his inexplicably weakened body.
The towering figure shuddered violently, then collapsed backward, completely still. ...
Unaware of the chaos in the village, Shin was still meditating by the river when a chilling roar startled him.
"That voice... the clan leader? What's he howling about in the middle of the night? Practicing to be a wolf pack leader or something?"
Jolted into opening his eyes, Shin muttered grumpily while turning toward the village, curious about what the clan leader was up to.
But as he looked, he froze in place. The dark night sky was now a fiery red, as if lit by raging flames from the ground.
Before he could make sense of it, a deafening boom erupted from the village, shattering the night's tranquility.
The once-beautiful village in the valley turned chaotic, filled with screams, roars, and wails, the panicked voices of villagers faintly audible even from the river.
The Ghost Tribe's strength was undeniable, but they'd grown too complacent, unaware of the need to stay vigilant.
Though taught magic and combat skills, they rarely fought or killed. Village brawls were scarce, and their daily lives revolved around farming, hunting, and raising children.
Even if they fought back, they were quickly overwhelmed by the enemy's numbers.
In contrast, the black-robed figures remained silent, whether killing or being killed, acting like emotionless puppets, mercilessly slaughtering men, women, and children without distinction.
***