Another World: The Failed Magician

On a grassland on the northern border of the Eastern Dragon Empire, an old man wearing bone armor sat cross-legged on the grassland, his exaggerated bronze muscles displaying a wild power.

Beside him stood a young man clad in dark black armor. Compared to the elderly man sitting cross-legged, the young man appeared remarkably small. Yet, the young man stood looking down at the elderly man beside him, like a victor.

The old man turned around and saw the boy's victorious posture. He slowly stood up, his massive body towering over the boy by more than half a person's height.

Seeing the old man stand up, the young man said somewhat displeasedly, "I don't like the way you are. I suggest you sit down, or I don't mind bridging the height difference between us."

Hearing the boy's unfriendly tone, the old man remained silent and sat back down on the grassland, slowly saying, "You really are petty, Marquis of Zhenbei. Sigh! Since you've already won, what else can I say? According to the agreement, as long as you live, our barbarian tribe will be Donglong's most loyal ally."

The boy glanced at the old man, his eyes filled with indifference and disregard, and did not speak.

Seeing that the boy did not react, the old man continued, "But this only applies while you are alive. If, after you die, those Eastern Dragon people cannot subdue my children, then our agreement will have to end here. We barbarians will not submit to the weak."

The boy remained unaffected by the old man's slightly threatening tone and continued to act indifferent.

After a while, the boy spoke in a very cold tone: "It doesn't matter. Even if I die, others will come and beat you to a pulp."

The old man looked somewhat surprised, as if he hadn't expected the young man to respond to him. After all, in his memory, the Marquis of Zhenbei would never respond to such a thing.

The old man quickly recovered and said in a teasing tone, "If you're saying that, does that mean your days are numbered?"

"It's none of your business," the boy replied indifferently.

“What’s wrong with saying this? We’re all in this together now, and I won’t go back on my promise,” the old man continued to press.

The boy did not answer the old man's question, but continued to speak with a cold expression: "How many soldiers of your barbarian tribe are still capable of fighting?"

The old man wanted to say something else, but seeing the boy's sharp eyes, he swallowed back what he was about to say. After thinking carefully about the boy's question, he said, "Aside from those who stayed behind in the tribe, we can mobilize at most 10,000 people."

After thinking for a while, the young man said, "I'll give you three days to gather 20,000 barbarian soldiers. You will lead them to the Northern Army camp and they will be at the command of the Northern Army."

"What? Twenty thousand is impossible. There are at most ten thousand barbarian soldiers. They won't last three days." The old man's words were abruptly interrupted by the murderous aura emanating from the young man.

The old man sighed: "Fine, twenty thousand it is, but as an ally, you should at least let me know what you're doing with these twenty thousand men."

"South!" the boy replied expressionlessly. After saying that, he turned and left.

The old man was left alone, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the grassland, looking at the azure sky, lost in thought.