There can't be a Harvest Moon in the RimWorld.

The jay tribe fled overnight, but was ambushed and severely damaged by a barbaric tribe on this grassland. Many of the elderly, women and children were captured and killed, but the young and strong escaped to Mount Corilo overnight, including the jays that had become famous during this period.

This makes me very happy. As a celebrity favored by the gods, the jay was coveted by all tribes, so it is entirely certain that it was neither dead nor captured.

With the lingering effects of the toxic dust and the inevitable famine this year, the thirteen allied tribes have already made up their minds to seize the magical seeds and the jay shaman from the Brown Pool tribe.

However, the offensive operation did not go smoothly.

The reason for this lies in the composition of the thirteen allied tribes.

The exact time of origin of the thirteen tribes is unknown, but it is certain that they all originated from this grassland and share a deep blood bond, all revering the sacred Mount Corilo.

The shared beliefs based on sacred mountain culture and clan worship are the spiritual force that unites the tribes.

However, different lifestyles inevitably led to changes in the ideologies of the tribes. For example, the Great River tribe, where Chief Berthold sat, occupied a rushing river that ran across the grasslands. They engaged in a life of farming, fishing, and hunting, possessed the largest population and unquestionable strength, and were the strongest force in the tribe. They tended to develop in a moderate and conservative manner.

Among the cooperative tribes, similar groups include the Balgh clan cooperative tribe, the Chuvitox clan alliance, and the Cliff clan council alliance...

I don't know where they copied these long and cumbersome names from, but it reflects their development approach of absorbing and combining resources.

The Scorpion Yakan tribe, the Sokano Chieftain Alliance, the Kureanda National Unity Front, the Fallen Leaf Great Tribe, and others all lead nomadic lives, are more adept at using scimitars and bows and arrows to acquire resources and land, and possess relatively complete tribal warfare technology and powerful armies.

Of course, the above are just the first tier of forces among the countless tribes on the grassland. There are many more small forces like the Loka Free People in the next tent, who band together with a few families to survive the difficult times on the grassland.

The Brown Pool tribe was a later-developed tribe, but it had an advantage in agriculture and handicrafts. After acquiring the magical grain, the tribe's chief and shaman did not follow my plan to gradually spread the grain seeds, but instead chose to accelerate their own expansion, incorporating smaller tribes, and within a year, they slowly formed a force to be reckoned with.

Today, the remnants of the Brownpool tribe hide in the easily defensible Corilo Mountains. The warlike tribe's idea is simple: to break through the defenses with a fierce attack and seize what they want.

However, the Scorpion Yakan tribe led the attack but was repelled by the Brown Pool tribe, who were defending the mountain pass, and suffered heavy losses.

The Giant River tribe, which arrived later, saw that the battle was not going well and showed the attitude of an elder brother, trying to mediate the conflict, call on the Brown Pool tribe to come down the mountain to negotiate, and share resources to get through the crisis—I saw through his intentions at a glance.

If you can't beat them, talk to them; if you can't reach an agreement through talking, fight them. This tactic sounds familiar.

What's the difference between this slogan and the US's call for a developing country to "play a greater role in international affairs"? If they actually offer tribute, will they forgive and forget?

…………

"Possessing a treasure is a crime..."

I sighed and casually handed the last of my barley cakes to the tribal children beside me. These children dig up worms from the ground every day, dry them, and eat them for food. The baby fat that normal children have is nowhere to be seen on them; instead, their faces bear the marks of life's hardships.

The chieftain, who also looked pale and sickly, glanced at the child with envy before suppressing his inappropriate expression and said, "Emissary of the Cedar Clan, if our Wayne tribe becomes a vassal, will we receive relief to help us through this difficult time?"

I asked, "Is the bat your tribe's totem?"

"Ah...no...no, surely no one would use such a sneaky creature as a tribal symbol?" the chief said awkwardly.

Seeing my disappointed expression, he quickly said, "Ah, no, no, no... but if it's the request of the Cedar Clan, we can change it! We can change it!"

That's good.

I'll be at ease as long as I don't run into a Wayne tribe that worships giant bats.

It's not so bad if the official Batman comes looking for me for royalties; what's really troublesome is if Darkseid chases me down from Apokolips and fires an Omega ray...

"If you want to join, then join. Just keep going south until you find a tent with a flag in front of it that has a big tree on it. That's the Cedar Clan."

With the chief's words of gratitude, I, the messenger, completed my mission and left the tribe, preparing to return to the Fir Tree Clan to summarize the day's news with Gray.

The current division of labor is that I will stay hidden in the shadows and take the grassroots route, secretly contacting scattered small tribes, bribing some people to make up for our numerical disadvantage, and using the name of the siege commander to strengthen the power of the Cedar Clan.

Gray was responsible for outwardly engaging with the upper echelons, feigning friendship with the chiefs of the major tribes, and probing their backgrounds.

Gray received a notice early in the morning that there was a standing committee meeting that required all tribal committee members to attend, and he, as the temporary person in charge of the siege project, was also required to attend, so he left early in the morning and should be back by now.

Sure enough, as soon as I entered the tent, I saw Gray sitting inside with a bitter face, sulking.

Gray was beaten by his grandfather from a young age, which made him withdrawn. He is not good at expressing his emotions, so it is rare for him to have such obvious emotions.

"What's wrong? Are the negotiations not going well?"

I asked.

Gray frowned and said, "It's not a matter of whether things go smoothly or not... it's more like... it's a very special kind of thing..."

I burst out laughing: "Which kind? You've seen half-human, half-fish creatures too?"

Gray said, "Boss, how do you know I've seen mermaids... Ugh, I'm annoyed by the whole meeting today. Everyone was praising Bertholdt's brilliant decisions, but when it came to how to reclaim Mount Everest, they all pretended to have amnesia. They were all like idiots..."

I smiled and said, "So you think they're all idiots?"

Gray nodded vigorously.

I shook my head and said, "You're mistaken. You can only say that what they did was undeniably foolish. In the grand scheme of things, smart people will make wise decisions. But you must understand, only the smartest group can do the most foolish things!"

Gray thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Boss, I don't think what you said is quite accurate..."

After saying that, he pointed with a troubled expression to the outside of the tent, to the clan flag that I had made and hung up overnight.

"Why is our totem a Christmas tree?!"

"Don't talk nonsense, that's a symbol of the strongest warrior in history." I pointed to the flag at the door and said righteously.

"What?" Gray looked at me in shock.

"Legend has it that he wore a red hat, was highly skilled in martial arts, killed the Great Grey Wolf Fenrir with his bare hands when he was young, and also impersonated many gods such as Thor and Aquaman. His real name is Fulijianghe Xu."

I told Grey all about Santa Claus: “He has a magnificent beard and a strong physique. He drives a divine chariot pulled by reindeer across the sky. In his lifetime, he was an undisputed king, and was named the Duke of Winterfell and the Warden of the North!”

"Wait a minute, where is this place? I've never heard of it before."

"You're just too ignorant to have never heard of him. You should know his classic battles, right? The Battle of Hefei, where he defeated Sun Quan's army of 100,000 with only 800 men. His name can even stop children from crying at night! After his death, because of his indomitable fighting spirit and outstanding achievements, he was selected into the Hall of Heroes of the Gods and will enjoy eternal glory!"

Gray stared in disbelief for a long time: "Boss, are you mixing up these stories? My gut feeling tells me that these aren't all the same person's stories!"

I said nonchalantly, "Don't worry about the details. Just tell me, when you were little, hearing his name would stop you from crying, wouldn't it?"

Gray promptly retorted, "That's... my foot! That's what adults tell kids! It's not that you're afraid to cry, it's just... it's just... wait, it seems like you really are afraid to cry? No! It's not that you're scared and don't cry, it's that you're afraid of not receiving a gift!"

I patted him on the shoulder: "Those who care about details are all number 9, as long as the result is the same, it's fine."

"You're the boss, so you call the shots... Anyway, I'm definitely going to be the Santa Claus Chief..."

Gray and I sat down again and exchanged information from the council meeting for a while. The last thing we could confirm was that the tribe collectively stated that they had neither food nor soldiers for the siege led by the Cedar Clan, and that we would have to find a way ourselves. The attack was tentatively scheduled for two days later, thus eliminating any possibility of a last stand for us.

After inquiring about everyone's performance at the meeting, I said to Gray, "Now I understand. They weren't incapable of fighting; they deliberately chose not to..."

Upon hearing this, Gray quickly leaned closer and asked, "Why is that? Is there a traitor among us?"

Having witnessed their negative attitude firsthand, and combined with what I've seen and heard today, I'm now quite certain that the war sparked by this so-called sacred covenant has evolved into a massive conspiracy!

I gave a cold laugh: "Think about it, the Brownpool tribe understands the importance of these seeds and secretly keeps them hidden. Are these thirteen allied tribes really so kind as to gather everyone on the grassland to share in the spoils, thus creating potential enemies for themselves?"

I suspect that the first tribes to launch the ambush had a real chance of annihilating the remnants of the Brownpool tribe, but none of them wanted to be the first to do so, and they tacitly refused to fulfill their mission.

Although these tribes varied in strength, none of them could single-handedly suppress all the other tribes.

At that time, everyone knew that the Brown Pool tribe was not wrong; their only mistake was possessing the magical crop seeds. Within these tribes, everyone wanted to monopolize the treasure, yet everyone knew that the next person to seize it would become the target of a coordinated attack.

As for why we don't share?

If the thirteen allied tribes could tolerate coexistence and development, they would have had no need to resort to violence to achieve their goals...

In short, greed and doubt became the ghosts that haunted the tribes, constantly causing trouble and leading to some inexplicable things.

At first, the Scorpion Yakan tribe, which was the most powerful in terms of military strength, also tried to attack the mountain alone to seize victory, but inexplicably, the entire army was wiped out, allowing the Brown Pool tribe to gain a foothold and hold the pass, creating a natural barrier that was easy to defend and difficult to attack.

The war was described by them as a huge monster suddenly appearing on the sacred snow mountain, attacking the troops and causing their defeat, but I suspect this was just an excuse for the Scorpion Yakan tribe to cover up their failure.

At this point, the war entered a strategic stalemate, with neither side able to change the status quo.

Following this, numerous small tribes on the grasslands, ravaged by the poisonous dust, also came here, hoping to be saved by the miraculous crop. Chief Berthold of the Giant River tribe then issued a war mobilization order based on the sacred covenant, demanding that all tribes send warriors to participate in the battle.

The sinister intent behind this order was something that many people failed to realize at the time.

After that, only the elderly, women, and children remained in the tribes on the grasslands, desperately waiting for their chief and warriors to bring back the life-saving artifact. Unfortunately, what they received was a ruthless requisition order—a move that revealed their true intentions.

In the face of famine and crisis, no one can remain unaffected; the only difference lies in the amount of food a tribe has stored and the length of time it can survive. Therefore, these large tribes are like a group of gamblers blinded by greed, betting the fate of their entire tribe on crops that are rumored to ripen in just a few days.

The troop standoff between large tribes could easily leave their rear vulnerable. To prevent trouble in their own backyard, they used their authority to conscript all their warriors and plunder all their food supplies, in order to weaken any potentially disloyal vassal forces.

At this moment, everyone is betting on whether their food supplies will run out first and the siege will fail, or whether the Brown Pool tribe on the mountain will suffer a mental breakdown and come down the mountain to seek peace.

Their only option is victory, and those who persevere until victory will be able to gracefully distribute the spoils and consolidate their dominant position...

“Boss Marcus, what if a lot of people survive? Wouldn’t their plan fall through and they’d have worked for nothing?” Gray asked objectively.

I frowned and said, "You're too kind... By then, apart from a few major powers, everyone else will be starving... How many people will survive in the end will probably be beyond the control of the weaker powers..."

At this point, I further speculated: "Not only that, the victor will also be able to bring food back to the grasslands as a savior, easily annex and conquer the leaderless tribes, effortlessly complete the great purge of the grasslands, break through the Malthusian population limit, and leap into becoming a great kingdom on the grasslands!"

Connecting the quagmire of war outside with speculations about the future, even I couldn't help but shudder.

In the desolate Riegomi scrub desert, despite its barbarity and disorder, labor is a resource that is in high demand everywhere, and no one would choose to adopt a policy of slaughter and extermination.

On the swarming blue hermit crab grasslands, the competition for power is not just about the population growing like wild grass, but also about the limited living space and social resources. Given the stagnation of productivity caused by barbarism, it seems only natural that some people would be weeded out by the survival of the fittest.

But behind this cruel rule, how much innocent blood has been spilled, and who cares?

"So our covert expansion of power today is probably something they'd like to see. These chieftains hope to lie in the shadows, eliminating some of their rivals under the guise of rebellion and escape, then using war and famine to wipe out another group. Those who remain will be the undisputed victors..."

Chapter 506 Shrimp and Pork Heart

The Cedar Clan had only two days left, and the predicament seemed to have no way out, but the thirteen allied tribes could still hear news of our continuous activities.

Gray, as the Santa Claus chieftain of the Fir Tree Clan, would bring a Christmas tree flag to the central army tent every day to cause trouble, pestering the chieftains who pretended to be deaf and dumb for soldiers and military rations, showing that he would refuse to cooperate if he did not get what he wanted.

This approach ultimately proved ineffective, only making the old chiefs think that the Fir Tree Clan had run out of ideas.

These past few days, the chiefs have been happy to play dumb with him. Sometimes, when they get too annoyed, they bring out good wine and meat to treat him, filling the entire tent with the aroma of food and drink, making it feel like they're in Africa supporting construction.

I can almost picture them looking at Gray with smug expressions, waiting to see the Cedar Clan suffer their fate two days later.

But I didn't expect Gray to make any progress anyway. The tribe was left with eleven people, including myself, and we continued to travel around with food, trying to win over smaller tribes and gain more help.

Unfortunately, the food brought by the camel caravan was wasted in two days, but only a few hundred emaciated tribal "warriors" and a bunch of "allies" with different intentions joined them.

Chief Berthold must have already instructed his vassals, especially those with the power to turn the tide of the war, to distance themselves from us and to report our whereabouts at any time.

Therefore, when we presented a radical battle plan to the chieftain and passionately called upon the tribal warriors to reclaim the sacred mountain, the feedback we received was not very satisfactory.

Even worse, a chieftain of one of the Thirteen Covenant tribes, after getting drunk, smugly commented on the report in front of Gray, as if these secret communication of operational plans were nothing more than a child's game.

Time flew by, and it was the night before the battle plan. The carefree Susan Clan members were already asleep in the tent, snoring loudly. I only regretted not bringing my emoji pony to compete with them.

I sat by the campfire outside the tent, poking at the embers with a stick, idly waiting for the stones and sand to heat up so I could throw the cassava in to roast.