“Yeah, exactly, where have you been hiding these past few days? Henry Clark said you dragged the cunning beast back. That beast is so heavy, it takes five or six of us to carry it—how did you manage to drag it back by yourself?” The boys following behind Henry Clark hadn’t seen Ethan Brooks for several days, and now they all crowded around, chattering and asking questions.

After returning to the village, Ethan Brooks first lay in his hut to recover from his injuries, then got a silk scroll from Grandpa Edward Clark to practice cultivation, so he really hadn’t interacted much with the others in the village for three days.

Now, with Henry Clark grabbing him, he just smiled and teased, “My injuries aren’t healed yet, I’ve been lying in bed sleeping all day. Grandpa is probably afraid you’ll drag me around everywhere…”

Henry Clark looked Ethan Brooks up and down. Seeing how lively he was, aside from the scars that would take a few more days to fade, there was no sign of injury left.

“You haven’t practiced barbarian martial arts, but your body is sturdier than Logan Clark and the others. Logan Clark brags that he’s finally found the feeling in his barbarian martial arts training, and he can swing the stone block in front of the village a long way. He’s been looking all over for you to arm wrestle, wanting to win back that ironwood bow he lost to you last time—but he couldn’t find you.”

Logan Clark is the son of Samuel Clark, and is considered a cousin to Henry Clark—though, in the Black Python tribe, there’s no such distinction. The two of them, along with Nancy Reed, son of the Southern Liao, are considered the three most outstanding youths of the Black Python tribe.

At this moment, Nancy Reed stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking on with a rather indifferent air, as if he disdained Henry Clark’s claim that Logan Clark had “found the feeling” in his martial arts training.

Ethan Brooks, however, was surprised.

For barbarian martial arts, whether one can reach the subtle realm where body and mind are united in the early stages is crucial.

Only by achieving unity of body and mind can one awaken the barbarian soul—this is the most critical step.

For someone like Logan Clark, only twelve years old, to have “found the feeling” means he’s just half a step away from truly entering the threshold of barbarian soul cultivation. His talent is only slightly inferior to Henry Clark’s.

“So, how about it, dare to compete?” Logan Clark, a bit smaller in stature, stared at the silent Ethan Brooks with his dark eyes, afraid he’d say “no.”

Ethan Brooks gave a wry smile. “Last time I went into the mountains, I accidentally dropped that ironwood bow off a cliff—you all know that, right? Unless you want to win back the ironwood bow that’s now broken in two, I really don’t have anything else to bet with you!”

“You can bet the long tusk with me!” Logan Clark, still young, couldn’t hide his thoughts, and blurted out his intentions in just a couple of sentences.

“Long tusk?” Ethan Brooks looked at Henry Clark in confusion, not knowing what this was about.

Henry Clark mysteriously pulled two long tusks from his animal skin pouch—the very same snow-white, gleaming fangs of the cunning beast—and said, “Everyone says these two tusks are rightfully yours. Grandpa asked me to bring them to you…” Even as he spoke of giving them, he clutched the tusks, reluctant to let go.

The cunning beast had roamed free in Mount Tu for hundreds of years, and just as it was about to form a demon core, it was struck dead by lightning. Yet every part of its body was a treasure.

These two tusks, when struck, rang like metal and stone. They’d crashed through the deep mountains, colliding with rocks and trees countless times, yet not a single crack had appeared. They were tough and sharp, no less than legendary weapons.

Mangya Ridge produced no copper or iron; good steel swords and spears all came from Canglan City, two or three thousand miles away.

Even mid-level barbarian warriors in the Black Python tribe couldn’t each have a steel sword or spear; most ordinary people still used stone blades and wooden spears for hunting.

Henry Clark had a bronze short sword, which made all the other young warriors in the village envious.

Now, with two cunning beast tusks even sturdier and sharper than steel weapons, it was no wonder everyone in the village wanted to arm wrestle him, hoping to win the tusks for themselves.

Seeing Henry Clark was also reluctant to part with them, Ethan Brooks pointed at the bronze sword at his waist and said, “You give me your bronze sword, and I’ll trade you one tusk.”

Hearing this, Henry Clark immediately beamed with joy, quickly pulled the bronze short sword from his grass-rope belt and handed it to Ethan Brooks, afraid he’d change his mind the next moment. “Here, if Grandpa asks, you have to say you offered to trade with me.”

Ethan Brooks tucked the bronze short sword into his belt, then handed the other cunning beast tusk to Logan Clark:

“Last time I went into the mountains, I went a bit farther and borrowed your ironwood bow for protection. I meant to return it after using it, but it fell off a cliff and broke in two. I can’t beat you at arm wrestling now, so take this tusk as my compensation to you…”

“Really?” Logan Clark was both surprised and delighted, looking at Ethan Brooks uncertainly.

He thought to himself, the ironwood bow was lost to Ethan Brooks in a fair match, and as a man, he should win the tusk back with his own skill. But he wasn’t sure he could beat Ethan Brooks…

Seeing Logan Clark’s conflicted expression, Ethan Brooks laughed and turned away, ignoring him.

The shaman Edward Clark was highly respected and had insisted on keeping Ethan Brooks, but the other tribespeople hadn’t fully accepted this outsider boy.

The Black Python people were deeply secretive about past events and didn’t like to talk about them, but Ethan Brooks could still sense their deep hostility toward outsiders.

However, under the leadership of Henry Clark and Logan Clark, the boys in the village didn’t treat Ethan Brooks as an outsider.