Reborn As A Beastman With A System

"It\'s quite the sight, isn\'t it?" he mused to himself. "To the untrained eye, it might seem we\'ve got an army fit for an empire."

As he approached, the sharp clack of armored boots on the dirt signaled his arrival, and two guards, one a robust boarman and the other a towering minotaur, snapped to attention, their weapons glinting under the afternoon sun.

"Hail, Chieftain!" they bellowed in unison, their voices carrying across the open field.

Logan returned their salute with a nod, his eyes flickering with approval. The recent recruitment drive had diversified the ranks significantly, incorporating not just werewolves but also Beastmens, boarmen, and tauren. He paused before the duo, his gaze lingering thoughtfully.

The guards stood rigid under his scrutiny, the weight of his position and their respect for him palpable in the tense air.

After a moment, Logan\'s expression softened, and he gestured towards their armor. "Tell me, do you find your armor burdensome?"

The question seemed to catch them off guard, particularly as the chief\'s interest seemed piqued by their gear rather than their readiness. The boarman, his stature impressive at over eight feet tall, shook his head vigorously.

"Not at all, Lord Chief!" he replied stoutly.

The minotaur, even larger, added with a grin, "This armor is a fine fit, Chieftain. Back in my tribe, we used to wear clunky half-plate that didn\'t suit our needs. But this? I can wear it all day without complaint."

"Is that so?" Logan chuckled, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he laughed lightly. "I should\'ve remembered, the raw strength of a tauren far surpasses that of our werewolf brethren."

Encouraged by the chief\'s amiable demeanor, the tauren guard ventured a suggestion, his voice a mix of hope and hesitation. "Chief, if I may... we Tauren aren\'t fond of spears. Might we have axes instead?"

The boarman guard stiffened, his eyes widening in shock at the boldness of his companion.

"Spear is not to your liking?" Logan\'s voice was amused, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he regarded the earnest minotaur before him.

"Indeed, Chief," the minotaur replied, his tone earnest. "We Tauren pride ourselves on our peaceful nature, but when it comes to battle, an axe feels more natural in our hands. It\'s a matter of heritage and comfort."

Logan nodded thoughtfully, the wheels of consideration turning in his head. "Your words hold weight. Let\'s see what we can do about arming you with something that feels right at home in your hands."

With that, the chief\'s laughter echoed across the field, a sound that mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of the camp, a leader attuned to the hearts and strengths of his diverse warriors.

Chief Logan reached out and hefted the hefty spear with a practiced ease, the muscles in his arms flexing under the strain. The spear, crafted to weigh nearly two hundred pounds, was formidable even for a seasoned second-level werewolf warrior. Yet, for the Tauren and Quillmen, it was almost too light, lacking the heft they were accustomed to.

Handing back the spear to the towering Minotaur, Logan inquired thoughtfully, "What kind of weapon would better suit you?"

The boarman beside them watched in mute surprise, visibly relieved that the chief showed no signs of irritation. Moved by the chief\'s open-mindedness, he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the exchange.

The Minotaur, his broad chest heaving slightly under the weight of his ornate armor, responded with a thoughtful frown. "I\'d prefer something heavier and shorter. This spear feels too insubstantial for my strength, and I\'m not accustomed to this style of weapon. I can\'t effectively harness my power with it in battle."

Logan paused, struck by the clarity and insight of the Minotaur\'s words. "Very well," he said with a nod, his voice laced with respect. "I\'ll discuss this with your commander and arrange for a change in your weaponry." He smiled up at the Minotaur, who loomed over him not only in height but also in the sheer physical presence amplified by his armor.

The Minotaur\'s face broke into a grin, his earlier stoicism melting into a child-like glee.

But Logan caught the lingering innocence in his expression, and it brought a smirk to his face.

As Logan turned to enter the military camp, the boarman, encouraged by the chief\'s receptiveness, gathered his courage. Just as Logan was about to step away, the boarman called out hesitantly.

Logan stopped in his tracks and turned, his gaze settling on the boarman. His smile was gentle, encouraging. "You don\'t favor the spear either, do you?"

Startled yet grateful, the boarman stuttered, "Yes, yes...!"

"I see," Logan acknowledged with a nod, his tone reassuring. He then strode into the barracks, leaving a lasting impression of approachability and leadership.

Watching the chief disappear into the camp, the boarman couldn\'t help but smile. "The chief is so approachable," he murmured.

"That\'s true," the Tauren added with a guileless grin. "I\'ve heard it said. Our young chief hasn\'t even been leading for a full year yet, but look at what he\'s already accomplished for the Silvermane Tribe."

The boarman nodded in agreement. Although he was new to the tribe, he had quickly come to appreciate its culture,\'no one went hungry, there were no unfair treatments, and the focus was on continual training and improvement. He felt a deepening bond to this place, thinking, "This is a good tribe. A tribe worth fighting for.".

Chief Logan stepped into the barracks, the distant clatter and clash of intense training echoing through the air. He wandered past a cluster of buildings, some served as the military camp\'s canteen, others housed the administrative offices where Kro and his team strategized.

In this camp, soldiers didn\'t live in barracks; they returned home each evening and came back at dawn, refreshed and ready for rigorous training. Logan had once considered constructing dormitories within the camp but eventually decided against it, feeling it might detach the warriors from their homes and families unnecessarily.

Making his way to the parade ground, Logan found himself amidst several high-ranking Beastmen officers. However, none of them seemed to notice his presence, so engrossed were they in the spectacle of the training field.

Leaning against the fence, Logan gazed out at the field where two or three thousand Beastmens trained with a ferocious intensity. Their roars and battle cries filled the air, blending with the metallic ring of spears clashing.

"Roar... Kill!"

Here, not just werewolves but also a diverse mix of warriors, minotaurs, boarmen, bearmen, and antelopemen, formed a formidable, if unconventional, legion.

"Chief?" The familiar voice snapped Logan out of his observations.

Turning, he saw a boarman officer, unmistakable with his formidable build and battle scars, a seasoned warrior from the Tara Hills named Gawa.

"Gawa, it\'s been too long!" Logan greeted him with a warm smile.

"Greetings, Chief!" Gawa saluted sharply, his respect unmistakable.

Gawa\'s salute caught the eye of other Beastmen officers nearby. Recognizing their chief, they quickly gathered, offering salutes of their own.

"Greetings, Lord Chief!"

Logan raised his hand, signaling for them to ease. "Carry on with your duties. Gawa and I need a moment."

"Understood, Chief!" The officers dispersed, though their glances lingered curiously on their chief as they returned to their tasks, shouting encouragements to the soldiers to maintain the intensity of their drills.

Turning his attention back to Gawa, Logan asked, "What\'s your role these days?"

"My Lord Chief, I now command four battalions as captain of the boar warriors; over three hundred strong," Gawa reported, his voice filled with a mix of pride and solemnity.

Logan nodded, impressed yet contemplative, fully aware of the responsibility Gawa carried on his broad shoulders.