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They set up camp on the slopes of a rugged mountain, seeking refuge amidst the harsh rocks. The night air buzzed with the crackling of the campfire as Logan engaged in conversation with Gava, a robust boar beastman.

"So, Gava, the famine in the northern wasteland worsens?" Logan inquired; his voice laced with concern.

Gava nodded gravely, "Indeed, sir. Countless of our kin, from the quilboar tribes, have perished. The smaller tribes are now desperate, seeking sanctuary with the larger ones, yet even these mighty tribes have scant food reserves. Some reluctantly accept newcomers; others turn them away, fearing they\'ll deplete what little they have.

This has thrown our homeland into turmoil, teeming with refugees and despair."

He continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, "Many northern merchant camps have been ravaged, and there are whispers of cannibalism among the destitute. That\'s why I led our tribesmen southward."

"But you know, sir, we dared not venture deep into the southern wasteland. Instead, we found ourselves here, subsisting on what little we could plunder. We seldom dare target the caravans, only the odd vulnerable trader dares risk our paths."

Gava\'s expression dimmed, "Such chances are rare, maybe once in a fortnight, which is why there are so few of us left."

Logan listened intently, a heavy sigh escaping him. He thought of the ancient farmers who looked to the heavens for sustenance; the beastmen\'s plight was even more dire.

Lacking the intelligence of humans or the fertile lands of elves, the beastmen\'s survival hinged on the fickle moods of nature. With their primitive farming knowledge, merely scattering seeds and hoping for bounty, a prolonged drought meant certain famine.

The beastmen lack the intricate agricultural systems of humans, who understand weeding, fertilization, optimal seeding, and precise irrigation techniques. Consequently, in times of drought, the earth parches, and the beastmen often find themselves far more susceptible than their human counterparts.

"Doesn\'t the royal court intervene in such matters?" Logan posed the question, instantly regretting it as the words left his lips.

"The Royal Court?" Gava, a hefty boar beastman, responded with a perplexed look before shaking his head dismissively, "I hardly know of such a body!"

At this, Tyton, who had been quietly observing, chimed in with a knowing smile, "Master, the royal court\'s influence has waned considerably. The northern wasteland, home predominantly to our quilboars and tauren kin, follows the boar warlord Machar now. He\'s led them for a century, and even the tauren barely acknowledge the court\'s authority anymore."

"Is the Royal Court truly so diminished? I was under the impression it still held substantial sway," Logan exclaimed, his surprise evident.

His understanding was limited, given his origins as a time traveler, with no prior knowledge of this era\'s intricacies.

Tyton\'s revelation startled him. Logically, he had assumed the entire wasteland fell under royal jurisdiction. He hadn\'t expected such stark autonomy in the north.

Moreover, Logan had believed the royal court to be robust, especially since it had recently endured the loss of many legends without apparent issue.

"The foundation remains, else it wouldn\'t be called the Royal Court. But in truth, it now exists mostly in name, with numerous major tribes openly defying it," Tyton explained further.

He added, "The reason some in the southern wasteland still recognize its authority is due to the ruling race being beastmen, akin to us wolf tribes in stature. Most of our southern tribes still feel a sense of allegiance to the royal court because of this."

Understanding dawned on Logan. If not for the beastmen-dominated royal court, the concept of such an institution would have long been dismissed from the minds of the thousands living in the south.

Logan remained shocked by the Royal Court\'s precipitous decline.

"The Royal Court traditionally embodies steadfast loyalty and authority; no tribe would dare defy it," he mused aloud, grappling with the reality of its weakened state.

"True, the court has waned, yet even a diminished power holds more sway than none. Consider that the Silver Mane tribe, though lesser known, still holds some influence," he added thoughtfully.

Tyton elaborated on the historical context that had led to the current state of affairs. "A century ago, when the Royal Court first began to falter, the northern wasteland became a battleground. Clashes were frequent among the centaurs and our quilboar kin, with kobolds and lizard folk also looming as threats.

At that time, our people were divided, succumbing to internal strife which left them vulnerable against these three formidable tribes."

He continued, "Machar, emerging from a major tribe which suffered severe losses, sought the intervention of the Royal Court to restore balance and order. Unfortunately, by then the court was deeply fragmented, its rulers mere figureheads, rendering Machar\'s pleas for help ignored."

Frustrated and disillusioned, Machar took a bold step. "In his fury, Machar publicly renounced the tribe\'s loyalty to the Royal Court. This declaration sent shockwaves across the wasteland, drawing the eyes of many, even from distant lands."

"Despite its dwindling influence, the Royal Court still retained a vestige of its former dignity and responded harshly," Tyton narrated the grave turn of events. "They dispatched a formidable force, including five legendary warriors and hundreds of fighters, under the guise of apprehending Machar, only to massacre his tribe and reduce them to servitude."

The outcome of that mission, however, was unexpected. "Machar\'s stronghold proved impregnable. The legends, along with their troops, vanished without a trace. Only one legend was spared, sent back to the court as a grim token of Machar\'s defiance. None knew the fate of the others, but rumors of their demise circulated widely."

"After that calamitous defeat, the Royal Court receded into a haunting silence, its authority effectively shattered. From that period onward, the prestige of the Royal Court evaporated, and the title of \'Wild Boar Warlord\' became synonymous with leadership among the northern beastmen," Tyton concluded, his tone reflecting a mix of reverence and regret for the lost grandeur of the past.

Logan was staggered by the revelations. The image of Machar, a singular figure challenging the entrenched elite, resonated deeply with him as a symbol of raw heroism.

"But it\'s widely speculated that the Royal Court held back because Machar was considered an epic-level powerhouse at that time," Tyton added, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

"Epic level?" Logan echoed in surprise, grappling with the scale of such power.

"Yes, beyond even the legendary tier. \'Epic\' is akin to being a living piece of history. These beings can live for thousands of years, almost as if they\'re witnesses to the ages," Tyton explained.

"You know quite a bit!" Logan remarked with a smile, genuinely impressed.

Tyton chuckled, "I\'ve gleaned this from tales my father and others shared."

Logan nodded, understanding that among the beastmen, history was seldom written down, preserved instead through oral traditions.

At that moment, a guard from the caravan, a beastman with the rugged features of his kind, approached and said respectfully, "Dear Sir, our leader has sent some provisions for you to enjoy."

He placed several large cloth bags by Logan\'s side, the rich aroma of jerky wafting from them.

Logan inhaled appreciatively, savoring the smell of the dried meat. Turning to share a moment with his companions, he noticed the Elf Prince by the fire a few meters away. Their eyes met, and they acknowledged each other with a mutual nod.

"Tell your leader we\'ll handle the night watch. You all should get some rest," Logan called out to the guard.

"Yes, sir!" the guard replied, giving a salute before departing.