Here is your revised chapter with enhanced grammar, smooth flow, and a consistent past-tense narrative style. I've expanded it to approximately 1,000 words while keeping your content and tone intact:
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The child soon approached Rolan, her small form trembling as tears streamed down her face.
"Please... save my family... hik hik. You're strong, so please save them... hik," she sobbed, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with dirty sleeves, overwhelmed by sorrow and desperation.
Rolan knelt and gently wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb. "It's okay, young one," he said, offering a kind smile. "My underlings and I will save your family. Right, everyone?"
"Yes!"
"You can count us in!"
"Absolutely!"
The room filled with eager voices, each one filled with determination.
"See?" Rolan told her, holding out his pinky. "We promise."
The girl smiled faintly and hooked her pinky around his. "Thank you so much, big brother!" she beamed through lingering tears.
To cheer her up further, Rolan conjured a cookie—warm, fragrant, and golden brown. Her eyes sparkled with surprise when she tasted it.
"Mmm! This is delicious!"
The ingredients were simple but precious—honey from their newly established bee farm, wheat from the Soul Realm fields, and a touch of vanilla essence. It was proof of the life they were building, one small comfort at a time.
Meanwhile, the war room inside the castle was filled with tension. Rolan stood at the center, his expression grim. Maps, documents, and reports littered the heavy table in front of him. Around him stood his trusted lieutenants—Kuro, Reynald, Frederick, and several others—each waiting in silence for their leader to speak.
"The Undead Plague Carrier skill," Rolan began, "is magical in nature. We believe it's dark magic, resembling the zombie viruses from Earth's tales. If even a single soldier is bitten, it could spell doom for our entire army."
He turned toward the others with a steely gaze. "Until we find a cure, no one is allowed to be wounded. Understood?"
Everyone nodded, their faces tight with worry. To understand the nature of the plague further, Rolan decided to speak to the child again.
He knelt beside her. "Little one, can you tell us what happened? Any detail could help us."
"My name is Anna," she said softly. "Please call me that. As for what happened... it was in the dead of night when the plague struck. Our tribe was surrounded. We fought with everything we had... but they just kept coming. When one of us fell, they were devoured alive. We couldn't save them."
She paused, eyes glistening with fresh tears. "I was sent to find the Warrior Tribe for help, but I never found them. I kept running... the undead never got tired, and I... I could barely keep going."
She gripped her hands tightly. "Our tribe was already weak. The Holy Empire sent Legionnaires and Inquisitors to cull us. Only a handful survived. I don't even know if my family is still alive..."
Her voice trembled, but she continued, "My father counted them. There were three thousand undead swarming our lands."
"Three... thousand?" Reynald repeated, aghast. "How can we possibly fight that many?"
"We might need help from the Dark Mages," Kuro suggested. "Some may have survived the last purge and gone into hiding."
Anna shook her head sadly. "They were the first ones attacked. Most were slain and raised as undead. The survivors were imprisoned in the Dark Lich Overlord's tower. He's the one spreading this plague."
Rolan sighed deeply, scratching his chin. "So they were targeted first, huh... No help from the Dark Mages then."
He remembered something from the Lordship book he'd read—a tale from the old world where the protagonist, a noble of the Holy Empire, waged war against the tribal factions and the Demon Empire. The heroes had won, crushing the guardians of the tribes and scattering the demons. Now, Rolan—reincarnated into this world as a member of the tribe faction—was witnessing the aftermath of that so-called victory.
If the guardians had still been alive, none of this would be happening.
Rolan now bore the responsibility to protect what was left... and to stop the spread of the plague before it consumed them all.
"We'll have to fight smart," Rolan muttered. "Kuro, prepare the 180-strong army. Equip them fully."
"Yes, master," Kuro said, bowing before hurrying off to fulfill the command.
Rolan's mind spun with possibilities. Facing 3,000 undead with just 180 soldiers was suicide. But maybe... there was another way.
"Anna," he said, turning back to her, "are there any other nearby villages allied with your tribe?"
"Yes!" she answered quickly. "We can rescue my family first—and then ask the nearby tribes for help. I'm sure they'll join us!"
Rolan smiled and patted her on the head. "Then let's start there."
He turned to the others. "Everyone, we're rescuing the mages and Anna's village first. From there, we gather more allies. Let's move!"
The soldiers were quickly outfitted. Thanks to the soul realm's production facilities, the slimes had crafted light armor forged from demonic steel. Bracers, chestplates, and plated boots glinted in the torchlight. Lightweight yet durable, they were made for speed and endurance.
With preparations complete, the army assembled at the portal gate. Rolan stood before them, his cloak billowing in the wind as he surveyed his force—smaller in number, but determined.
"Let's bring them home," he said.
With that, they marched through the glowing portal and emerged into the twilight wilderness of the outside world. The forest was cold and silent, with only the distant cry of crows echoing in the wind. Their destination: the Mage Tribal Village—now likely under siege. Or if, only if, they were all annihilate. Rolan preferred the former or prayed that it was the former. He could not wish to have the mage tribes to be extinct. He literally prayed that they would survive at least.
But knowing them, they have arcane knowledge and strength as far as ancient tribes. They were strong too. So maybe they were still holding up for now.
The battle to reclaim all the job classed tribes had begun.