Chapter 105
Chapter 105
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: Kantahar
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"Yawn..."
The clean white bedsheets rustled against his face, and the lazy lord stretched as he rose from bed.
He had no idea how long he had slept, but the winter sunlight visible through the window had long since risen, and the knights of the territory, with nothing pressing to do, hadn't woken him.
'Life's what? As long as my back's warm and my belly's full, that's it.'
The first snow had fallen in Neruman a fortnight ago.
The Habis Kingdom's invading army and Neruan's holy knights had been thoroughly crushed by the territory lord and his people.
Of the over 250 wyverns, only a few dozen had escaped alive.
Over 100 wyverns lay dead, and tens of thousands had been taken prisoner.
Most of the Habis Kingdom soldiers fleeing by land had been captured.
Trying to bolt across the plains was like a moth over a campfire.
They hopped around a bit before kneeling one after another before the wyverns and the territory's cavalry.
Of course, a few tough ones had crossed the border.
But even those who made it back across were greeted by the Habis King's forces.
Word was, most of the nobles who had insulted the royal family had been executed for treason or sold into slavery.
Rosiatte's bold grip on the reins of state, once dismissed as a weak woman.
Though the pointless invasion of Neruman had weakened the kingdom's overall forces, it had turned into an opportunity for reversal, allowing the king to wield true authority and making it a proper kingdom.
"Not bad at all."
Out of conscience, he couldn't swallow all the surviving wyverns.
If he devoured what few wyverns the Habis Kingdom had left, he'd be breaking his promise to help them—he'd be a thief.
So, with tears in his eyes, he decided to hand over the surviving 100-odd wyverns to the kingdom.
Wyvern armor and air plates included, of course.
"Heh heh... The wyvern corpses and other military supplies are all mine, though."
It wasn't free.
The wyvern bodies—worth a fortune even in death—along with the shattered armor and air plates, all went to Neruman.
Add in the warhorses and weapons, and they had enough supplies to last ten years without worry.
"Hah... But those crazy holy knights hanging around are bothering me."
Not everything could be perfect.
The holy knights whose heads had gone blank from the great spirit's resonance with Armis.
Even when he tried to send them off nicely, they wept and insisted on staying in Neruman with the saintess.
That was fine.
Having them protect Armis was better than using his own knights, who had plenty of other duties.
But the problem was the numbers.
Out of the surviving 900 holy knights, a whopping 300 had chosen to stay in the territory.
As a result, the Sky Corps had suddenly turned into a sea of white-cloaked holy knights.
That was tolerable.
They could serve as reserve forces for the territory if needed, so he could accept it.
But the issues didn't end there.
"Why! Do I have to get permission from those holy knights every time I want to see Armis!!!!"
Even as the king of Neruman, every time he entered the temple built on his own land, he had to pass through holy knight inspections, and he couldn't speak casually to Armis like old times.
The holy knights would glare and look ready to challenge him to a duel at the slightest informal word.
They weren't a godsend pumpkin—they were headaches on legs.
Armis was safer than ever, which was great, but the little joys of his daily life had vanished, leaving him deeply dissatisfied.
"Ugya!"
He stretched long and stepped out of bed.
He'd been frantically handling postwar cleanup until yesterday, but today, there wasn't much left to do.
Derbal and his fellow administrators were selecting lower officials on their own and building the administrative framework, while the knights trained tirelessly with the soldiers, sweating buckets.
The territory ran smoothly without him saying a word.
Just thinking about it made him pleased.
Gurgle.
Oversleeping meant skipping breakfast, and his teenage stomach, ravenous as ever, was roaring in protest.
"Hang on a bit. I'll stuff you full."
He patted his belly, soothing the little rebels.
The harvest had been far better than expected, enough for the territory to be self-sufficient now.
No doubt, next year they could even export grain.
"Clear!"
He roughly ran a hand through his hair and cast Clear over his whole body.
Whiiiir.
Clear, one of the 2-circle state magics.
Freshness swept over him in the wake of the mana.
Clack clack.
Then he donned the air plate sitting in one corner of the room.
In winter, it was a hot pack; in summer, a personal AC.
Not wearing it left his chest feeling oddly empty—it had become part of his life.
"Let's start the day refreshed!"
He suited up in armor and stepped out.
Grab breakfast made just for him in the dining hall, summon Derbal to handle important matters, ride Bebeto for a tour of the territory—that would take him to afternoon. If time remained, he could head to the beastkin for "magic training" that was really just some loving discipline, and it'd be evening by then.
Evenings weren't bad: good snacks with a beer, swapping stories with the knights.
Click.
He opened the door.
The bedroom adjoined the office.
"You're awake, my lord."
'Eek!'
As he emerged, ready to execute his perfect daily plan, Derbal's vigorous voice greeted him.
"Wh-what brings you here? This... early?"
"If I may be so bold, it's nearly lunchtime. And there are quite a few matters needing your attention, so I've been waiting."
"R-right..."
Derbal stood there, thick stack of documents in hand.
His lord had clearly been waiting just for him to wake, and guilt tugged at his heart.
The loyal Derbal, who hadn't slept a wink handling postwar affairs right after the war.
Meanwhile, the lord had slept in spectacularly.
He feared the rumors if word got out.
"Breakfast will be brought to the office. Please, come inside."
'Tch... Food tastes best at the table.'
"Yeah... sure. Haha. What's one meal?"
His face forced an awkward smile, against his wishes.
The day was off to a bad start from the first button.
He'd have to tread carefully.
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"No firewood?"
"Yes. As you know, my lord, the Neruman Plains have no mountains for gathering logs."
"But how have you survived until now? Winters here are brutal, I hear?"
The moment he entered the office, Derbal raised the firewood issue with a grave expression.
Incredibly, despite the harsh weather, the Neruman folk, including Denpos, were enduring the cold bare-skinned.
"They say they dried orc dung. Orcs slow down in winter, so they'd collect the dried dung from their haunts for temporary use. But this year, with the orcs near the village wiped out, they're facing difficulties."
"Freezing to death?"
"The abundant orc hides will prevent that. But daily life is quite painful. They can't make warm soups, and their homes are bitterly cold."
Just hearing it painted a vivid picture of the territory folk's hardships.
It wasn't life-or-death survival, so he'd brushed it off, but now his heart ached.
'Barely hanging on since October?'
Back on Earth, he'd crank the boiler at the slightest chill.
Unlike that, the territory folk shivered through cold winter nights without firewood—their plight stabbed at his chest.
'Firewood... firewood.'
It wasn't something you could just procure easily.
Even estimating five per household, that was at least 100,000 homes. The firewood for a long winter would be enormous.
Doubtful if driving soldiers and slaves now would suffice.
Magic was an option, but magic braziers required low-grade magic stones even for basic operation.
The cost was steep, and 100,000 braziers would take a century to craft.
'Tch, headache.'
He mulled it over, but no clever solution emerged.
'If only oil gushed everywhere... Wait!'
Oil sparked a sudden memory.
The cozy classroom stove from elementary school, gone by third grade.
And its fuel: coal.
"That's it!"
"Pardon?"
Derbal startled at the sudden shout.
Mountains littered the Neruman surroundings.
Some of those mountains surely held coal.
Even resource-poor Korea had decent coal reserves.
'With luck, we might find a high-quality open-pit mine.'
Undeveloped mountain ranges, treasure troves of resources.
"I'll handle it."
"As expected of my lord. I believed telling you would solve everything!"
"Haha, this much is nothing."
Derbal's eyes sparkled with admiration, admiration radiating off him.
He always thought: being a good lord wasn't that hard in moments like this.
"Every home has braziers and chimneys, right?"
"Of course. Kitchen braziers are sturdily made of soil and stone."
'Come to think of it, houses need upgrades too.'
He'd seen the locals' homes.
Substituting scarce wood with haphazard mud, stone, and straw weaves—these houses wouldn't pass as pigsties on Earth.
"Brick production continuing?"
"Slaves produce daily. Magic drying rooms yield about 1,000 a day."
"Tenfold it."
"Pardon?"
"I'll make more magic drying rooms. Ramp production ten times."
"Y-yes, understood."
Come spring, thawed ground would allow elf road crews again.
Roads done, they'd build fortresses along them, then launch housing renovations for the folk.
'Work's piling up.'
Rough outline, but details would multiply endlessly.
"Next item?"
"No more open space in the Sky Corps base. Temporary tents for holy knights left no hangar room for wyverns. As you know, my lord, the wyverns to return to Habis are camped outside the castle. Needs quick resolution."
'Sigh. Already full?'
When he first arrived at the foreigner Sky Corps base, it was barren wasteland.
Yet in under a year, the vast base had no room for more buildings.
"No word from Habis Kingdom?"
"A few days ago, they said they'd send Sky Knights soon to retrieve them. But Sky Knights aren't made overnight, so it'll take time."
Like new wine in new bottles, Rosiatte had boldly reformed the kingdom.
Turning most Sky Knights—nobles all—into slaves or corpses had depleted talent.
No wonder they couldn't even think of fetching their vital wyverns.
"Contact them again. My wyverns are suffering because of those pigs."
He'd healed wounded wyverns with holy water and broken the rebellious ones using Bebeto and his gold wyvern lieutenant.
But the feed was the issue.
No spare pigs or cattle yet, so Sky Knights hunted orcs daily.
Monsters still ruled outside the south, making hunts easy.
But even one orc per day per wyvern added up to 100, making cleanup a hassle.
"I'll dispatch Rumikar immediately."
"Any other items?"
"This might be the most important on today's agenda."
"Hm? What is it?"
If it warranted Derbal's grave face, it wasn't minor.
"One Temir tribe slave wishes to speak with you, my lord."
"A slave? To me? Why?"
He didn't treat slaves like beasts.
He'd ordered winter coats of orc hide against the cold.
Three meals a day, labor capped at 10 hours, one rest day weekly.
"The son of a Temir chieftain, they say. He has words about Temir wyverns for you, my lord."
"Wyverns?"
His indifferent mood perked up.
Swallowing the wyverns for Habis would make none dare ignore the territory, but it went against his conscience—he couldn't.
Still, expanding the territory's wyverns was essential.
Rabiter Empire aggressors wouldn't invade midwinter, but spring was uncertain.
Proud folk like them wouldn't sit idle knowing their gold wyvern was stolen, along with the crown prince incident.
"Shall I bring him in? He's waiting outside."
"Of course. Send him in."
"Understood, my lord."
He even forgot his hunger.
Tempted to cross empire borders and seize wyverns himself.
Even with 200 wyverns, Habis wouldn't have dared invade.
'Temir wyverns are decent too.'
Temir wyverns, bound by shamanism, not holy water.
They still bolstered Orak Castle's forces.
Thud thud.
"My lord, I've brought him."
"Come in."
Derbal's voice came as he gathered his thoughts.
Creak.
Two men entered through the open door.
'No standout features—why separate tribes?'
Difference like Turk vs. European?
To him, maybe. Locals picked out Temir instantly.
Westerners couldn't distinguish Koreans from other East Asians, but he could spot Filipinos from Koreans easily—something like that visual cue.
"The great lord of Neruman, Viscount Kaiyer de Neruman. Show respect!"
Derbal scolded the 180cm hook-nosed Temir youth who entered.
"Greetings, my lord."
'Huh? Speaks well.'
The Temir youth spoke the continental common tongue fluently.
Without the crude orc coat, he wouldn't pass for slave—his cheeks were plump.
"What's your name?"
"Kantahar of the Aishin tribe."
Kantahar, he named.
As chieftain's son, he looked sharper than other Temir.
"Good to meet you, Kantahar. You have words for me?"
No beating around the bush.
"My lord, help us Temir tribes!"
".....?"
Wyvern talk vanished; straight to begging aid.
'Do I look that soft? Why do they all ask me first!!'
He didn't think he'd lived saintly, yet they begged like he was one.
"Why should I help you? Your kind are bandits who plundered my people's lives and property."
No need to seem easy.
"I know. But it was survival—no choice. If we were full-bellied, we wouldn't risk death fighting Bazran Empire dogs. But... we're starving! Monsters and beasts make hunting grueling; crops yield little. So we mine gems and gold, but merchants break promises and cheat with rock-bottom prices. My lord, slaving here has been the happiest time of my life. No life-risking hunts—just sweat for three meals, no sleepless monster nights. A weekly rest day? Pure bliss, first peace ever."
'Tch, speechless.'
Oppressed slaves, exploited—yet calling it life's peak happiness left him wordless.
Lives nearly matching Neruman commoners.
Slight sympathy stirred.
"What's that to me? Treating you kindly is just my conscience. Besides, didn't you slaughter my poor soldiers and folk? No matter how hungry, not jumping your neighbor's fence is human decency."
"Centuries of enmity between tribes. You may not know, my lord, but Neruman was once our ancestors' land. Foreigners stole this precious earth, forcing us Temir into barren, monster-ridden northern mother mountains. So I beg you. We ask little. Spare us your surplus food, and we'll swear eternal blood oath. My lord! When my child and parents starve, not jumping the fence isn't decency—it's survival!"
'No retort.'
He couldn't claim certainty himself.
If his family starved, he'd likely jump fences too.
'And this guy's eloquent?'
Unlike other Temir, Kantahar wove fluent words, even lofty philosophy.
Impressive on second look.
"This man can't commit to that. From what I hear, over 50 Temir tribes are ruled by major tribes' decisions. No need to heed a minor chieftain's son."
Derbal gave cold assessment from the side.
"True. But you're mistaken. We don't bow to major tribes—we follow Great Shamaness Rokoroia."
"Great Shamaness?"
Temir world, unknown to most.
Bazran Empire, holding widest border, called them barbarians and mad killers, avoiding them.
Worse than "son of a bitch": "You Temir scum."
Kantahar spoke of their hidden power structure.
"Even great tribes obey Great Shamaness Rokoroia absolutely. She is reincarnation of the mother who birthed our race, mother to ten thousand."
'The wicked witch hag I'd heard of!'
First impression hit spot-on.
Bathed in blood, heads for sacrifice, bizarre dances, grotesque talismans around necks—shamans.
Kantahar's words clarified Temir more.
'Underdeveloped societies cling to shamans as divine conduits.'
Kantahar's eyes mixed reverence, awe, fear at "Great Shamaness."
"Meet her. Ally sincerely, and Neruman folk suffer no more from our tribes. My lord!!"
"No! Can't send my lord to such danger! Ignore this wretch. He's luring you to doom with sweet wyvern talk. Temir alliance? Great Shamaness? Not worth considering!"
Derbal prioritized his lord's safety above all.
He leaped up, glaring murderously at Kantahar.
"That's why meet the Great Shamaness! If she allows, tribes' wild wyvern eggs yield dozens yearly! I stake my life!"
Kantahar screamed bloodily.
No lie detected.
But Derbal was right—perilous proposal.
Negotiating blind in enemy jaws.
Anyone else, he'd pack lunch to stop them.
"Fine. I trust you."
"Eek! M-my lord!"
"Thank you! Thank you, my lord!"
Thud thud.
Kantahar banged his head on the floor in thanks.
But that was others; he trusted himself.
Against Temir or dragon lairs—he'd survive.
Worst case, whatever.
"I-I'll go, my lord! You're Neruman's hope, future. Can't send you to death!"
Derbal pleaded again.
He smiled at Derbal.
"Don't worry. I'll clean house this time. Trust me. When have I let you down, Sir Derbal?"
"My lord....."
Derbal gazed sadly, knowing his lord's stubbornness.
He nodded lightly.
"When to depart?"
"Now, if you wish."
"That quick? Off I go then."
"S-so soon....."
Derbal startled at his lord's hot-bloodedness.
Not mentally prepared yet.
'No worries. If I don't like it, I'll burn it down on my way back.'
He had to visit someday anyway.
Conquer with soldiers? Not his style to fret yearly over pirate-like raids.
'Heh heh. Wait, wicked shaman! Viscount Kaiyer of Neruman comes!!'
Great Shamaness Rokoroia, ruling Temir.
Hope she slept well last night.
Mess up, and today'd be her next year's memorial.
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"He's gone?"
"Princess, forgive us. We searched everywhere, but he vanished."
"Sigh... Pity. Capturing Hanskane would tie everything neatly..."
In Habis Kingdom's palace.
Princess Rosiatte sighed deeply at traitor Hanskane's escape.
Since Habis nobles and knights swarmed Neruman, she'd been nonstop till now.
Assembled royal guard, soldiers, scant loyal nobles' forces for the coup.
Had key nobles like Duke Hanskane stayed, success doubtful.
But heaven willed it done.
All but one: Duke Hanskane vanished.
"Likely fled to Rabiter Empire. Last sighted near Kobiran Mountains."
"Worst fear realized. Had to catch him."
Rosiatte couldn't shake regret.
Spilled water now.
Neruman-retreating noble wyverns all captured at Cavalon Viscounty.
Sky Knights not pursuing across border, nobles landed one by one in Cavalon.
Waiting royal guards nabbed them wholesale.
Sadly, Duke Hanskane slipped away.
Arrived latest for some reason, saw guards tussling with nobles, bolted.
Lurked in kingdom awhile scouting, then vanished into Kobiran Mountains.
With a dozen Sky Knights under him.
"Time to let regret go. Much to resolve. Most territories masterless now. Interim administrators sent, but lack true authority. Swiftly appoint capable knights or fallen nobles as lords. And retrieve kingdom wyverns from Neruman first. Who knows when Lord Kaiyer changes mind."
Old loyalist and relative Duke Sapidan.
Sparing no advice for granddaughter Princess Rosiatte.
"Wyverns are fine. Lord Kaiyer... second only to Father in my respect."
Rosiatte showed strong faith naming Kaiyer.
"Princess, this old man advises: trust only yourself. Ruling a nation can't be emotional. Today's foe tomorrow's ally, today's ally tomorrow's foe—that's the way. Besides, Neruman borders us—a virtual enemy state. Grateful for aid, but don't overtrust."
Sapidan, wise in politics, twinkled aged eyes with counsel.
"Understood. I'll engrave your words deep, Grandfather."
"Humbled, Princess."
Old King Jarmanyan Habis worsened, bedridden mostly.
Thus, Rosiatte handled all key kingdom affairs alone.
"If you recommend nobles, speak, Grandfather. Key granary zones, Hanskane's lands, major nobles' territories become direct royal holdings. Never again swayed by nobles. No one defies me or Habis royals. As long as I breathe....."
Hard vow from north continent's flower, once tender-hearted Princess Rosiatte.
Sapidan bowed in respect.
Noble himself, he knew throne-unsteady kingdoms doomed soon.
Habis needed strong crown more than ever.
One thriving meant all thriving.
Now was the time.