Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 107
Chapter Title: Rokoroia
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Shweeeeeeee—
The mountains grew closer to the north, the source of the increasingly brutal cold.
If I hadn’t equipped the Air Plate, I would’ve frozen to death long ago. The chill seeped through the gaps in my helmet.
‘Damn it, potatoes? Just a few potatoes?’
Kantahar’s father, the Aishin chieftain whom I’d defeated, listened obediently to my words.
No, when he looked at me with desperate eyes and spoke of the harsh conditions facing the Temir tribe, I wondered if I’d been hooked by the chieftain’s ploy.
‘Yeah, thinking about it... I won too easily.’
Still, he was the chieftain of his clan, forged in battle within these perilous mountains.
He might have deliberately lost to give himself an excuse to escape later.
Flutterflutterflutter.
‘At least I got the tribal flag.’
To meet the Grand Shaman Rokoroia, I still had to fly several hours on wyvern from the Aishin village.
Along the way, we passed several Temir villages, some of which owned wyverns, so needless fights could break out.
But the Aishin symbol—a great rock painted on white beast hide—prevented any battles.
A flag permitted by Rokoroia.
Attacking its bearer was tantamount to defying Rokoroia herself, so no other tribe dared strike.
‘Closer than I thought.’
The tribes spread wide near the Litór Mountains bordering the Bazran Empire, but the Grand Shaman Rokoroia had her nest surprisingly close to Neruman.
About five hours’ flight from Orak Castle.
I’d assumed she was deep in the north, but no.
‘The large tribes have tens of thousands of warriors. All together, maybe around 200,000.’
What the chieftain gave me from his tent as food were some mountain potatoes with a fishy taste.
Not regular potatoes—these wild ones were edible but had such a unique fishy flavor that they were forced rations only eaten when nothing else was available.
Yet the chieftain had served them to me generously.
It was obvious: without swift action, they’d starve or become emergency rations for monsters.
‘Like holy water—without the shamans’ talismans, the beasts attack.’
Fortunately, there was a silver lining.
Like holy water repelling beasts, the shamans’ talismans kept them at bay.
That was why the Temir tribes in these barren mountains were utterly subservient to their shamans.
‘Hm?’
After passing a few more villages and crossing a mountain range rivaling the Himalayas in scale, a flock of wyverns appeared in the distance.
‘Hey, wild wyverns!!!!!’
My eyes spun.
Wyverns you couldn’t easily buy on the continent even for money.
And not just one or two.
Over a hundred large and small wild wyverns flew in a massive flock.
If I caught them now, I’d wipe away all wyvern worries.
Gulp.
‘Gah! Not sparrows—why so many!!’
Even more shocking, that wasn’t all.
Far beyond the huge mountains, another flock soared.
In late autumn, like swarms of sparrows descending on rice fields—the numbers were staggering.
‘Kyah, perfect spot to nest and hunt wyverns.’
Wyverns not steeped in holy water before hatching were just ferocious wild monsters from birth.
Like sexy models on liquor ads—mere pretty pictures.
“There! That’s Mother’s village!”
As I drooled over the wyverns, Kantahar, riding behind me, amplified his mana and shouted.
He’d followed me all this way as a guide.
‘Whoa!’
Turning a mountain ridge past the wyverns, a temple appeared like magic.
‘A pyramid?’
Not as grand as Egypt’s, but an enormous pyramid-shaped temple utterly out of place in these rugged peaks.
‘G-Gold!!!! Oh, gods!’
Even more astonishing, a yellow glow dazzling the eyes amid the sunset’s red light.
Atop the pyramid’s peak, a moon emblem.
The massive moon emblem, at least ten meters across, was forged from solid gleaming gold.
“Mother’s g-guards!”
Roooooaaar!
After Kantahar’s startled shout, Bebeto sensed enemies and roared.
‘Ugh...’
Spotting Bebeto, wyverns took off one by one.
Over a hundred gray Temir wyverns spread their wings and flew toward me.
‘What now?’
Even for me, a hundred wyverns were too much.
I needed a quick decision.
I’d equipped Bebeto with the latest wyvern armor precisely for such dangers, but dozens of spear shots would mean bidding farewell to this life.
If fleeing, now—while they were ascending.
‘Screw it, whatever.’
Foolhardiness breeds bravery.
For my goal, I’d risk this minor(?) danger.
“Who are you!”
‘Elites, huh?’
I carried the Aishin flag, but dressed as an Empire Sky Knight, so the guardian warriors demanded in the continental tongue.
They perfectly encircled us in moments.
“I am Kantahar, the firstborn thumb before the sacred rock, son of the Aishin chieftain! I come on important business to see the Mother of the tribe!!!!!”
Before a guardian warrior holding a spherical spear, Kantahar amplified mana and bellowed as Bebeto hovered stationary.
Without the Aishin flag, chaos would’ve erupted.
“Who is that one! Why does the firstborn thumb before the sacred rock, son of the Aishin chieftain, wear Empire garb? Luatikaapa Daanoonia Harpatia!!”
The guardian warrior switched from continental to Temir tongue.
“Atipao... Lukasha, Kaiyer!”
Kantahar shouted back in Temir, ending with my name.
Flash!
As he finished, mana charged in the warriors’ spears.
‘They wanna go!’
I couldn’t just die here.
Defense and attack spells flashed in my mind.
If I caught them off-guard, spirits and magic could get me out.
Screeeeeeee—
Then, a sharp signal pierced from the temple.
The warriors flinched.
“Land! Land below!”
One pointed his spear at the ground, shouting to land.
‘Kid, I’m not deaf!’
I glared lightly at the mana-amplified warrior and guided Bebeto down.
‘Ancient architecture.’
The temple, clearly a shamans’ abode.
In a vast bulging basin between mountains, within ten-meter stone walls, stood the pyramid structure.
We landed in what seemed a wyvern hangar in the basin.
Escorted by a hundred wyverns, I’d arrived at the Temir heartland.
‘Forget me—what’s with this fearless punk?’
Bebeto, sharp as ever, knew the danger.
One slip, and he’d be torn apart—yet he flapped elegantly and landed gracefully.
He’d grown as gutsy as his master.
Clangclink.
As Bebeto landed, Temir soldiers in unbelievably black fear armor and cloaks leveled spears.
‘Custom-made. Whoever made it profited big.’
Clearly not Temir work.
Master continental craftsmanship.
Traders profiting off Temir commerce had supplied them.
Groooowl!
Kreeee!
Numerous wyverns circled Bebeto’s head, screeching irritably.
Definitely males.
Yet Bebeto, like wyvern king, turned his head coolly, eyeing them as if to say “What?”
Host and guest seemed reversed.
“Drop your weapons!”
A guardian warrior dismounted and ordered.
‘Wearing old Air Plates too... Could use them in full force right now.’
Months ago, attackers on my territory wore mere leather or rags, but these had full Air Plates.
The Aishin starved on death’s door, yet these “guardians” sported gear worth tens to hundreds of thousands of gold each.
Common sense didn’t breathe here either.
Click.
Already landed, sword sheathed—no big difference.
I unbuckled my scabbard and helmet, handing them to Kantahar.
“Hold these.”
“I’ll guard them like my life, my lord.”
Not even my knight, yet Kantahar looked reliable.
If this went well, I could keep him around.
“Follow.”
“Bebeto, stay put. Back soon.”
Roooar! Roo!
Bebeto rubbed my hand reassuringly with his long beak.
‘Already evening.’
An utterly unforeseen day.
Punished for sleeping in with a full day’s ordeal.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
‘Amazing, truly amazing!’
Escorted by these “guardian warriors” into the pyramid temple’s interior.
Outside bit like razor frost, yet inside felt like a warm spring day.
‘Magic...’
I thought the continent’s taint hadn’t reached here, but magic had infiltrated.
‘But... why so unsettling?’
Normal mana would be fine, but this grated oddly.
No visible array—the magic circles were embedded in stone walls, uninspectable.
If it bothered me, only one possibility.
‘Dark magic, damn it...’
Danger warnings maxed out.
If this was dark mage territory—nearly vanished from the continent—my safety was gravely threatened.
‘Rokoroia or whatever—just wait till I catch you!’
“What’re you doing! Move!”
‘Sheesh, impatient uncle.’
Memorizing the labyrinthine pyramid interior as we went.
This tiger’s den rivaled the worst.
Giggle along and I might end up as dog food scraps tonight.
Step step.
Ten guardian warriors front and back.
They reeked of advanced Blade Master level.
Elite of the Temir elite.
‘This faded grandeur—centuries old at least.’
Temir script covered pyramid walls, golden murals abounded.
Wars of men and monsters, unfamiliar gods, creation myths, births, grains—human history laid bare.
‘Thought them savages, but they’ve got civilization.’
The Temir preserved ancient customs.
Once greater than continentals, perhaps.
After walking the three-meter-high corridor awhile, blinding light burst, revealing a vast chamber.
‘Whoa!’
Another gasp.
Never imagined such scale inside a pyramid.
Vast as Bazran’s Hall of Glory.
‘Sky visible inside!’
Shockingly, the central ceiling showed the golden moon I’d seen approaching.
‘Levitation magic.’
No supports—yet the golden moon hovered brilliantly in the upper pyramid.
Permanent spell, just floating.
‘Protection magic as glass panes. High-circle mage work—near 8th Circle...’
Mind-blowing.
Besides Master Gandalf, an 8th Circle mage on the continent? Unbelievable.
Chills ran down my spine.
An 8th Circle here could derail my plan to live past a hundred.
Flash.
Tension activated my mana hole.
‘Fifty warriors total, magic arrays everywhere. Perfectly guarded.’
Altar-like upper platform 100 meters ahead.
A five-meter gold dragon incense burner billowed smoke, a clear fragrance dominating.
Gulp.
Dry swallow.
Earlier, wyvern flocks tempted me—now danger dried my throat.
‘Rokoroia, show yourself!’
If the wicked hag appeared as expected, I’d Fireball her face and bolt.
In this dark magic reek, it’d be my last shot to escape alive.
“Ashpottia... Armisdania...”
‘Ugh!’
No horror flick—yet a low voice echoed in the hall.
Temir-like, not quite—frozen my heart solid.
“Raikes... Porhadah!”
Roooar—
Voice boomed, flames erupted from the burner.
Not a show—real deadly peril.
Mana hole active, braced for threat.
“Kneel! Lord of Neruman! Behold the Mother of all clans, chosen by Father of All Hadbais! Greet Mother in glory!”
Cold warning from behind.
‘Me? I don’t kneel even for my mom—where does she get off! Fine!’
Thud.
Mind said no—body knelt.
Kneeling wouldn’t kill me, and I couldn’t screw up before seeing Temir leader Rokoroia.
Stiff legs from wyvern flight needed stretching anyway—call it knee reps.
Rustle rustle.
Light footsteps to my ears as I knelt.
Not one or two—at least ten.
Light, not heavy— all women.
Roooar—
Burner flames surged again, somehow.
“Rahibahid Ashraikaam Hashteya...”
Incomprehensible but pleasant choral chant filled the hall.
“Raise your head, Lord of Neruman.”
‘Huh?’
A woman’s voice told me to look up.
Expected evil dark mage crone—yet young girl’s timbre rang in my ears.
Slowly raised my head.
“...!!”
Froze solid.
Distant, but mana-enhanced vision beyond 2.0 caught it clear.
‘A little girl?’
On a golden moon-embossed throne below the altar sat a woman—no, girl.
Just turned fifteen?
‘Golden hair?’
Rare on continent—vibrant gold locks tied with silver ribbon, cascading smoothly over glossy black priestess robes.
‘Hah, totally cute.’
Opposite of imagined.
Over 90% expected hag—yet Grand Shaman Rokoroia on the throne was fresh-faced fifteen.
Pearl-powder pale skin never sun-kissed, slightly upturned brows, violet-tinged eyes, petite nose and matching lips.
Gulp.
Swallowed again.
‘Damn, you budding criminal.’
Still minor myself, yet swallowing at a greener sprout.
Savage male blood coursed in me.
No regard for time or place, the jerk.
“So, what brings you here? To this place where life is no guarantee...”
To Temir, godlike—her casual speech felt natural.
‘This kid heads the Temir manipulators?’
Looked up at Rokoroia.
Flanked by a dozen black priestess-robed women with golden moons.
Hard to believe.
At that age, I played PlayStation or Nintendo.
Harder to buy this younger(?) thing scheming empire-level threats.
Unless politics from the womb.
And while speaking, boundless curiosity from the girl Rokoroia.
‘Suspicious.’
Invisibility no match for my detective instincts.
“Haha. Came to meet the famed Rokoroia. Even more beautiful than rumors.”
Burst into signature hearty laugh, unleashing praise mastery.
Sparkle sparkle.
Girl couldn’t hide joy at simple flattery.
‘Hm?’
Then I saw.
Odd earring at her ear.
Hearing aid-like, black material, barely visible.
‘Magic receiver!’
I knew it.
Teacher’s arcane knowledge included such devices.
‘Gotcha, little fox.’
Suspected puppetry.
“Mind your tongue. This is the Moon Temple where Mother slumbers. Idle words anger the gods.”
Eyes sparkled, but tone that of worldly elders.
‘Heh, cute.’
Unknown details, but girl Rokoroia before me was manipulated—I guessed.
‘Decent actress too. Talent star material.’
Maybe start an entertainment firm.
That cute face, bell-like voice, teach dance and magic—worldwide smash.
“If rude, apologies. Actually, here to trade with Temir. Whatever you trade now, I’ll supply all desired goods at half price. Food, plus latest Blessed Spears.”
Bait tossed, sly grin.
Hidden watcher manipulating “Grand Shaman” Rokoroia.
Unless orc-brained, they’d bite my generous offer.
Silence as predicted—then kid spoke, as if instructed.
“Not one to decide lightly. Need council—wait outside. Summon soon.”
“Understood. See you shortly.”
‘This is fun.’
Life rarely bored, but unraveling secrets thrilled.
Followed guardian out as cute fox spoke, scanning surroundings instantly.
‘There.’
Spotted it.
Ten meters above kid’s head—glinting black crystal.
Knew they watched through it.
‘Sigh, no dinner?’
Day’s fare: tasteless mountain potatoes.
No feast, but missed Skywing Platoon’s egg fry, white bread, honey, meat soup always ready.
‘That’s why leaving home’s hell...’
Mom’s words returning vacation-tired: spot on.
Home rice with water and kimchi best...
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
“That one truly Lord of Neruman?”
“Seems so. Dark Caravan info: black-haired, black-eyed young Sky Knight stirred Bazran court.”
“Bad vibe. Those black eyes especially irk...”
Under dim red magic lantern in darkness.
Three black-robed figures conversed gravely.
“Still, terms too good. Sick of Dark Caravan fleecing us knowingly. Couldn’t show ourselves lest they suspect, but trade losses? Ten years, tens of millions gold. Taking crude spears for 100k each... Grr, soon as out, wipe their seed!”
“Endure. Haven’t opened His tomb yet. Hold till then. Open it, claim despair’s power—Dark Caravan nothing. Continent ours.”
“Heh, why we hole up like rats.”
No eyes on them, yet hoods deep, faces hidden.
Eerie mana swirled around.
“What say? Trade with Neruman lord?”
“No more losses. Sent Temir warriors recently—Neruman no pushover now. Why else sniff us out?”
“Trade it is. With new spears, forces multiply.”
“Sigh, must open His tomb soon. Free from 5th Circle curse.”
“Heh. No worry. Soon, Rokoroia ‘reincarnation’ bitch comes of age. Tomb opens then—hold till.”
“Kekeke...”
“For dark power...”
Silence spell blocked the room.
Three evident dark mages chuckled sinisterly.
Clueless about the Neruman lord they’d deal with.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Crunch crunch.
‘Tasty.’
They knew guests—dinner came.
Even meat, soup, bread.
No match for Lucia Mom’s cooking, but hunger’s best sauce.
“Burp...”
Huge portions for several men—devoured all.
To uncover dark puppeteers of Rokoroia, stamina first.
‘About time.’
Without Aishin chieftain and Kantahar intel, no improv.
Know enemy, know self—invincible.
‘But whose dark aura?’
No dark mages among Neruman-invading Temir—not even mages.
‘No high magic knowledge, no such grand structure. Definitely Archmage.’
Pyramid in mountains.
Unknown to continent, but scale to upend it.
‘Envy.’
Fellow mana path mage.
7th Circle wall loomed heavy, distant.
Magic not just mana or knowledge breaks circles.
Only enlightenment.
Like high monk dawn-awakened by scenery to life-death truth—magic same.
Yet besides Master, human-impossible 8th Circle reached.
No jealousy? Abnormal.
“Rokoroia summons. Out!”
Warrior’s call outside.
Exited assigned room.
Fed—now brains time.
‘Rokoroia... heh.’
Cute as name.
“Let’s go.”
Boldly ahead of warriors.
To meet beauty.
Life’s joy—what else?
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“Accept terms.”
‘Yes!’
Rokoroia nodded, permitting trade.
Initial goal per Kantahar: aid Temir.
Now changed.
Dissect magic-breathed temple, drag out Rokoroia’s manipulators.
Old Temir no big threat—but these hid grave danger.
Enough to uproot Neruman peace.
“Grateful for wise choice, Rokoroia.”
‘Closer, cuter.’
Twenty meters to kid now.
Twenty guardians flanked, ten female shamans.
“First contract: wheat for 100k through winter.”
“Understood.”
Expected opener.
“Second: 300 Blessed Spears. 50k Empire gold each.”
‘Gasp! 300?’
Bold first deal.
Wheat for 100k winter: top-grade, few hundred k gold.
But 300 Blessed Spears? Surprise.
‘Something’s up.’
Speech not girl’s.
Close inspection: awkward face muscles, tone.
Parrot chatter feel.
Bored expression mid-sentence.
No doubt—certainty now.
“That many spears takes time.”
“Why? Lacking capacity?”
“Not capacity—300 Blessed Spears risks my territory. Before trade, summon key tribe chiefs—pledge no Neruman raids.”
“Hm...”
“Pledge, and deal done before year-end.”
Rokoroia pondered.
“Agreed—as you say.”
“Then when...”
“One week: my coming-of-age. All chiefs gather. Pledge then. You fulfill promises then too.”
‘Coming-of-age?’
Generous fifteen max—yet rite?
‘Harsh lands age early—maybe.’
Not my business, ignorant of Temir customs.
“Understood. One week: spears first.”
“Thanks.”
“No need. Seeing star-nobler Rokoroia honor enough.”
Buttered words at girl.
“...”
Rokoroia speechless, face apple-blush.
Success: fondness planted.
Clap clap.
Thud.
Brief silence—kid clapped.
Waiting guardian tossed heavy leather pouch before me.
“Open. Deposit.”
“Between us, no need...”
Words aside, checked pouch.
‘Oh yes!!!’
As Kantahar said—gold, gem mines aplenty.
Nail-sized diamonds to egg-sized rubies—packed.
Value? Easily hundreds k gold.
‘Outcasts band or die. Trade not war with Temir eases.’
Enemies everywhere.
Vs. continent powers, only weak outcasts ally.
No one else reaches to pirates or Temir but me.
“Then, precisely one week. Till then, safe.”
Manner master—I.
Bowed respect to future world miss.
‘Grow big, eat well. Cough.’
Last look at kid.
Baby fat cheeks, cute dimples—Rokoroia.
Sparkling odd violet eyes at me.