Chapter 208
Chapter 208
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: King of the North (2)
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Tukhan Plateau had another name: the Land of Life. Its relatively steady average temperature, the green plains that emerged in summer, and the large and small streams flowing throughout the plateau made it a home for countless lives beyond just the people of Rundalian.
Beastkin natives living in small tribes were especially dependent on it. Tukhan Plateau allowed them to eke out a self-sufficient existence in primitive communal forms, since food was easy to procure there. Werewolf hunter Pocha was one of those basking in such blessings.
"Never thought I'd live to meet Jaeger."
Pocha hummed a little tune as he headed out to hunt. The weather was overcast and rotten, but his spirits soared. He'd gotten to meet his idol, Jaeger, face-to-face.
Jaeger had shown up at his tribe with a human man and woman in tow. They'd asked to stay in the village a while to treat his wounds. Thanks to that, Pocha had managed greetings with the recuperating Jaeger—and even a brief chat.
'His color wasn't great, though. Hope he pulls through quick...'
The one thing nagging at him was Jaeger's pallor all through their talk. Something clearly wasn't right. Pocha shut his eyes for a moment and prayed for the man.
"Peace be with you."
The prayer lightened his heart somehow. He despised humans on principle, but those two didn't strike him as the type to do Jaeger dirt.
Here's hoping for a fat Great Deer today. Pocha was just hauling himself back to his feet when a sound hit his ears.
"Ugh... uerrr..."
"Hm?"
Pocha whipped his head around. A lone werewolf boy was shambling along, dragging his legs. He looked maybe five or six at most.
"Hey, little guy. Where you headed?"
"Auaa."
The boy didn't answer—just gurgled something grotesque. His eyes were vacant, thick drool plopping from his gaping maw. Long nails, untrimmed his whole life by the look, stood out too. In that instant, Pocha clocked it: this kid was one of the freakish births cropping up more and more lately.
"Tch... poor thing."
These deformities were spiking in births day by day, and this seemed like one. He'd probably slipped the village while folks looked away. Dragging legs and drooling was mild, all things considered.
"Clothes say Moss Rock tribe... C'mon, kid. I'll walk you back."
Pocha stepped up and offered a hand. His own tribe brimmed with such unfortunates—he couldn't just walk away. The werewolf boy said nothing, just kept shuffling on in silence.
Won't cut it. Gotta carry him. Pocha's hand settled on the boy's shoulder. Slash! Something swift and razor-edged kissed his throat.
"Huh?"
Pocha's world inverted. His head tumbled through the air before crunching into cold snow. In his dimming sight, he glimpsed a hazy sky—and his own body crumpling, fountaining blood.
Then the light snuffed from his eyes. The boy's overgrown claws dripped crimson. The child who'd decapitated Pocha in one swipe muttered in that eerie gurgle.
"Auaa... Jae... ger."
The boy traced Pocha's footprints. Far across the plain, torchlight wavered. Snow flurries thickened under the gloaming sky.
"His name's Barca. Zaifa's brother... and the real brains behind the Night of Fangs."
Jaeger's voice came out parched. Ronan and Adeshan's eyes went wide. Silence hung a beat before Ronan spoke up.
"...Brother? Zaifa had a brother?"
"Yeah. No shock if you didn't know. Guy never shows his mug. Bet fewer than ten northern kin know who he is."
This was brand-new intel. Zaifa with a brother? Ronan closed the gap in three strides and dropped to a squat before Jaeger again.
"Spill it. 'Real mastermind'—what's that mean?"
"Literal. Zaifa rallied the masses, held 'em together—but calling everything Barca's scheme ain't exaggeration. We took Varsa Margrave in three days half thanks to his plan."
Adeshan's face locked up at mention of her homeland. Jaeger started ticking off Barca's handiwork, one item at a time.
"Unlike Zaifa, he's sneaky and sly—but scheming? Born to it. Remember the spark that kicked off the Night of Fangs?"
"Empire seizes the holy site Jube."
"Good memory... That was a plant. Barca slipped a runner to tip imperial troops on a backdoor to gut our northern defenses. We lost a symbolic prize, sure—but outrage glued ten thousand kin together."
One bombshell after another. Yielding Jube, north beastkin holy ground, to the Empire? Pulping the margrave's troops? All Barca's brainchildren. Jaeger pressed on.
"Blunt as a hammer, he corners me: 'No king ambitions for the north?' Polite for once. I shrugged, said sure if you say so. Rest you know."
Barca had recruited Jaeger mid-bandit heyday. From then on, he'd played advisor—laid out the playbook for reuniting the north.
Why prop Jaeger over himself? No clue. But stupid or not, Jaeger's raw charisma and rabble-rousing built the New Northern Union in two years flat. Ronan curled a lip as he listened.
Dangerous bastard. Previous life, didn't even register.
No telling why such a player stayed off-radar till the giants dropped. North stayed quiet till then. Ronan had only heard whispers: Navardoje iced a giant called Duaru who boiled off Tukhan Plateau. A question flickered through his head.
"Hold up. So Zaifa flipping to the Empire—that Barca's ploy too? Feels off-the-rails just from the rundown."
"Sharp catch. Short answer: no. Like you figured, Northern Union surrender was Zaifa solo. He locked in gains; Barca pushed for the capital Balon. That rift? Turgen brothers never reconciled."
Jaeger spoke with evident bitterness. Right on Ronan's guess: Zaifa's surrender and loyalty oath were his call alone.
Zaifa leveraged himself as hostage to safeguard beastkin rights and turf. Barca craved it all. The clashes before Zaifa pulled the trigger? Plain as day.
War's a crapshoot at heart—but Ronan backed Zaifa's play. Northern Union's blaze would've sputtered against Empire juggernaut eventually. Chin in hand, he concluded.
Barca... detour or not, gotta erase him.
Too invested now for just swinging by the forge. Barca tied to Nebula Klazie too—straight to Ronan's Dawn remit. He asked:
"Alright. Where'd he bolt?"
"Not pinpoint, but Heiran likely. His turf. Tailed him with underlings once."
Ronan arched a brow. Curveball. Heiran was the original stop before plans skewed. Forge on his mind, he added:
"Oh yeah—while I'm at it: clear your goons from Heiran. Free the blacksmiths they're holding."
"Look, you're mistaking—think I'll dance to your tune...?"
Jaeger scowled. Cursed kin pricked his conscience, sure—but he hadn't flipped fully. Feared Barca still, despite his loose lips. He shook his head to argue.
"...Nah. I'll do it. Owe you that much."
"Smart."
"One catch. You cross Barca? Keep this schtick buried. I got snatched by you scum, came back raving from lost limbs. Clear?"
Ronan barked a hollow laugh at the dodge. Spill your guts, then this? But he got it. Leak secrets? Barca'd sew those lips shut.
"Drive humans from the north? Still my line. But not like this. Kin-uniting ploy or whatever... not this."
Jaeger clutched the doll tight. Dim bulb, but scraps of conscience clung—better than Barca's slime.
"Don't bet on killing Barca. Monster on a whole other level from Zaifa. Got a wipeout strat for you locked and loaded."
"What, that prick Sword Saint material too? Rough."
"No proper scrap witnessed, so can't say. Advisor fit over fighter. But Turgen blood? Don't sleep on it."
Ronan nodded along. That room kick alone gauged the threat.
Build near Zaifa's—no room for slop. Jaeger snapped his fingers like something clicked.
"Right. Take this. Track him with it."
"Eh?"
"But never let him clock it—or that you got it from me. He'd sniff it instant. Damn thing... whereabouts..."
Jaeger grumbled, pawing pockets. Handing something over, by looks. He'd patted most down—now inner pocket. A stab of pain lanced Ronan's thigh pocket. He knit his brows.
"Hm...?"
"Ronan? You okay?"
Adeshan hurried over. Ronan wordlessly dug the sore pocket—yanked a short, thick stake. The one used to curse the tribe.
"What the?"
"Shit—this...!"
Their faces iced over in sync. The wicked aura crawling its surface surged stronger. Curse-purple pulsed visible. Shredding screams pierced the tent from outside.