Ashy Ruins and Western Intrigue
The afternoon was already fading when I stepped into the temporary barracks that served as our headquarters for the Ibin Tribe and Irayte Union. The air inside was thick with the scent of horse sweat, sweat-soaked leather, and the faint metallic tang of weapons freshly sharpened on whetstones.
One of our scouts entered, a tall, broad-shouldered warrior whose frame had clearly seen more than his share of desert sandstorms. He looked as if he had run the entire way from the eastern plains.
He pressed a crumpled scroll into my hands without a word, his chest heaving as though every breath cost him dearly. I unfolded it immediately and began to read, my eyes scanning line after line with the precision of a general who had once commanded armies across continents.
Inside the tent, Sarnai, Beike, and Orhan had already gathered in a loose circle, waiting for me to speak. Their faces showed only the quiet tension of men who knew the next move would shape the entire western plains.
“As expected,” I began without preamble, “the survivors’ reports have already reached the western lords’ ears. This raid was the work of the Irayte Union and our own Ibin Tribe.”
At those words, the three of them exchanged uneasy glances. Beike’s jaw tightened, Orhan’s long hair seemed to bristle, and Sarnai’s red eyes narrowed.
“Then those damned knights will pour into the plains any day now,” Beike muttered.
“Not if we play our cards right,” I replied. “We’ve been living in these temporary barracks precisely because we feared a sudden push. But the situation has turned out far more… entertaining than I anticipated.”
I spread the letter fully across the table so everyone could read it, then continued speaking.
“The disorder has come faster and harder than anyone expected. The western lords no longer have the luxury of giving their full attention to us. One spy was enough to fracture the Iteon Kingdom Alliance almost to the point of civil war.”
According to the letter, the kingdoms of Cayberus—our strongest ally—and Cayton, along with the other western monarchs, had already begun small-scale border skirmishes with the remaining Iteon states.
And in the meantime, the western lords themselves had been forced to divide their loyalty, each one backing whichever kingdom currently offered them the better alliance. The situation left them frozen in place, unable to advance or retreat.
Among them, Sel Late Territory had been one of the most solid pillars, the one that had poured every resource into the alliance and received every resource in return.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean we’re simply going to stand here and take it lying down,” I said. “They’re sending a small force of roughly five thousand men into the plains under the pretense of saving face and offering support to the Irent Tribe.”
“Five thousand?” Beike echoed, disbelief plain on his face. “From Sel Late? That’s almost forty percent of their entire standing army. Is that supposed to be a show of strength?”
“…Yes,” I answered quietly, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the weight of the words to settle. “Here in this land—unlike the east—every battle costs thousands. I almost made the same mistake in my previous life.”
Beike blinked, still processing my slip. I gave him a small, tired smile and gestured toward the pile of captured plunder stacked in the corner of the tent.
“Anyway, Orhan, sort the captured gear by category. Complete Sel Late knight armor, banners bearing their coats of arms, and the distinctive uniforms of the Irent warriors—keep them separate.”
Orhan’s eyes widened. “Armor and clothes? Why—wait, are you serious?”
“Absolutely. We’ll split our elite warriors perfectly in half. One group will wear the Irent warriors’ uniforms and approach the five thousand Sel Late soldiers in perfect disguise.”
I had always planned to unify the entire west through the Irent Tribe, step by step. I would see the plan through to the end, no matter how twisted the path.
“The rest of you will wear Sel Late armor bearing their coat of arms, then mercilessly trample the tribe’s outer patrols and supply lines.”
Orhan stared, mouth agape. The tent fell into an eerie silence for a moment.
Sarnai let out a low, amused laugh. Beike’s face drained of color as he finally understood the depth of the deception.
“In the distant past… on another continent entirely, such a scheme existed,” I said, my voice calm. “A great empire raised one subordinate tribe to control the nomads of the plains. But when that tribe grew too powerful, the empire grew afraid of the knife that would one day be driven into its back. They cut off all support, secretly incited other nomadic tribes, and forced the subordinate tribe into a two-front war it could never escape. They strangled it to death with their own strength.”
The Irent Tribe was the perfect mirror of that ancient fate—bloated on scraps from the kingdom alliance, now on the verge of being devoured by the very dogs it once fed.
Of course, the difference this time was simple: every step had been planned by me from the very beginning.
“We will plant the seed of fear in the Irent Tribe—that the kingdom alliance has finally turned on them. And to the western lords, we will tell them that the Irent Tribe has bitten the hand that fed it without a word of thanks. Two sides poisoned by the same hatred. We will return the knives they loved to use so sharply that they cut themselves open.”
“Just as they planted distrust in our plains, we will sow the same seed among them. Watch the flower of suspicion bloom… and watch them destroy themselves from within.”
I finished speaking and slid an empty scroll across the table. There was no time left to waste.
“I need to write a letter for Chief Toghrul. The old wolf is enjoying the slaughter with far too much mad enthusiasm… I wonder how well I’ll be able to rein him in.”
***
Days passed without a single attack from the Sel Late army. The scouts debated whether we should simply return to the plains, when the sharp crack of urgent footsteps broke the silence.
“Temur! No—the future chieftain!”
The young warrior who burst into the tent was one of our outer pickets. His face was pale, eyes wide with panic.
“What is it?”
“East of the plains… an enormous cloud of dust is rising. I thought it might be an enemy raid, so I drew my bow—only to find it’s not an enemy at all!”
No further explanation was needed. Sarnai and I were already moving toward the entrance as the young man spoke. On the horizon, hundreds of leather banners snapped in the wind, their colors unmistakable.
The red falcon of the Irin Tribe. The wolf of the Iyan Tribe. The crossed spears of the Irun Tribe.
“Look at them,” Sarnai said, hands on her hips, a mocking grin spreading across her face. “They were ready to fight right up until the moment they saw the wagons loaded with gold and grain. Then they finally stood up.”
She had been the one to distribute the enormous plunder from the sack of Sel Leysia fairly among the union tribes. The first victory in centuries to shatter centuries of defeatism, followed by the sight of shining gold and overflowing food stores. Those two things were more than enough to snap the wavering leaders back to their senses.
More than twelve hundred warriors from the newly allied tribes had joined us. With our own Ibin and Irayte forces, the total number of ready cavalry now stood at over three thousand four hundred.
“That’s more than enough,” I said quietly. “There’s no need to wait patiently until they come marching here on their own two feet.”
Three thousand four hundred against five thousand. Anyone could see five thousand was the larger number. But war was never decided by simple headcounts.
“Of course, in the Six Years’ War the Chinese used their insane mass tactics and pushed us back… but here, no one can field anything close to that kind of army.”
I briefly scanned the map of western power in my mind, then began laying out the new plan.
The five thousand strong Sel Late force, after our overwhelming first ambush, had grown so tense that they had simply dug in along the outer defensive line and begun creeping forward like snails. If we left them there, sheltered behind their shields, our carefully planned deception and mobile strike would lose all effectiveness.
We needed one more, far more powerful lure to shatter their judgment completely, force their formation to collapse on its own, and drag them out into the open where we could slaughter them.
“Beike. Orhan. Sarnai.”
The three of them stepped forward the instant I called.
“Strip off your armor and leave behind only a small detachment of one hundred elite warriors for the deception. The remaining three thousand three hundred will mount up and ride at once.”
“Another ambush?” Sarnai asked. “Toward their defensive line?”
I shook my head. “No. The place that has been draining the Silk Road trade more greedily than Sel Leysia. We’re striking Sel Iritas—the second artery of wealth for the Sel Late lord.”
Sel Iritas was slightly smaller than Sel Leysia, yet it was the vital logistics and agricultural hub where countless grains and rare goods passed through the western plains.
Destroying the first city had been symbolic. Destroying the second would deliver a real, crushing blow to the lord’s lifeline.
“…That’s not a bad idea,” Sarnai said, a truly wicked smile spreading across her face.
I returned the same wicked smile and gave the order at once. The moment the words left my lips, three thousand three hundred cavalrymen crossed the plains again.
And the result was swifter, far crueler than the first hunt.
Above Sel Iritas, a pillar of flame shot into the sky.
“Save—gurk—!”
“Run! Barbarians are attacking again!”
The city had already braced itself after hearing of the sack of Sel Leysia, hiring mercenaries and reinforcing its walls. But the defenders were little more than a rabble. Their walls were so poorly constructed that they barely deserved the name, and they had almost no experience in siege warfare.
Meanwhile, the Irayte warriors led by Chief Toghrul had completely ignored the makeshift inner palisades. They simply cut entire sections of rope and yanked them down with their horses.
The moment the outer line was breached, the Ibin archers unleashed a merciless storm of arrows. The newly joined twelve hundred warriors emptied the rage they had bottled up for years, sweeping through every street of the city.
“Hahahaha! Temur! Those idiots have stacked more than enough iron weapons in the warehouses!”
Chief Toghrul, face smeared with someone else’s blood, swung his massive spear over one shoulder and laughed heartily.
I nodded at his words and watched the burning city without expression. It took less than half a day for the second heart of the Sel Late Territory to stop beating.
Tens of wagons were filled to bursting, and the horses’ backs were still loaded with plunder as we marched away. Even the knights, who had marched so carefully and armed to the teeth, would not be able to watch their own front yard turn to ash without reacting.
Right after we had completely destroyed Sel Iritas and slipped back into the plains.
A rear scout came galloping up, voice thick with urgency.
“R-report, sir! The five thousand Sel Late soldiers who heard the fall of Sel Iritas… they’re advancing this way at full speed, equipped only with the bare minimum of defensive wagons and magic devices!”
“…They finally moved that heavy rear.”
Normally, that would have been a reasonable judgment. After a battle, warriors were tired, and if they carried only the lightest equipment, their mobility would not be crippled.
But under the current circumstances, it was a terrible mistake.
“You idiots don’t realize that the nomads’ greatest strength is overwhelming stamina and mobility. I suppressed you, left almost all control to the Irent Tribe—”
“Sarnai, are you ready to lead the disguised squad?”
“Of course. We even put on the Irent Tribe’s signature foul leather-smelling uniforms.”
Sarnai, wearing a leather helmet, pointed at the fifty elite warriors behind her.
“Good. It’s time to teach these elegant noble bastards how the true plains wolves hunt.”
“That sounds like fun.”