A False Dawn
The northernmost defense line of the Empire finally loomed beyond the distant horizon, reached at last after braving the freezing cold of the north during the Great Migration. The majestic walls of the Winproter Grand Duchy revealed their imposing grandeur against the bleak sky.
For the sole purpose of survival, the barbarian coalition had established their camp on the plains before those very walls. Yet, contrary to the taut tension that suggested a bloody storm could erupt at any moment, a warm breeze of hope drifted through the coalition's camp.
The source of that warmth was none other than the letters arriving from beyond the southern walls. Had the sincere desire of Great ChieftainTemur to avoid armed conflict finally reached them? Instead of blindly firing arrows at those they deemed savages, the young Grand Duke of Winproter, Reinhardt von Winproter, had opened a channel of dialogue through a polite messenger.
Half a year. For six months, letters negotiating their right to survive and the security of the borders had passed peacefully between them. Consequently, smiles began to bloom on the faces of the barbarian tribesmen, who had once been consumed by the constant dread of impending war.
This peaceful atmosphere was thickest inside the chieftains' tent.
"Hahaha! Great Chieftain, can we truly set foot on the warm lands of the south now?"
"It seems those Empire bastards aren't all stubborn blocks of ice after all!"
Gathered around the central hearth, the tribal elders and chieftains laughed heartily as they gulped down strong liquor brewed from beast's milk. Sitting in the seat of honor, tilting his horn cup, Temur also nodded with his signature boisterous smile.
"He is twenty years younger than me, but we communicate surprisingly well," Temur said, his voice carrying the heavy gravity of a leader. "I can feel his sense of responsibility through his letters—his understanding of the northern cold and his desire to avoid spilling meaningless blood. I thought he was just a greenhorn, but he is quite a fine leader. At this rate, we might get the chance to settle the land without having to stain our axes with blood."
The hope of a bloodless entry was the sweetest wine ever granted to the Great Chieftain, who carried the burden of tens of thousands of lives. As the atmosphere grew lively, the chieftains' gazes naturally shifted to Khan, who sat silently beside Temur, chewing on a piece of meat.
"By the way, when will our next Great Chieftain find a mate? Now that we have less to worry about regarding war, shouldn't you hurry and secure a fine successor?"
"My daughter just had her coming-of-age ceremony! Her hunting skills are absolutely superb. Lord Khan, what do you think?"
Led by the chief of the Manghar tribe, the elders began an onslaught, competing to introduce their daughters and push for a marriage. Under their overwhelming stares, Khan felt as if the meat he was chewing would give him indigestion, and he let out a deep sigh.
'They say politics is scarier than war,' Khan thought.
As Khan kept his mouth shut with an awkward expression, Temur, who had been watching the scene with amusement, adopted the relaxed demeanor of a seasoned political leader and casually threw in a joke.
"Haha, do not rush him so much, everyone. Do you have any idea how high our Khan's standards are? By the way, Khan, what do you think of a wife thirteen years younger than you? At that age, wouldn't you be able to guide and teach her well, raising her into a fine mother?"
In an instant, Khan's brow furrowed deeply. A thirteen-year age gap. That wasn't raising a wife; it was practically raising a daughter. Even considering the barbarians' custom of early marriage, the number was so sudden and specific that Khan stared at his father in utter disbelief.
"Father. Please stop talking nonsense. Asking me to take a mere child thirteen years younger than me as my wife? Besides, I have absolutely no intention of starting a family yet."
"Bwahaha! You rascal, it's a joke, a joke! A grown man blushing over something like that!"
Temur's boisterous laughter filled the tent.
As the night deepened and the raucous feast came to an end, Khan returned to his private tent. Inside, bathed in the red glow of the hearth, a woman knelt neatly. It was Arina, the daughter of the former chief of the Krak tribe, Krayto. She had decapitated her own father with her own hands and entered Khan's service as his personal guard.
"You have returned, Lord Khan. Please, give me your outer coat."
Arina quietly approached and took Khan's heavy coat. Khan massaged his stiff neck and slumped onto his seat. Arina's gaze lingered briefly on his tired face.
On the very first night Arina had entered this tent as Khan's personal maid, Khan had been awakened by a sound. In the dark corner of the tent, where the cold wind seeped through the gaps, Arina was curled up like a wounded beast, biting her lips until they bled as she sobbed silently.
The guilt of killing her own biological father with her own hands. Though it was a choice made to save her tribe, the sensation of being drenched in her father's blood choked Arina every single night. Quietly watching her pitiful state, Khan had risen from his bed and approached her. Then, he swept her trembling body up into his arms.
"L-Lord Khan...!"
Before she could even let out a gasp, Arina was laid upon Khan's bed, catching her breath as his broad, solid chest enveloped her.
"Stay still. Let us stay like this."
Khan had held her tightly solely out of worry that the shivering Arina might harbor dark thoughts in the night and take her own life. Khan's body heat, though rougher than beast hide, was warmer than any hearth.
"Thank you... Lord Khan..."
Within that crude yet pure comfort, Arina was able to fall into a deep sleep without nightmares for the first time.
Since that day, as if by an unspoken agreement, sleeping in the same bed and holding each other for warmth and comfort through the night had become an established habit—completely devoid of any romantic tension or physical intimacy.
Khan tossed a log into the hearth and spoke casually.
"It's exceptionally cold tonight. After being pestered by those old men in the tent, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open."
Arina quietly reported as she folded his coat.
"Earlier today, the chief of the Manghar tribe approached me and subtly inquired about marriage. He asked what your intentions were, and if his daughter was not enough, whether you would consider taking her as a concubine."
"Sigh... that again? I clearly drew the line in front of my father earlier..."
Khan ruffled his hair in annoyance and lay down on the bed.
"The negotiations with the Grand Duke of Winproter aren't even fully concluded yet. Until the day we cross the southern walls, step onto land that is truly ours, and our people can eat their fill, I have no intention of rushing to start a family. If anyone asks about my thoughts, reject them firmly like that."
"...Understood."
"Now, put out the fire and come here. It's cold."
Out of habit, Khan patted the space beside him and lifted the blanket. He intended to sleep holding her in the same bed, just like any other night.
However, Arina, who would normally approach without a word and bury her face in Khan's broad chest, did not move. Khan raised his head, his eyes filled with confusion. Under the faint glow of the hearth, Arina's head was bowed low. Her small, pale fists clenched the hem of her leather clothes so tightly they looked ready to burst.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"...Lord Khan."
Arina was trembling slightly. When she slowly raised her head, Khan could not help but be startled. Arina's cheeks, which were always frozen cold like ice, were flushed a deep, burning red.
"Do you... merely view me as a pitiful young beast, Lord Khan?"
"What? What are you talking about all of a sudden..."
"If not..."
Arina's lips quivered as she stared resentfully into Khan's steady eyes. A habit that had started as mere comfort. Yet, feeling Khan's breath every night and receiving absolute protection within his massive embrace, an uncontrollable shift in her emotions had already taken place. For a long time now, she had perceived Khan not just as her savior, but as a man.
"Do you not... see me as a woman?"
The air inside the tent grew scorching hot in an instant. Just as Khan, flustered, was about to reply—
BWOOOOOOO—!!!
A harsh, ominous horn blast tore the silence to shreds, echoing loudly throughout the entire camp. It was the warning sound of a beast-bone flute, signaling an enemy raid.
"Lord Khan! The Great Chieftain has issued an emergency summons!"
An urgent voice called out from outside the tent. The delicate, heated atmosphere froze over in an instant. Khan grabbed his axe and kicked his way out of the tent.
Temur's tent was in absolute chaos. The faces of the elders, which had been filled with the hope of peace, were now distorted with rage. Beside the hearth lay a bloodied messenger from Winproter. In Temur's massive hand, instead of the Grand Duke's handwritten letter, was a crumpled imperial decree from the Empire's royal family, adorned with ornate gold foil.
"Father! What happened?"
"...We were deceived. No, perhaps that young Grand Duke was merely a puppet of the imperial court as well."
Temur's voice carried a gut-wrenching sense of betrayal and desperate despair, as if he were spitting blood.
"It is an imperial edict..." Temur growled, his voice trembling. "An imperial command to subjugate all the northern barbarians!"
All forces of the Empire are hereby commanded to completely subjugate and eradicate the northern barbarians.
The false peace was shattered. The ominous clouds of war began to swallow the northern coalition like the maw of a beast.
"Uwooooah—!!!"
Clang! Clash! Slash!
The red flames of torches flickered wildly over the dark, snow-covered plains. Yielding to the pressure of the imperial court, the regular legion of the Winproter Grand Duchy launched a surprise attack on the flank of the barbarian coalition. The barbarians, who had disarmed themselves in hopes of a bloodless entry, bled and collapsed helplessly under the sudden ambush.
"Form a phalanx! Do not be pushed back! Show them the pride of the children of Serilla!"
At the vanguard, Khan swung his massive hammer like a windmill, mercilessly crushing the Empire's infantry formations. Even the steel-clad shield-bearers of the Empire crumpled like paper and were flung into the air before Khan's strikes, fueled by his boiling Great Warrior blood. Blood and flesh scattered in all directions, and the screams of the enemy filled the battlefield.
"Aaargh!"
Yet, the more he was drenched in the enemy's blood, the more painful groans began to escape Khan's lips.
'Ugh...! Again, it's happening again! My head feels like it's going to split open!'
An excruciating headache tore through his mind. Fragmented memories of his past life mingled with the adrenaline of battle, bringing a chaos that felt as if his brain were being hacked to pieces. The silver armor of the imperial army. The battle cries they let out. The white wolf crest engraved on the Winproter flag. Every time these visual cues pierced Khan's mind, an unidentified sense of déjà vu washed over him.
'What on earth is this? Where have I seen this battlefield, this flag before...! No, don't lose it. Focus. For now, I must stop the enemies in front of me!'
Khan clenched his teeth so hard they threatened to shatter, forcing his wavering sanity back into place. The boiling heat of the Great Warrior suppressed the memories of his past life, forcing him to focus entirely on slaughtering every single enemy before him.
After a desperate defensive battle that lasted all night, the barbarian coalition barely managed to repel the imperial army's surprise attack, though at the cost of immense casualties. The white snowfield was horribly stained with corpses and dark blood.
The state of the chieftains gathered in the makeshift tent was wretched. An imperial arrow was deeply embedded in Great Chieftain Temur's shoulder, dripping red blood. The Great Migration War had officially begun.