Guests Who Bring the Tempest (Part 4)
Honestly, I had underestimated them.
The enemy was centaurs, and Vesta had a decent grasp of their ways. It was never the mercenary captains of the centaur clans that he’d doubted. The very title “Head of the Centaur Caravan” itself had felt off from the start.
The light-heartedness that had been in Vesta’s chest died the moment the man stepped into view.
This centaur was built differently.
He dwarfed the average centaur by a wide margin, his frame heavy as a war-horse’s, and the power coiled inside that frame was something ancient and terrifying. It reminded Vesta of Bia—yet not quite the same. Bia’s presence was like a finely honed blade, crisp and controlled. This man’s aura was raw, edged like a freshly whetted ax.
Born strong. That was the first impression Vesta had.
“You’re the one they call Baatar, aren’t you?”
The man moved straight toward Vesta, his sharp, hawk-like eyes unblinking.
Vesta’s instinct made his hand snap to his sword. The centaur didn’t stop.
“Enough.”
Bia, who had been waiting nearby, stepped forward and stopped him.
“Oh, the golden one.”
The centaur didn’t spare Bia even a glance of respect. Centaurs didn’t use the word “politeness” in the same way humans did.
“Why guard yourselves? I arrived as the caravan master, just like the other heads I’ve already met.”
He dropped heavily onto the ground right in front of Vesta. The vibration of his body was like a distant earthquake.
Vesta let out a slow breath, steadied his mind.
“Fine. Let’s talk business directly.”
“Clean and to the point. I like that.”
The centaur nodded once.
“Same goal as the other caravan masters? Want to see the Khan first?”
The words sounded polite, but Vesta’s instincts were already screaming otherwise.
*This man is different. He’s looking for something else.*
No proof. Just a gut feeling so strong it felt like certainty.
The centaur kept staring at Vesta without blinking. Then he shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter either way.”
Vesta had been right. The reply was far more casual than expected.
“Since our goods don’t overlap, there’s no need to worry about underbidding.”
The tone was absolute.
“What exactly are you bringing?”
Artisanship or food reserves? Those things didn’t fit the centaur image. Unless it was loot taken from other caravans.
*All I can think of is animal pelts.*
The centaur set the heavy box he’d been carrying on his hip down in front of Vesta with a thud.
Vesta didn’t open it right away. Even closed, the box was sending waves of sensation into his senses.
*…That salt smell?*
The faint brine of the sea, carried on the wind.
At the same time, he caught the thick, rotting stench of something that had been left too long in the sun.
It couldn’t possibly be fresh fish.
Vesta tried to guess what lay inside.
“Head trophies, then?”
The object resting on the lid of the box was clearly a severed head.
“No need to worry. It’s an orc’s.”
The centaur answered without a trace of hesitation. A laugh almost escaped Vesta.
“You’re saying you sell head trophies?”
“That’s right. I heard the Khan is struggling because of the orcs.”
Bia shot him a killing glare, but the centaur’s nerves were thick as rope. He didn’t flinch like a human caravan master would have.
“How many?”
“Fifty that still haven’t gone bad.”
That was impressive. Fifty orcs, at least. Possibly more.
*It’s rare to find fifty orcs gathered together like this.*
He must have tracked them down, one by one, and wiped them out.
*They don’t live in the kind of terrain the centaurs prefer.*
Orcs were superb hunters. They set up camps in places with good bow sightlines and stayed there.
Crushing an orc camp wasn’t like digging out a wolf’s den.
If they’d been driven out or the entire cave blown apart, Vesta had no choice but to give the man credit.
*The caravan master? More like a mercenary captain.*
Exactly. Centaurs and “caravans” didn’t belong together.
A sword can’t be beaten with a winnowing fan,
and a lion can’t be tamed like an ox.
“Looks like we won’t have any goods in common after all.”
No caravan would ever trade in orc heads.
Could the centaur caravan even afford to hunt fifty orcs?
“Then why were you circling both caravans?”
If it was the centaur caravan, they could have walked past the other two without any awkwardness.
*What’s the angle here?*
They had no reason to be tangled up in this mess.
“We planned to do business with both caravans. If you hadn’t shown up, we might have completed the deal cleanly.”
*Planned to do business.*
They hadn’t intended to sell head trophies to either caravan.
Besides the items they already had,
what else could centaurs sell?
“You think the two caravans would fight each other?”
It was natural for them to be born that way.
They’d wanted to sell their specialty—cavalry— to both of them.
“Even a mercenary band is a caravan.”
The centaur split his mouth in a wide grin. Vesta’s eyebrow twitched slightly.
“Strange.”
Vesta looked the centaur straight in the eyes and voiced his doubt.
“The caravan is already overwhelming the human caravan’s strength. We don’t need your help.”
“So?”
“Even if the centaur caravan hired you, the reward you could offer wouldn’t outweigh the risk of facing the caravan’s full force.”
If the centaur caravan joined, it still wouldn’t be enough to crush the caravan’s mass.
“Then what exactly were you hoping to gain?”
The centaur looked far too relaxed for this conversation.
He stated his true purpose plainly.
“The caravan won’t spill blood on this land. Not if the enemy is orc or bandit.”
“Keep talking.”
“Even though the human caravan’s mindset is close to that of bandits, they’re still merchants, not true bandits. If their blood is spilled by the caravan…”
*It could awaken the rage of the greatest beast on this land.*
There was no need to read between the lines. The beast he meant was none other than Khan Ashtien, the ruler of this territory.
“Even if the Khan doesn’t care about the human caravan merchants, once she has a reason, she won’t let it slide.”
Even if she didn’t step in herself, the seeds under her would complain.
*They would have grounds to punish the caravan.*
Yes. All it took was the right excuse.
To the man holding that excuse, the caravan would look like fat, well-fed livestock ready for slaughter.
“That’s why we were there. To sell our strength to the caravan.”
Something in Vesta’s mind rang like an alarm.
He remembered the first time he’d met a centaur warrior in the arena.
The man who had exhaled like a storm and trembled with the weight of a distant war.
*He was built for war.*
*…So I thought.*
The man in front of him now dragged Vesta’s mind back to the past.
It was an oddly familiar feeling. Vesta wasn’t a child anymore.
Feeling the same childhood emotion as he watched this centaur now…
*Is this terror at the sight of the centaur in front of me? Like a child?*
It was an impossible admission.
“If the caravan hires us and crushes the human caravan, it will end differently from killing them directly. It’s easy to spin a story. After all, we’re not barbaric centaurs, are we?”
*Yes. If we matched up perfectly, that would have been it.*
The important part was pulling the caravan out of the equation and simply killing each other among their own kind.
The centaur laughed, shaking with it.
“…You. Why did you come to find me?”
With a mediator present, the two caravans could never fight. So the centaur had no reason to seek Vesta out.
“I wanted to meet you. The man they call Baatar.”
“So?”
Bia cut in. She was staring at the centaur with an almost expressionless face. Vesta saw it as the wariness of a beast.
“How was it?”
“Hm.”
The centaur stood up and answered.
“I was satisfied.”
Bia asked him to name himself.
“There’s no need.”
“Then what about your name?”
Vesta was the one who asked.
The centaur looked Vesta straight in the eyes and answered.
“—”
His name rolled off his tongue in centaur. The syllables were difficult. If forced into elven, it would be something like—
“Terrible.”
*Attila.*
*
“The caravan will be the first to meet the Khan.”
At Vesta’s words, the heads of the other caravan masters fell.
“W-we can’t abandon our fellow steppe citizens!”
“Ah, how noisy.”
“Khan-sama! Baatar-sama!”
“You should accept defeat gracefully. Tch.”
“Keruk.”
Ahshu laughed as if the world had been made for her.
Vesta was looking at the centaur, not at Ahshu.
The man who might have dyed this place red with blood—Attila.
He scanned the centaur’s movements, and Vesta had been holding his sword down for a long time.
Flame Barrier — Activated
The centaur’s power was so overwhelming that the very air around him felt like it could ignite.
Vesta’s mind kept flashing back to the arena, to the day he first faced one of them.
A storm of wind and thunder had rolled in.
And now that same storm was standing right in front of him.
“Centaur… you dare stand in the Khan’s way?”
The words left Vesta’s mouth in a low growl.
The centaur tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
Vesta’s knuckles were white around the hilt.
He wasn’t afraid.
He was simply… angry.
Because this man represented everything he had left behind in the arena.
Because this man reminded him that even after everything, some chains still remained.
And because he had just realized that the Khan he loved might have to shed blood if he didn’t act now.
Burning his own life force…
Vesta’s eyes burned.
The Spirit Princess would save him.
She always did.
But he refused to let her.
Not this time.
Not when the Khan was at risk.
He poured everything he had left into the flame.
The air itself began to shimmer.
And in the distance, something ancient and vast opened its eyes.
The Dragon.
Vesta whispered in the language only they understood.
“Peace… or blood?”
The centaur’s head snapped toward him.
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Ancient Dragon Tongue activated. Peace or blood… offered.
The centaur’s eyes widened.
Vesta’s heart was failing.
But he kept the flame alive.
He would not die before he saw the Khan.
He would not let the storm destroy everything.
Not yet.
The Spirit Princess’s light was already beginning to glow at the edge of his vision.
She was coming.
And with her, the Dragon would answer.
The air grew heavier.
The ground trembled once more.
And this time, the storm did not belong to the centaur alone.
It belonged to them both.
Vesta smiled bitterly.
*Come on, Ashtien.*
*Let’s finish this.*
*Together.*