Remember the Empire (1)
While Vesta was being completely trampled beneath Ashtien's hooves, Bia was chatting with Arin.
After handing Vesta over to the Khan, she had returned with Arin to share the chewy, sweet dried dates they both loved.
Arin had lain her head on Bia's front leg—the strong, horse-like thigh—and was munching on the date with a satisfied little grunt. The younger centaur looked utterly content, as if the world had shrunk to just this moment between them.
Bia gently stroked Arin's mane, her golden coat shimmering in the sunlight. Their bond went far beyond any simple master-servant relationship; they felt like sisters who had grown up side by side.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Sir Vesta lately,” Bia remarked, her tone light and teasing.
“It’s fun to tease him,” Arin shot back, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“Mmm.”
Bia pinched Arin’s nose playfully.
“You mustn’t bully the person who saved your life, understand?”
“Ugh! Sir Vesta secretly likes it, I bet!”
“What?”
If Vesta had overheard, he would have started a full fight.
“Who else would say something like that but Bia?”
“You little—”
“So you’d like it when a cute centaur like me teases you?”
Her words left Vesta’s mouth wide open.
Bia quickly clapped a hand over Arin’s mouth, muffling the rest of the sentence. Arin struggled and kicked, but Bia held firm until the younger centaur finally gave up and went limp.
Puff. Hah.
“You really have no filter,” Bia sighed, though her voice carried a hint of affection.
She was afraid someone might overhear and misunderstand.
Bia was a woman who could truly call the Khan a friend. Even on the rare occasions when she let her guard down in Ashtien’s presence, she did so with impeccable manners—the Khan always welcomed her without hesitation.
Even though we’re close friends, this is a bit much…
Bia felt a pang of regret for having revealed Vesta’s true identity to Arin. In truth, she still believed the young human was nothing but an arena gladiator with a history as a centaur-rights activist.
*
Altangerel Bia
A centaur warrior who had sworn a contract with the Khan. The beautiful young mistress of a distinguished family, skilled in combat and beloved by both Arin and Aishil.
Her radiant appearance and unmatched martial prowess had earned her the title of the Golden—the highest honor among the Altangerel clan.
That’s all I really know about her.
For an outsider, she was quite well-informed.
What about Bia as a friend rather than a soldier?
When she spoke with Arin, her usual dignified composure softened completely. She had once commanded Arin to call her “Miss” out of childhood admiration for the word.
She also shared Arin’s fondness for chewy dried dates—another small private detail.
That much, at least.
Bia knew little about the rest of Arin’s private life, and that was only natural. They hadn’t been close enough for frequent visits, but they weren’t awkward with each other either.
Just not quite close enough for easy, candid conversation.
It’s a shame Arin isn’t here right now.
If she were, Bia could speak more freely. Arin had a way of naturally steering conversations.
Whenever Bia spoke with Vesta, Arin had always been at her side, acting as the perfect bridge. Vesta preferred to communicate indirectly through the younger centaur rather than face her directly.
Arin really earned her keep as the middleman.
Arin spoke her mind boldly, yet she could also lift the mood with a single well-timed remark. When her explosive declarations landed, the atmosphere would lighten and everyone around would suddenly be chatting as casually as old friends.
She’s a treasure of a mediator. Expensive, but worth every coin.
I hope she recovers quickly.
Right now Arin lay on her sickbed, and Bia could no longer count on her assistance.
Without her, speaking freely felt impossible. Yet she could not keep pretending everything was normal. Vesta would have to be the one to take the first step.
“You must be very busy. Thank you for going out of your way for me,” he said sincerely.
It was the truth.
Among the Khan’s commanders, Bia occupied a special position. She stood on par with Ahor, the head of the Keshik—almost like a co-ruler herself.
Someone like her taking the time to help Vesta personally was clearly troubling her.
“Not at all. I’m actually quite relieved,” Bia answered honestly.
“Really?”
“Yes. Because I owe Sir Vesta a debt I must repay,” she said, her voice steady.
The debt. Surely she meant the favor she had done by helping Arin.
“You don’t have to think like that,” Vesta replied.
“I cannot help it.”
The conversation had clearly settled into this topic.
This was his chance. He had decided to persuade Bia.
“I was the one who took the first step. If Arin hadn’t fought so fiercely, I would have died back then.”
It was a simple, unvarnished fact. Thanks to Arin’s efforts in rallying most of the orcs, Vesta had been able to slip past the few pursuing scouts and strike at the heart of the enemy formation.
There was more.
Even with her legs shattered in that terrible wound, she had kept the orcs at bay long enough for him to escape.
When I fell off the horse, it was terrifying.
Without her covering fire, I would have been trapped and turned into a beehive.
“I owe you as well,” Bia said calmly.
“That was Arin’s duty. But it was never my obligation to you.”
Her tone left no room for argument.
“Even if I had fled, no one—not even you—would have blamed me.”
He understood exactly what she meant.
“I didn’t know you well enough back then.”
Vesta had possessed strength. Not overwhelming power, but enough to resist.
Of course, strength and responsibility were not always compatible. But responsibility required status to balance it.
In that sense, her words made sense. Vesta had been nothing but a child at the time.
Yet power could never turn its back on responsibility. Power gave one the right to choose.
“I wasn’t powerless. I was in a position to make a decision.”
Since Vesta had the strength to fight, he had naturally believed he should stand with Arin.
Others might have seen things differently, but to Vesta, Arin had been his companion—not a helpless child to protect.
He had believed that, at least.
Vesta finished speaking and waited for Bia’s response.
“That was my choice,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“Even when there was no obligation, I chose to save Arin and Rahan. I honor that decision. I feel both gratitude and grace.”
Bia looked at him. Her enormous centaur eyes, soft and deep as a deer’s, held nothing but sincerity.
Like the eyes of a deer.
“Do you remember the incident from the last patrol?”
“The one where we went out together?”
It had been the first time Vesta had ridden outside the camp after being tamed. He had glanced at his horse Gansinbae, then turned his attention back to Bia.
“Orks appeared then too, didn’t they?”
“Yes. Do you recall the words I said to you back then?”
“I’ll fight with you,” he had said. Or something like that.
Rejected, though.
“I’ll fight with you.” He had promised to join us. I laughed it off at the time…
Bia’s voice trailed off. Vesta could guess what she was trying to say.
In a way, by fighting alongside Arin, Vesta had proven the sincerity of those words.
“I was genuinely moved,” she admitted.
“Moved?”
“Swirling a sword properly is no easy task.”
That’s true, but…
Bia’s gaze felt heavy. He had probably been praised far too much.
Bia did not flinch from Vesta’s stare.
“A human protecting a centaur. It sounds like a romantic story.”
“I- It is?”
I don’t know.
Her eyes sparkled with something he could not quite name. It was clear her words had gone over his head.
“I’ve been stubborn about wielding a sword because I wanted to swing one like that. That’s why I’ve held onto the weapon I love.”
The two-handed longsword she carried was something rarely seen on the steppe.
There were few swordsmen to teach her, and even fewer blacksmiths to mend her blade.
Without that stubborn determination, she could never have reached her current level of skill.
It’s like how rare it is to find a legendary archer like Ashtien in the Empire that despises bows.
Still, Bia had succeeded. She had become a warrior so respected that even Ashtien had not felt the need to worry about her.
“Well, I’ve grown too strong to be protected by someone else,” she added with a bright, confident smile, her sword still raised.
The smile was both trustworthy and radiant.
“My stubbornness cannot be broken, not even by the Khan. Sir Vesta, will you help me repay that kindness? Please?”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever you ask,” Vesta replied, raising a white flag of surrender.
“Then how do you plan to repay me?”
“W- What? Naturally with my sword—”
Bia let the sentence trail off and began to walk away with a light, bouncy step.
“…?”
Vesta was the one left stunned. Just moments ago she had been so self-assured—why was she acting so shy now?
Weren’t you confident enough to ask a perfectly normal question?
“Um, Miss Bia?”
“If you protect me—!”
“Ugh.”
Why the sudden change of tone?
“I didn’t expect that. You really are cheeky. A human like you who has such a relationship with the Khan…”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Vesta felt only unfairness.
Steppes women are impossible to understand.