The Strongest Warrior of the Steppes (Part 2)
He was not alone, of course. He had brought his own legion with him— the full force of the centaur army that had marched across the endless prairie to meet him.
Who is that?
Ah, that man is—
Every eye in the gathered crowd locked onto Attila and his troops. Some had heard the rumors; others knew the newcomer by reputation already. A young power broker stepping onto the stage.
“Now he truly stands as little more than a warlord.”
The power he had carved out could not be dismissed. His ranks looked more than capable of matching the strongest centaur chieftains.
“He is human.”
“He has aligned himself with the centaurs…?”
His group stood out sharply in the sea of equine warriors, the human contingent unusually prominent.
‘But more than any of that, the one figure that commands every gaze is—’
Without question, the man striding forward with imperial arrogance. Attila.
Vesta had never seen a centaur as massive as this one. His eyes tracked the giant beast’s every stride, and dozens of others followed behind him, eyes wide with suspicion, curiosity, and open fascination.
Vesta let the stares wash over him like rain and kept walking. Attila drew steadily nearer—straight toward him.
He came to a halt just before Vesta, towering over the human like a living mountain.
Vesta felt tension coil in his gut. Not fear, exactly. Something sharper: a warning he could not name.
“Long time no see, my ward. Still breathing?”
The casual title startled the murmuring crowd.
—Ward? What does that mean?
—He still doesn’t know? That kid is—
Word had spread, but not widely enough for everyone on the prairie to recognize him.
People who had never heard of the Khan of the Wilderness’s young consort stared at Vesta with fresh eyes.
Normally the unfamiliar attention would have stung. Right now, Vesta had no patience for it.
“Why are you here?”
The question came out edged, bordering on hostility.
“That question is rather odd.”
Attila took no offense at the hostility. He answered with the same calm, relaxed tone he always used.
“I am a centaur too. Why should the centaurs not come to Ainuwail?”
Attila was right. It was the obvious truth.
When the brutal winter finally retreated, the centaurs gathered at Ainuwail. Their first reason had been survival—how else to obtain salt in a treeless plain? Now it had become their annual rite of passage, the closest thing the wild horses had to a holiday.
No special permission was required. Attila and his men had the right to attend as well.
Perhaps it was Vesta who stood out as the outsider, not them.
He was human. He had come from the Empire that had hunted the centaurs for centuries.
‘Was I being too sensitive?’
Vesta knew the fact perfectly well. Yet he could not lower his guard.
He had seen the evidence: Attila was recruiting former Imperial gladiators.
‘And I know exactly how dangerous this man is.’
To Vesta, Attila felt like a dormant volcano—patient, watchful, ready to erupt when the moment came.
“You look like you have many questions. Walk with me.”
They began to pace the edge of the plateau together.
First question was inevitable.
‘Where is Lycaon?’
So too with the other gladiators. Had they been deliberately hidden?
“Did you come with Lycaon?”
Attila did not deny it.
“Together. I left the gladiators in his care. They are operating independently now.”
One full unit under Lycaon’s command.
“…You trust him.”
“Because he is an exceptional human.”
His talent was undeniable. Throw him into hell; he would claw his way back out with sheer will and iron resolve.
Yet flaws existed. More accurately, faults—deep, structural cracks that no amount of effort could patch.
If a man was closer to a beast than to another human, that was what it deserved to be called.
“You may think this is out of line, but let me offer one piece of advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do not trust Lycaon completely. He is a man whose mind has completely shattered.”
It was spoken with sincere concern.
If Vesta had been insincere, he would never have spoken so plainly in front of the leader of an entire nation.
‘I wonder how Attila will take this.’
He might take it as an insult. After all, Attila had been the one who chose to trust Lycaon. By pointing out the error, Vesta had questioned his judgment.
“I see.”
Attila’s reaction was unexpectedly calm.
As if he agreed.
“I have no intention of denying his talent, but he is not a man to be trusted. He is the kind of person who can only survive in chaos. In the end, he will drag everyone down with him.”
Every time Vesta looked at Lycaon, he pictured a scavenging jackal living in the ashes of its own destruction—set down from the war camp into the arena, now poised to become the Empire’s enemy.
The beast that wandered endlessly searching for conflict, until it could burn its own world to the ground. That was Lycaon.
He would never stop until he became that.
Never.
“I understand.”
Vesta’s expression hardened at the answer.
“That is exactly why I hired him.”
“Why?”
“Because only someone whose fear has been burned away can take on what others cannot.”
—Is that what you mean by “kinsman”? That even you have had your fear scorched away?
Vesta listened in silence.
“Think about it. What dog could ever fight a lion? Only a dog whose mind has snapped can do it. Lycaon is exactly that kind of genius.”
A dog that could bite a lion. A creature with obvious faults as a living being. Yet Vesta found himself nodding.
He had no intention of rejecting the words. But he had to say something else.
“Perhaps. But not only lions. He will hesitate to bite you too.”
A stray dog follows the pack leader but never becomes a master. Show weakness and it will tear you apart.
There were no wild dogs that served weak kings.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Attila waved the thought away.
“What use is a dog that does not bite humans?”
“The willingness to bite is the dog’s true purpose. And how far it bites is up to its master.”
‘I already know all this about Lycaon.’
Attila had clearly studied his nature and still chosen to employ him.
Any normal person would have rejected a madman like Lycaon. Even Attila, perhaps.
Vesta’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no further words.
“…You have nothing left to say.”
He changed the subject. For Vesta, Lycaon was not the only threat remaining—far from it.
The twin. Orthros. He had to know where that monster was hiding.
“Where is the twin now?”
“Relax. He did not climb the mountain.”
An unexpected answer.
Did Attila think Vesta would never come to Ainuwail? Or had he deliberately avoided the spot?
Why had he not said it outright?
“The stage is not yet ready.”
‘I wonder what kind of stage Orthros is preparing.’
It was not Ainuwail, surely.
‘Has he not come face to face with me yet, Orthros?’
If only he could peer into the other man’s mind.
“You seem concerned about your old comrades. The twin did not come, but Theo followed instead. Do you know him?”
Theo. An unmissable name.
“Of course I do.”
He was called the most dangerous man in the Empire.
Having passed Lycaon and Orthros, the two most notorious psychopaths in the arenas.
To be fair, Theo was simpler than Lycaon. Shockingly simple. A straight line made manifest.
‘I would call him dim-witted, but—’
Yet the Empire still feared him above all.
“You have brought an absurdly dangerous man with you.”
“You seem no less troublesome yourself.”
“…?”
“You brought the Khan of the Wilderness and her entire keshik.”
The Khan of the Wilderness. Ashtien.
“That is not my doing.”
“Nonsense. If I killed you right here—”
Vesta had his hand halfway to his sword.
“The Khan would intervene. Does that not prove it was my power?”