To a Distant Land (12)
Ekuya conversed with Atart, chief of the Bigabol, while watching the friendly sparring matches.
Atart neither looked down on him for his youth nor dismissed Serhang's forces as weak, which made him a rather pleasant conversational partner.
"Haha. That was another excellent match."
Of course, there was something… slightly odd about him. His tone and meaning were nothing if not polite, yet a strangely chilling sensation would rise from time to time.
Especially when meeting Atart's pitch-black eyes head-on.
"We've lost again this time. I wonder if we ought to learn a thing or two about warrior training from Chief Atart."
Ekuya clapped for the warriors while searching for the source of that unease — whether it was residual trauma left by the Jatav raid, or something else entirely.
The warriors who had finished their sparring paid their respects to each other and left the arena.
"Who's next? Ah, Safar. Already the last one. What a shame."
Atart hadn't brought many warriors to begin with, so the friendly sparring was already racing toward its conclusion.
"As for our side…"
Personally, though, Ekuya was quite pleased. With the possibility of further Jatav attacks still hanging over them, it was better to conserve their strength.
"…?"
But mid-conversation, the Bigabol warrior mounting the stage did something strange. He threw something that had been rolled into a ball.
"Chief!"
Boom!
What followed, Ekuya didn't properly see. The warrior standing beside him had pulled him into an embrace.
But there was plenty to hear in its place. An explosion that left his ears ringing, the clash of blades, someone's scream, shouts, the wet sound of flesh being torn.
"W-what's going on…"
He had no confidence in martial arts, matching his still-growing body. Hadn't the previous chief fallen to an assassin presumed to have been sent by the Jatav?
He could understand why the warriors were wrapping themselves tightly around him. He could understand.
"Let go! Let me assess the situation!"
But he was the chief.
Ekuya didn't thrash about, but craned his neck out to understand what was happening. Eight eyes swept the surroundings at once and rendered judgment.
"How — how could you…!"
"My apologies, Atart. You must die."
Treachery. Not from Serhang, but from Bigabol.
Clang!
While Ekuya surveyed the turning situation, Atart confronted the traitor.
The renown of being Bigabol's strongest warrior even before becoming chief was no lie. Atart had not only weathered the ambush but was holding his own against three warriors.
He seemed slightly pressed, but with outside help he looked fully capable of winning.
"Ekuya, please help me!"
"Chief of Serhang, we are carrying out a rightful succession. It would not be wise to make enemies of us!"
But the moment he was about to order aid, the rebels warned him. Ekuya's lips froze half-open.
"Ekuya!"
He had known that Bigabol was split between a faction supporting Atart's reforms and a faction wanting to preserve the old customs. But he hadn't realized the rift ran deep enough for them to openly go for his throat…
What's more, the faces among the rebels were those Atart had declared his most trusted confidants.
Meaning half of those Atart had trusted enough to bring with him had sided with the rebellion.
Which meant the rebels' power was nothing to scoff at.
Then what of Bigabol's main force, left temporarily without Atart? Had the rebels already seized control?
"Chief, your orders!"
"What should we do?"
Ekuya rapidly considered whether allying with the rebels would be good for Serhang, or whether trusting Atart would help their future.
He wished the High Priestess were here, but even if she had been, the judgment would have been his. Ultimately, he had to make the decision now.
"…Aid Atart and eliminate the rebels!"
And the conclusion was reached.
Atart had shown goodwill toward Serhang as well, while the old faction that had tried to push Atart out — those stuffy old ideologues — looked down on them, so if they were going to win, Atart was better. That line of thinking was part of the judgment.
"Ekuya!"
"So you would drink the poisoned cup after all!"
Even so, the moment after giving the order, the chief of Serhang was plagued by terrible doubt. Is this right? Was this truly correct? Suspicion directed at his own choice.
"What is this."
In that instant, an incomprehensible language rang out across the grounds.
What entered his eyes next were gloomy, thoroughly exhausted gray irises.
"A rebellion?"
A rebel's blade flew toward him.
"What is this."
What the hell is this, seriously.
I let out a weak sigh without meaning to as I took in the complete mess of a situation.
Ha. Looking at them fighting among themselves when I'm already exhausted brings up every feeling under the sun.
"A rebellion?"
If this is a real rebellion, that's a headache.
I can't just pick a side when I don't even know why there's a civil war. Who knows what kind of trouble that could bring later.
Plus, as a Korean, I've historically been through so many tyrants and dictators that…
Honestly, when I hear the word "rebellion," I reflexively side-eye the establishment first and go Hoxy? Though if it turns out to be a coup for power rather than a just revolution, that gets awkward.
"Die!"
But I had no choice. Someone was trying to attack me.
"Protect the guest!"
I dealt with the one who tried to attack me in one go, and others approached.
Scanning them as potential enemies, they were all turning their backs to me, trying to form a protective formation.
The problem was whether these guys were on the rebel side or the side being attacked.
Since no attacks were coming, I had time to think. I hurriedly checked the faces of those I'd been told were chiefs to grasp the situation.
Taking my time to look carefully, the ones who started the rebellion seemed to be Bigabol — their clothes indicated as much — and the Bigabol chief was, amusingly enough, the one whose throat was being most fiercely targeted.
Serhang… well. They seemed to be helping the Bigabol chief and aiming to suppress the rebels.
For reference, the ones protecting me were also Serhang. The guy who tried to attack me earlier looked like Bigabol on the surface.
So my enemies were automatically decided.
Revolution or coup, anyone who goes after civilians at this point can't be the good guys, right? Right?
"Hah."
With a sigh, I formed a mana spear and fired it straight out. Sword aura was my second choice of skill, in case allies got caught up in it.
It was also a pretty good choice for the advantage of being able to attack multiple people at once.
"Gah!"
The Bigabol chief's enemies went down in one shot.
Then I kicked another guy who had broken through the protective formation to attack a Serhang warrior. Even if I couldn't tell Bigabol from Bigabol, I could distinguish friend from foe in Serhang versus Bigabol.
"You outsider!"
Someone raised a sword at me then. My hand drew the sword at my waist and deflected it.
Mana that had recovered about halfway while resting settled smoothly onto the blade, adding sharpness.
Slash!
The opponent's sword was cut through.
Thrust!
"……"
But I guess I'd been fighting too many opponents with four limbs. I forgot this one had six arms.
I dodged the belatedly incoming attack and blocked the fourth and fifth sword strikes. Then I stepped back one pace and gathered mana in my right hand.
Slash!
Four claw marks tore open the enemy's upper body. The body wasn't shredded to pieces, but the wounds were deep enough that moving would be difficult.
"What!"
Was that one four paces away looking flustered an enemy, or not? What about the one behind them?
I realized that not being able to communicate caused more inconvenience than I'd expected.
"Atart!"
But so what if I can't tell enemies apart. Other people will distinguish them for me.
What matters is the act of protecting those I can be certain are allies.
I headed to the Bigabol chief's side in a single stride. Even though I'd put holes through three shoulders, he still hadn't been freed from his enemies.
"You are…"
I should hold back from killing, just in case it becomes a problem.
I grabbed the scruff of the one attacking the chief and slammed him into the ground with a mana-charged hand. The enemy, swung as lightly as a doll being flung, was thrown so hard the ground shook.
I don't know for sure, but his back is probably going to hurt a bit.
Then I knocked aside another guy's sword and struck him in the solar plexus. After long experimentation, I'd figured out the force level that would crack ribs without killing, so the enemy who went flying through the air probably wouldn't die either. Probably.
"Who's the enemy."
More than that, this is really frustrating. If the clothes were at least different, it'd be nice. Who exactly am I supposed to subdue?
"I don't… ah. That one, and that one are the enemies."
The fact that this person could speak my language was a stroke of divine luck. Following his directions, I knocked down the rebels (presumed) one by one.
They shouted something at me, but I just ignored them. If you're mad about it, learn a second language yourself.
Thud!
Separately, I don't know if this is the right thing to do.
After kicking an enemy, I lowered my sword as I watched the Archmage and the High Priestess finally come running in a fluster.
Amusingly, not a single drop of blood was on the sword. Since I hadn't cut anyone's flesh with the blade, that was only natural.
"What happened!"
"Don't ask me."
You know?
I watched the tribe people sort things out on their own and found a suitable pillar to lean against. I wanted to just collapse right there — I was strangely exhausted — but that would be out of character, so this was the alternative I'd found.
The wounds I'd taken from a fight different from facing three people at once — the six-armed kind — finally started to ache.
With my pain threshold so low, the ache was really more like it was there or not, but still.
"Are you all right?"
The Archmage offered concern for me like that. Most were mere scratches, but the first wound I'd taken had some depth, and she seemed worried about that part.
"I'll treat you."
No reason to refuse. I closed my eyes and zoned out whether she treated me beside me or not. If my thoughts went in a weird direction it'd be a headache, so I figured I'd rather empty my brain.
"I-I, well, thank you."
Meanwhile a child approached. The Serhang chief… I think that was it.
About upper elementary school age? Kids these days grow fast so I can't be sure, but roughly around there. Comes up a little past my chest.
"If it hadn't been for you…"
The child — ah, he's a chief, so calling him a child would be rude. The Serhang chief glanced at me with a flushed face.
If you're wondering where the High Priestess is, she's giving orders to the warriors and sorting out the situation.
"I too offer my thanks."
Before I could say anything, a somewhat awkward tone conveyed words. It was the Bigabol chief approaching with a slight limp, as if he'd injured his leg.
"If you — if Your Grace had not helped…"
He didn't finish his words. But there are things you can know even when words aren't completed. Especially since I'd seen him being pressed before I intervened.
"……"
The other party fell into silence mid-sentence, as if lost in emotion.
Complex feelings were fully visible on his face. Betrayal, anger, venom… if a rebellion had truly occurred, these weren't strange emotions. Though I wondered where the sadness had gone.
"How should I repay this debt?"
Still, he didn't remain long submerged in emotion.
His bold, clearly defined features looked straight at me. It's been a while since I've met someone at eye level with me who isn't of the Shagi race.
"There's no need."
But there's only one answer I can give. I didn't move on a commission, so how could I accept payment.
As always, I firmly expressed my refusal. The other party made a regretful face, as most people do.
"But…"
"He truly will not accept payment."
The Archmage who had treated my shoulder withdrew her hands. Good intervention. I don't want to think. Please deal with them instead.
"So please, both chiefs, accept it as a light favor."
But don't do it in a language I can't understand. I feel left out.
"Is that so."
"…A light favor, is it."
"Yes. A light favor."
Here's a story about being left out between two foreigners and one foreign-language speaker.
I felt a strong craving for a cigarette as I glared at the three of them. Of course I absolutely didn't look fiercely at the Serhang chief.
Respecting him as a chief is respecting him, and protecting him as a child is protecting him. The two can coexist… probably.
"Then even if I invite you to Bigabol as repayment for this grace, you won't accept?"
"Please understand."
So when are you going to send me off. I'm awkward…
"How very… regrettable."
I watched the atmosphere that until just now had been one-sided gratitude transform into a strange war of nerves, and wondered what conversation they'd even had.
Why are the Archmage and the Bigabol chief having a staring contest.
"Is your body all right?"
Then the Archmage turned her gaze to me.
"If you're fine, it would be best to depart now. Didn't the Magic Tower urge us to come early?"
…You said we were resting earlier.
No, it's fine if we don't rest, but I feel a bit weird about having it given and then taken away.
What conversation did you have that made you retract the statement about resting? Does the Archmage not get along with that side or something.
"……"
But my companion is the Archmage. Is there a reason to accommodate a chief I've just met.
Shouldn't I help? But thinking that way, the damage isn't that great. There were casualties, but only a few, and it's not like I have the ability to heal them. It's not like there are remaining targets I need to catch either.
Property damage is at most a slightly wrecked arena, so at this level I feel like I could just pretend I don't know and leave.
So I peeled myself off the pillar and followed her words. The hunters were currently rushing over awkwardly carrying the luggage, so there was no need to go back to where we were earlier.
"Chief of Bigabol, regarding the treatment of the rebels… wait, are you leaving?"
Then the High Priestess, who seemed to have finished sorting things out to some degree, ran over with a pale complexion.
Based on first impressions alone, she seemed like someone who would always remain as calm as an old tree without wavering.
Seeing her first impression completely ruined by the Jatav invasion and some of the invited envoys committing rebellion — things that made staying calm impossible — I thought she was having a really hard time.
"At least the time to express gratitude for your help…"
"It's fine. How could we take your time in a situation like this. Ah, please take back the hunters you assigned us as well. Isn't every hand precious right now?"
Well, what do I care.
Based on the words the Archmage whispered — looks like we'll have to carry the snakes ourselves — I walked steadily toward the hunters.
Unable to leave the precious snakes behind, yet with both hands full so they couldn't help with the surroundings either, the hunters looked at me like a savior.
"…What is the foreign warrior taking?"
"Ah… the Jahukaya. He must be interested in something that eats mana."
I'm glad they attached straps so I can sling them over my shoulder like bags. I slung two over one shoulder and held two in the other hand.
As if there was nothing more to say to that side, the Archmage immediately fell in behind me.
"…Something that eats mana?"
"Isn't that usually the only reason one would specifically capture Jahukaya?"
"I'll take one as well."
"Get lost."
I don't need anything, just show me the way. The map's dead, I don't have a compass, I can't find my way out of here.
"Wait, wait!"
Then the Bigabol chief stopped us. Isn't the conversation over? He's really persistent. My brow furrowed.
"If — if you're interested in something that eats mana, how about this."
"Chief, we…"
"This is a secret, but… Lord Sangun also consumes mana."
But I have no speaking rights. I watched the Bigabol chief speak to the Archmage while gauging Serhang's reaction.
"…! Wh-what."
"If you accept my invitation, I'll arrange a meeting with Lord Sangun. I'll also assign a High Priestess who can translate Lord Sangun's words. Ah, for reference, this is a secret. Co-opting the swamp High Priestesses who serve Sangun is only tacitly permitted — in principle, it's not allowed. Anyway, what do you say?"
Separately, the Archmage seemed to have taken a hit from this conversation. Looking shocked with her mouth opening and closing, the Archmage turned to me.
"…Demon Knight."
"What."
"We… it seems we'll have to go to Bigabol's territory after all."
…What conversation even happened to lead to this conclusion? I'm so fed up I'm going to learn the language for real.