Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: A New Reason
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“Did you hear it too?”
“It was from Sir Ian’s tent, right?”
Two or three Cheonryeo tribesmen who had woken from sleep threw on their clothes and stepped outside. It hadn’t been a false alarm. They hurried toward where Ian and Berik were and soon confirmed the half-open entrance.
“Sir Ian? Are you all right?”
“Something wrong? Berik isn’t dead, is he?”
The sight that greeted them the moment they stepped one foot inside. Some unknown man lay sprawled on the ground, and Ian clutched his reddened nape, coughing away.
“Cough!”
“I, Sir Ian? What’s this?”
“That guy, I subdued him… He suddenly tried to kill me…”
Only then did they notice the fragments of a dagger scattered on the floor. They immediately alerted those outside and bound the man’s arms and legs.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know either. I woke up to find him trying to kill me.”
“No, that aside, how on earth did you take him down? Sir Ian, you haven’t even trained.”
“…It just sort of happened.”
Ian rubbed his neck as if it were hard to answer. Before long, the entire tribe had woken up. Kakan was dressed lightly too, wearing only his lower garments.
“What’s the commotion? Who attacked Lord Ian?”
“Kakan! It’s this one. He was already out cold like this when we came in.”
“An idiot? What’s he do?”
“That’s what we’d like to know…”
“Who is it? Can’t see his face.”
It was a purely innocent question, without any malicious intent.
Frankly, in terms of combat ability, even a Cheonryeo child could subdue Ian in an instant. So how had this hulking brute gotten beaten senseless?
“Take off the mask.”
Though flustered by this unprecedented situation, Kakantir closely examined Ian’s condition. Fortunately, he didn’t seem injured anywhere.
From now on, beyond just marching out, they had sworn to treat Ian as a ‘guest.’ Nothing could be more dishonorable than allowing something unfortunate to befall him.
Swish.
“Gasp!”
When his subordinate removed the mask, everyone covered their mouths in shock.
It was Bumart. The cousin of Ner Sarne’s second stepmother and the man in charge of food supplies. Ian recognized him immediately too. Wasn’t this the guy who had stared him down piercingly at the return ceremony? He’d stuck uncomfortably in his memory.
“…Move Bumart. We’ll interrogate him at first light.”
At Kakantir’s command, three subordinates rushed over and dragged Bumart away. The clan leader, who had started to leave with them, turned back to Ian.
Of all people, Bumart. A warrior counted among the tribe’s strongest. To face him without a single scratch, merely disheveled like that.
“Lord Ian. Is it true that you subdued Bumart?”
“It just sort of happened. I guess so.”
“In the Empire…”
Kakantir’s gaze flicked briefly toward Berik. Now he was starting to get the picture.
“They call those who perform miracles ‘mages,’ don’t they.”
“I have no intention of lying in the Great Desert.”
“You’re evading by saying not to ask.”
“When I return to Bariel, I’ll explain at an appropriate time. About the meaning of my existence, that is. For now, it’ll be hard to understand since our lives have been so different.”
He probably didn’t know just how high mana users—mages—were regarded in the Empire. No matter how lowly their bloodline, they qualified to form the core of the imperial palace. That was the social power of mana.
“Very well. More importantly, internal matters take precedence right now. Rest. Anything that troubles you, feel free to speak.”
“Thank you.”
Kakantir gave a light smile, as if expectant, and left the tent. Amid the commotion dying down, Berik still slept with his mouth agape.
“Snore.”
“Haah.”
Judging by the thunderous snoring, he seemed to be recovering. Quite impressive for someone with a hole punched through his side.
Only then did Ian spot the fresh Gurut Leaves on the desk. He burned a few in the lantern and dried others to hold under Berik’s nose.
* * *
Splash!
As the darkness lifted, Kakantir’s subordinates dumped sand on Bumart’s face. Normally one would use water, but this was the heart of the Great Desert. Ian felt his own cheeks sting vicariously.
“Keep pouring until he comes to.”
“Yes, Kakan.”
Sand poured endlessly, piling up to Bumart’s chest. Only then did the man twitch and regain consciousness. Kakantir eyed him sharply, scrutinizing every detail.
“Bumart.”
“Ah…”
His limbs were bound with splints. Bumart twisted his body this way and that before finally lifting his head with an aggrieved expression.
“Bumart. Did you attack Lord Ian at dawn?”
Bumart hesitated to answer. A human tongue could lie, but they had Winchen. Kakantir would surely discern truth from falsehood based on the interrogation.
“Kakan. Untie this first…”
“Answer. Lie, and I’ll cut off your fingers.”
It was cold resolve without hesitation. Unable to go either way, Bumart bit his lip before eventually slamming his head to the ground.
“…”
“You choose silence?”
What bullshit. He could kill the man with one hand, yet somehow things had come to this.
But there was still room to maneuver. If his motive stayed hidden, he’d only be punished for attacking Ian and that would be the end.
Even if that punishment meant losing his own right arm. Better than death, wasn’t it?
“Are you serious?”
“Kakan. If you still consider me family, ask no more and take my arm. That Ian—he used some strange power. H-his eyes turned golden, the air condensed and burst in an instant. He’s definitely suspicious.”
Kakantir stared down at Bumart wordlessly. Murmurs rippled through, though only for a fleeting moment.
“You volunteer what I didn’t ask. Bumart. Do you know how pathetic you look right now?”
Mumbling away buried in a sand pile before the entire tribe. Any warrior who prized honor and glory above all would have bitten his tongue and died.
Humiliation flushed Bumart’s face red. Ian, who had been watching silently, raised his hand.
“May I testify?”
“Speak.”
“He definitely mentioned Derga.”
If he was willing to give up an arm to seal a secret, it meant something even bigger lurked behind. At Ian’s words, the crowd stirred in agitation.
“He called my proposal to Kakan a scheme and seemed intent on stopping it, so probably some dealings with Derga…”
Ian trailed off as if struck by a sudden thought. Kakantir waited patiently, while Bumart swallowed hard.
“Bumart, by any chance, have you ever sent a letter to Derga?”
The day Ian had snuck into the office to steal the seal. Hadn’t he found a letter written in Cheonryeo script inside a drawer? He didn’t remember the details clearly, but…
“‘Who will come after the clan leader?’ I saw a letter like that on Derga’s desk. Bumart, was it you?”
All eyes poured onto Bumart kneeling there. His face stiffened rigidly as he glared at Ian, then took a deep breath and bit his tongue.
“Stop him!”
The moment Derga’s name emerged, the time for an honorable warrior’s death had passed. Subordinates instantly pinned his tongue with fingers and stuffed in cloth.
“Mmph! Mmph!”
“Bumart! Is it true?”
“Don’t let him speak! Stuff more cloth in!”
“Damn it, what the hell…”
The tribe twisted their faces in shock and betrayal. Ian ventured a careful but confident guess.
It was something he’d seen all too often in the imperial palace.
“Clan Leader Winchen’s declining health might be connected to Bumart. Isn’t he the one in charge of food supplies?”
Kill Winchen and usurp the clan leader position… If that was afoot, Bumart was indeed a prime suspect.
“I don’t know the details of his collusion with Derga, but likely Derga promised Bumart the glory of clan leader, and for himself, some economic gain.”
Kakantir stared silently at Bumart. He seemed to be sorting his thoughts. He soon stood, grabbed Bumart by the hair, and dragged him off.
“…No one follow.”
He headed toward Winchen’s tent.
The subordinates watched tensely as the two disappeared inside. The wait felt like one minute stretched to an hour.
When Kakantir emerged, he was drenched in blood, Bumart’s head dangling from his hand.
“Throw it in the desert and drag Bumart’s family here too.”
“…Yes, Kakan.”
Denying him a funeral and tossing him as beast fodder proclaimed him a traitor. As Kakan hurled the head, tribesmen passed by spitting on it.
“Lord Ian. A moment.”
At Kakantir’s call, Ian moved aside. He wiped his face and hands with a damp cloth handed by Ner Sarne, muttering.
“We need to adjust the plan a bit.”
“How so?”
“Our role was simply to lend strength until you safely enter Bratz and establish your position.”
Direct confrontation with the central army entailed too much risk. But with things as they were, the Cheonryeo tribe had no choice but to fully join their fight.
“We’ll take Derga’s breath ourselves.”
“Ah.”
He’d dared deceive Kakantir by feigning peace to his face while colluding with their families to kill their spiritual pillar, Winchen. It dwarfed mere Gurut Leaf smuggling.
Ian nodded after a moment’s thought.
“I understand, but it might be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because Derga’s crime is ‘treason.’ The imperial investigation team came all this way for over a fortnight to execute him. If border outsiders handle it first, their position becomes quite ridiculous.”
A traitor’s execution was grander, crueler, more solemn. Derga’s death was the highlight of the spoils—hardly something to hand over to a remote tribe.
“Even so, we—I—must kill Derga myself.”
“…It’s not impossible, but.”
Kakantir’s resolve seemed unshakeable.
“As originally planned, I take possession of Bratz territory. ‘Officially,’ that is. Then I can intervene in the execution and honor the Cheonryeo tribe’s will by offering aid.”
“Either way, we must help you, then.”
“You overstate it. I’m the one requesting aid.”
Kakantir’s lips curved at Ian’s cheeky words. Not a smile of mere good mood, but anticipation for what lay ahead.
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
“Demosha.”
“Demosha.”
Ian and Kakantir exchanged fist salutes. Then, a healer approached and called to Ian.
“Berik’s come to.”
“…Already?”
“Just his mind, somehow.”
“…Ah.”
Ian caught the subtle nuance and nodded.