Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: 25. Tales of the Steppe (3)
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Ragnar peered at the map pinned to the wall of his tent.
"Hmph..."
The war ahead held little room for grand strategies.
An endless expanse of wilderness stretched before them.
And there, Okua lay in wait.
Ragnar's eyes scanned the emblems of the ten nations under his command.
The empire's roaring lion always claimed the highest spot.
Beneath it, the other kingdoms were arrayed.
In terms of raw power, the Holy Kingdom or Burssen might rank just after the empire. But what caught his eye was Brioll.
"Yuri..."
Thinking of the boy, Ragnar unconsciously curled his lips into a smile.
He liked Yuri.
The kid knew exactly what needed doing and carried it out with precision.
He was already so polished there was nothing left to teach.
Even that occasional cocky attitude felt more like confidence.
"It's like looking at myself when I was young."
Of course, Yuri was already stronger than Ragnar had been at that age.
If he kept growing like this, he'd become a real monster.
Watching him made Ragnar regret not having a child of his own. He half-wanted to foist a niece on the boy instead.
Yuri could handle her, no doubt.
Putting those two together somehow just fit.
"They actually suit each other, surprisingly..."
But first things first—kill Okua and return home safe.
Ragnar hardened his expression and studied the map again.
Despite getting massacred at every encounter, the orcs kept sending more troops. It was delaying their march.
But the orcs' losses were mounting just as heavily.
What was Okua plotting with his black magic?
Ragnar clapped his hands.
The tent flap opened, and his adjutant poked his head in.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Bring Eisen."
"Yes, sir."
Eisen was the mage Ragnar had brought from the empire.
The adjutant soon ushered him inside.
His neat appearance peeking from under his robe didn't match the stereotypical image of a mage. He had a rare talent for dispelling magic.
"You called for me, Your Highness."
Ragnar cut straight to it.
"What's the most horrific black magic you know of?"
"Well..."
Eisen tilted his head.
"I don't know much about the black magic you're referring to, Your Highness. I've heard a few tales, but they always struck me as tall tales..."
"And among those tall tales?"
"As you know, bringing back the dead."
Gert was under the empire's watchful eye.
Once they learned it was born of black magic, the empire had sent investigation teams to old Adelbine lands at regular intervals.
The results were gruesome.
Gert left no visitors alive.
"Then why's Okua dragging this out?"
"If he's truly using black magic, it's hard for me to guess..."
Eisen closed his eyes, deep in thought.
"Maybe he's trying to summon something?"
"Summon?"
"There are plenty of time-consuming spells, but for wartime use, that kind comes to mind. Just a possibility, though."
"I see. Anything else?"
"Well..."
Ragnar conferred further with Eisen.
Eisen was dismissive of black magic.
"If he's really using it, he must've gotten some magical knowledge from somewhere—a grimoire or artifact. The steppes were once home to ancient kingdoms, so maybe he found a dungeon."
"Is that a serious problem?"
"No need to worry too much, in my opinion. If I may speculate, Okua's misjudging the situation."
"Misjudging?"
"Even with black magic, our alliance's mages outclass him."
He brimmed with confidence.
"Not just the empire—other nations brought high-ranking mages too. We won't lose to some shaman. Every mage here agrees."
"I see."
"Yes."
Ragnar nodded.
Continental magic had advanced leaps and bounds.
The orcs had shamans, sure, but they weren't on par with true mages.
Shamanism was a primitive form of magic at best.
"Because of the ambushes?"
"Something like that."
"I hesitate to speak on strategy, but no need to rush, right? Seems like Okua's falling into his own trap, bleeding forces dry."
It made sense.
War was a game of deception.
Maybe dragging things out was Okua's ploy to rush Ragnar.
Ragnar nodded.
"Good advice. Thanks."
"Glad to help."
"It did."
"An honor."
Eisen bowed and left the tent.
Alone now, Ragnar leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.
Rushing risked traps. Dawdling might let the orcs pull some stunt.
Best to keep a steady pace and fend off raids.
"Nothing changes, then."
That was their plan anyway.
Ragnar murmured the name of his new asset.
"The Outsider."
His presence kept Ragnar calm.
Whatever the deal was, Yuri had pulled the Outsider into the alliance.
Given how the man shunned company, it was extraordinary.
The Outsider would be a game-changer. The perfect weapon against Okua.
Suddenly, Ragnar wanted to see him.
"Maybe I should pay a visit."
He stepped out of the tent, adjutant in tow.
The moonlit night was bright.
Heading for Brioll's camp, he heard clashing weapons.
"What's that?"
"The knights are training."
"At this hour?"
"Yes."
The adjutant nodded and elaborated.
"Seems Brioll's third prince lit a fire under them."
Ragnar chuckled.
The empire's knights in black plate were infamous not just for strength but brutality. Some called them machines, not men.
But unhelmeted, they were just human.
They felt rivalry too.
Though who would've thought against an eighteen-year-old kid?
"I was shocked too."
The adjutant cleared his throat.
"Dropped three orcs clean. In seconds."
"He did."
"At eighteen? Incredible..."
"A shame, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Don't worry. I'll handle it."
"Pardon?"
"I want to dress the boy in imperial black."
"Haha..."
Ragnar let his true feelings slip to the adjutant before heading to the training grounds.
The knights, swinging wooden swords in casual gear, froze at his arrival.
"Sorry to interrupt."
"Not at all!"
Unhelmeted, they looked ordinary—from fresh-faced youths to middle-aged men with crow's feet. Faces you'd pass on any street.
They'd earned the black armor through skill alone.
Ragnar picked a wooden sword from a pile.
"Mind if I join? Been a while."
"Your Highness, that's..."
"Just a quick one."
He called out the knight captain.
The man bowed lightly and stood ready. The others resumed training.
"If you would."
"Yes."
Ragnar raised his wooden sword, recalling the scene.
Yuri had followed the orc envoys and cut down three in a flash.
Ragnar could handle three too. But so cleanly, so swiftly? He wasn't sure.
Every move flowed seamlessly, like they'd rehearsed.
The knights must've felt it too—hence the late training.
"Don't hold back."
The captain nodded.
A taciturn man, but skilled.
They exchanged several bouts.
"Yuri Brioll. You saw?"
"Yes."
"Thoughts?"
After a pause, he replied.
"Polished. Beyond his years."
Ragnar agreed. Yuri was seasoned far past his age.
Not just swordplay.
Quick decisions, bold execution once resolved.
Who'd have guessed he'd behead orcs and plant a flag?
Brutal, but effective.
Almost imperial.
That brief incident flipped the captain's view of Yuri.
"He'll be dangerous grown."
The captain added unusually.
Ragnar laughed low.
"If he were the enemy."
"..."
The captain nodded faintly, understanding.
"Here I come!"
Ragnar pressed with his wooden sword.
Seemingly overpowered, the captain slipped behind like a serpent—fluid, supple.
Impressive skill.
Ragnar shrugged.
"That's enough."
"Yes."
The captain bowed curtly.
And that was it.
Ragnar grumbled.
"What a standoffish guy."
He praised the knights' efforts and moved on. To reach Brioll's camp, he crossed other nations' grounds.
Back straight, hands clasped behind, he strode through.
Red cloaks drew salutes everywhere.
"Burssen here."
"Yes."
Knights Jonathan and Jose stood out.
Burssen's influence would grow.
Other nations followed.
Young talents abounded—future stars.
Ragnar mused.
If the alliance failed.
Every nation would lose their promising youths at once.
The leaders of tomorrow, gone.
A colossal loss.
Who'd profit?
Obvious.
He recalled the letter the orcs brought.
At first glance, it hadn't seemed entirely absurd.
"Hmm..."
Lost in thought, he grinned.
"That's why. That kid..."
"Pardon?"
"Just thinking aloud."
It had nearly shaken him—imagine other nations doubting the empire. The alliance would fracture.
Worse in tough times.
But Yuri killed the orc envoys and mocked them.
Erased all alternatives.
One path left.
Whatever schemes targeted them, crush Okua and the orcs.
With that resolve, Ragnar reached Brioll's tent.
Something was off.
"What's that?"
A crowd had gathered.
Not training like the others.
"What's going on?"
"Not sure, but..."
The adjutant frowned, leaning in.
Laughter and shrieks drifted out.
"Hmm..."
Closer now, familiar voices.
"You cheated! Cards up your sleeve, right?"
"What're you talking about?"
"I know your tells, and that was..."
"I knew you knew my tells. Planned around it."
"I knew you knew I knew. Planned deeper."
"I knew you knew I knew..."
Ragnar approached; soldiers and knights scattered in surprise.
A path cleared.
At a large table sat Brioll's prince, mage, knight, and soldiers—cards and cash strewn everywhere.
"Search his clothes! He's hiding something!"
"Pfft, proof? No proof? Then buzz off!"
"Yeah, buzz me! Cut my wrist!"
Yuri and his mage grappled by the collars.
"You bastard!"
"Prince or not!"
Ragnar cleared his throat.
Only then did Yuri and Hernando notice.
The other gamblers were pale, rising hastily.
"Y-Your Highness?"
"Uh, y-yeah..."
Alliance camps managed autonomously.
The empire banned booze and gambling.
"It's just..."
Yuri released Hernando's collar with an awkward grin.
"You see..."
Ragnar raised a hand, silencing him.
"Brioll has its own rules."
"Yes..."
"Basregas."
"Pardon?"
"They called me the Whale there."
He sat in an empty chair.
"Swallowed you small fry whole."
"Ho..."
Yuri's face changed.
Hernando let go too, shuffling cards.
The other players eyed the newcomer sharply.
"Curious about imperial coin, eh? Heh heh..."
"Richer, more fragrant."
Ragnar joked, settling in.
The Outsider sat right beside him.
Ragnar grinned at him.
"Sorry to swipe cash from our eastern guest too."
"That what I do, sipun marida."