Bonfire Revelry and the Vanished Herd
The bonfire blazed high into the late night. For the first time in ages, the tribe's villagers laughed and chattered until the wee hours. It was only natural. The situation up north was grim. No one knew if they could solve the food shortage. If they couldn't, war might break out. Everyone had been spending their days in worry. So it was no wonder that this impromptu festival felt so strange.
Unbelievable, Helga thought, soaking in the bizarre sight of the lively village. Just yesterday, the place had been shrouded in gloom, but overnight, it had transformed beyond recognition. And it wasn't due to some grand event. Just one mage had whipped up a weird dish.
"Ahem. Those sky folk from the Empire... They seem decent enough."
"Haha, yeah. Pretty decent guys."
Even the grumpy old Sigrmazer mage acknowledged their contribution. Helga watched the mage mingling with the villagers, sharing drinks. He was a young man, but his wisdom was profound. Swaying people and bending the village mood to his will was something even a chieftain like her couldn't do easily. Yet he'd done it so effortlessly. It was impressive—and a little chilling.
Thank goodness he came with good intentions... If he'd harbored ill will, what would have become of the village?
An extraordinary man.
Helga didn't know Ian's true nature yet. But she made sure to remember he was a wise and capable mage. So the next morning, when Ian visited again, she greeted him with a calm face.
"Chieftain, I've come to say we're heading out now."
Helga graciously offered him a seat. A far cry from yesterday's merchant treatment—this was polite respect.
"So, off to the Red Bear tribe?"
"That's where I think the monk I'm looking for might be."
It was an uncertain journey. But finding people in this era was always like that. Phones and the internet were cheat items; before modern times, it was all tedious legwork and hearsay.
"You'll need provisions for the trip."
Ian smiled. "Wouldn't hurt."
"I'll have Gregory hook you up with some food. Add it to your travels."
Helga said softly. Mission accomplished.
"But I have one request."
"Go ahead."
There was a reason Helga so readily promised support for Ian's quest. Sure, aiding a fellow Sky God believer's search for a monk played a part, but that wasn't the main motive.
"You know the north's troubles, right?"
"I've heard."
He knew the key details.
Helga nodded and continued. "Every year when the weather warms, we head up Sacred Mountain Gramunt to hunt yagon herds. That's our Great Hunt Festival."
Ian was familiar with the tale.
"But this year, for some reason, hardly any yagon herds showed up."
"Hmm..."
"To find out why, we sent elite scouts from each tribe up Gramunt. But they still haven't found a solid answer."
Ian gave a wry smile. He saw where this was going.
"Mage Ian, I need your help."
"..."
"Join the scouts and uncover where the yagon herds vanished to."
In short, Helga was hiring Ian as a fixer. In exchange for supplying their needs while traveling the north.
Ian... honestly found it a bit annoying. The village was warming up, but the mountains would be brutally cold. Tracking some vanished beast called a yagon in pure wilderness with no human souls in sight? Barbarian scouts might manage, but for him, it sounded grueling.
"You sure it's okay to entrust something so important to someone like me?"
Ian hedged. This ain't no small task—are you really handing it to a wandering mage like me~?
But Helga was moved by his response.
"So humble! If not you, then who?"
She'd braced for outrageous demands, but this showed he was willing to help!
"Then I have a condition too."
"Name it."
Ian pulled a torn card fragment from his pocket.
"Can you tell me what this is?"
"...No clue."
Helga knew little of magic. Not all Empire folk were experts, just as most northerners lived magic-free lives.
"They called it an Arcana. I heard it's northern magic."
"Arcana... Hmm. The shamans would know. They're our northern mages and priests. They worship and praise the mysteries to borrow their power."
"I hear the Frost Axe tribe has a skilled shaman. I'll introduce you."
Perfect. Local shaman help would mean properly learning about this Arcana magic.
Not a bad deal. Ian extended his hand to Helga.
"Alright. I'll look into it."
"Oh! Thank you, mage!"
Having swiftly prepared for the journey, Ian left the village the next morning. In that short time, plenty of villagers had grown fond of him.
"Ian! You gotta come back!"
"Make stone soup again next time!"
To Ian's ears, it filtered as Play with us again~.
Ian was popular, but Kira was no slouch. Her flashy magic show, stellar singing, and alluring dances had set northern youths ablaze.
"Kira! Don't go—stay and live with me!!!"
"I can't lose Kira!"
"Marry me, Kira!"
Kira flashed her fan-service smile and blew kisses.
"Sorry! I've got someone I like back home!"
"What? Kira likes someone?"
"Who the hell is that bastard?!"
"I'm gonna kill him!"
Ian chuckled at the youths' reactions. Broth bubbling over loud and clear from here. Cultivating broth fans in a day—Kira was something else. A natural entertainer.
"We owe you big time, Ian."
Priest Madagal and Gunnar saw him off too.
"You reaffirmed the tribe's faith. The heavens surely bless your journey."
"Thanks for saying so."
Madagal smiled. Ian's stone soup had brought mental peace to many. The heavens watch over us. They haven't abandoned us. Things will get better. Let's keep going. Yesterday's revelry carried that meaning. The start was odd, but it honored the Sky God.
Madagal was truly grateful to Ian for easing the village's tension.
"Next chance I get, I'll brew stone soup again."
"...Do you have to?"
"You saw it clear as day—how the Sky Lord accepted Gunnar's offering. Stone soup is blessed food."
It didn't seem that special... Ian was indifferent, but Madagal saw it differently. From now on, he'd make it a post-Great Hunt tradition. He liked that it was heavenly fare for the starving flock—and a communal festival. He even dreamed of turning it into tribal lore. Centuries from now, it might be a quirky local festival, filmed by traveling vloggers.
"Heard you're Gramunt-bound."
"After finding Takarion."
"Then you can release the phoenix yourself. It's native to the sacred mountain, after all."
He could've left it with Madagal, but Kira kept pouting, so he decided to carry it. It barely left her arms anyway. The tiny chick had zero presence.
Ian climbed into the cart again. Gunnar wasn't joining this time.
"Safe travels, Ian! Come back with Takarion!"
"I'll try."
The driver was a gruff uncle—the same unfriendly guy who'd spat barbs at Ian on sight: Sigur.
Sigur drove in silence with Ian's group aboard.
"Chieftain's got a big heart, lending the cart and all."
"She promised help, so it's natural."
Sigur eyed the road ahead.
"Red Bear's part of our Okaha Alliance. But they just joined—no joint ops. We're hunters and traders. They're raiders."
Empire tales often featured northern barbarians pillaging. The north teemed with tribes. Some, like Sky Talon, lived by hunt and trade; others, like Red Bear, by plunder and slaves.
To imperials, barbarian raiders were monsters. To northerners, they were sturdy kin bringing coin and food.
Ian wasn't shocked. Without a strong overlord, it was a dog-eat-dog world. Murder was just efficient survival here in this medieval fantasy. Modern life was the outlier—humanity's default was blood and booty.
"You lot alone? Heads might roll. With women? Even worse."
Sigur glanced at the girls, but Kira and Belenca were unfazed. Kira mastered expressions and knew the streets' grit. Belenca... was Belenca. Mistress of righteous (physical) force.
"You're coming to that dangerous spot?"
"...Sorry for the insults before. I was stressed."
Sigur muttered. Ian accepted. He'd expected wariness—no need to nitpick an ally.
"No warrior in the tribe matches me. If trouble hits, I'll guard you with our honor."
"Reassuring."
Sigur was just a rough northerner. Cussed a lot, drank hard, fought fierce... A honed battle axe lay quietly in the cart, its grip polished from heavy use.
"Oh, Ian. Look over there."
"What?"
Sigur halted the cart and pointed.
"A raven! Lord Hrun dal watches over us!"
Oh, for real. Far off, a big plump raven circled the sky.
...But that raven looked familiar.
The raven flapped over, landing naturally on Ian's shoulder.
Sigur's eyes bulged.
"What the—why's the raven...?"
Ian patted it casually.
"It's mine. I raised it."
"???"
Ian stroked Oberon.