Ominous Cards of Doom
The carriage carrying Ian sped busily along the road. Every now and then, Sigur shared his knowledge of the northern tribes with Ian's group.
"That monk you're looking for? Even if you find him in the Red Bear Tribe, getting him out won't be easy."
"I heard roughly from the Madagal priest. Something about using it for medicine..."
Ian said that, but he couldn't help feeling absurd all over again. Human hearts as some kind of tonic? If you're sick, you take medicine—what kind of lunacy was eating hearts? Savages, every last one of them.
"Yeah. Word is the chieftain's been weakening lately."
"What illness?"
"No idea. But he's the right age for it—over sixty this year."
Sixty was truly elderly. The further back in history, the shorter human lifespans tended to be. Even in Korea, just fifty years ago, they'd throw grand sixty-birthday parties. Considering that meant turning sixty, modern eyes might see it as overkill. But those celebrations proved how few lived past sixty back then. Humans weren't built to reach that age easily—especially not in the past.
In that light, the Red Bear Tribe's chieftain had lived a full life.
"At that age, anything he eats could kill him," Belenca muttered.
Harsh words, but spot-on. In a medieval world without hospitals or surgery, the elderly faced a hostile reality.
"True enough. But his sons don't see it that way."
"Yeah... figures."
It wasn't wrong to want parents to live long. Just like modern folks gifted ginseng to theirs, the Red Bear warriors offered their chieftain a cleric's heart. Filial piety, tribe-style.
"Will they hand over that hard-won elixir from the Empire so easily?"
Sigur voiced genuine concern for Ian. If they found the cleric in the Red Bear Tribe but failed to rescue him, what could be more futile? Truth be told, Ian wouldn't lose much if they couldn't save Takarion—he'd chalk it up to being beyond his power, like the monastery itself. Still, now that they'd come this far, Ian wanted to take the guy home if possible.
"Don't worry about that."
"Oh? Got a plan?"
"Not me. But Ian does."
"...?"
Me? Ian paused mid-bite, face blank with disbelief, but the others looked dead serious. Belenca, Kira—even Sigur. All wearing expressions like, "Mage Ian's gotta have something up his sleeve!"
"Makes sense. Guy's got weird tricks. Heard he moved a boulder with just words?"
"Heh. Magic."
"Fascinating stuff."
Ian was the one casting it, so why was Belenca beaming with pride?
"Exactly. If Takarion's there, getting him out's a breeze," Kira chimed in.
Ian had no choice but to speak up. "Don't get your hopes too high. No telling how it'll play out."
He tried playing it cool, reaching to pet Oberon...
"What're you doing over there?"
Oberon was hopping around in a corner, phoenix chick in tow.
"Caw! Caw!"
Welcome to training camp, chickie! I'm Drill Instructor Oberon!
"Cheep! Cheep!"
Yes, sir! Instructor!
Voice is decent! But can those puny wing flaps satisfy Master?
I'll do my best, sir!
"..."
Ian was instantly dumbfounded. A raven training a phoenix? More than that—where'd it pick up words like "drill instructor"? Lived near a mercenary camp or something?
This instructor can turn you into an angel or demon, depending on how you act...
"Hey. Oberon."
Yes, Master! You called~?
Oberon zipped over, angelic in an instant. Clearly, it could flip between angel and demon based on who it faced—cunning as any raven.
"What're you doing to the phoenix?"
Making a proper bird out of it!
"You're turning a damn bird into a person for what?"
Ian was baffled again. No one asked for this. The phoenix didn't need training—it was more spirit than creature. Still flesh now, but upon death and rebirth, it'd join the mysteries fully. Then it'd chat properly with Ian. No issue just leaving it be.
"It's still a baby. Give it a break..."
Ian held back from telling Oberon to quit screwing around and just sleep. It was a familiar that followed him willingly, after all—no need to snap over weirdness.
But the phoenix piped up.
"Cheep! Cheep!"
No way! I can do it!
"...?"
I wanna grow big and help Mom and Dad! Gotta get strong fast to repay them!
Oberon teared up dramatically.
Chickie... you little...! You're a real man!
Eh? I don't have a gender...
No! You're a man! I see that burning soul of yours!
Oberon spread its black wings, hugging the chick.
Chickie!
Instructor!
"..."
What the hell. Ian knew Oberon was weird, but he didn't realize it enjoyed this crap. Good thing the others couldn't hear—their verdict would've been, "Fits the raven Ian raised!" Fair, though. Both were oddballs.
"What's that one doing?"
"Ian? Talking to Oberon, looks like."
"What?! Talking to a bird? Possible?"
Sigur gawked at Ian's odd behavior. First soup from stones, now bird chats? Were all mages this quirky?
Belenca declared confidently, "Probably finished scouting and reporting anomalies to Ian."
"Ooh... scouting!"
"Ian uses birds to gather intel around us." Strategic, she added.
As the one who'd stuck with Ian longest, Belenca's explanation convinced Kira and Sigur. Ah, tactical briefing!
Go! Chickie! Wing flaps—100 times!
Yes! Here goes!
Flap flap~
Ian alternated glances between the birds and companions, chuckling dryly.
...Good thing they weren't mages.
'Bad vibes. Real bad...!'
Pai, the Red Bear Tribe's shaman, trembled at the cards on the table. As the tribe's sole shaman, he bore the duty of representing them before gods and mysteries.
Lately, a massive northern event had shaken things: the Great Hunt Festival's failure. Chieftains were on edge, but shamans were in full panic too.
Historically, northern shamans advised chieftains—readers of nature's flow and divine will, indispensable in the harsh north.
Before the Great Hunt, shamans always divined the future. Results varied, but they parroted the same line like parrots: "Of course! It'll go great! Perfectly~!"
Positive or negative omens alike, the Hunt rarely failed outright. No shaman dared jinx it with "Disaster looms!"—who'd skip the Hunt over that? "Be cautious this year~" at worst.
Pai hadn't worried much about his own negative pre-Hunt omen. But that omen wasn't ordinary—the Hunt had collapsed spectacularly!
Chieftains frothed, grilling shamans: "You foresee the future—why miss this?!"
Shamans had no defense. Divination's point was forewarning fortune or doom—useless if it failed.
The Red Bear Tribe's mood was especially vicious. With their chieftain ailing already? A shaman blind to coming woes?
"That guy's a fraud..."
"Ditch the shaman?"
Pai knew his life hung by a thread. One more slip, and exile—northern death sentence.
'Please... please...!'
Pai nearly lost it staring at the cards. His tool: the Arcana Cards, northern divination deck said to be painted by god Hrun Dal with mystic pigments. Twenty-two known cards, peering into fate.
On the table: [Tower], [Devil], [Death].
[Tower]
[Devil]
[Death]
Pai reeled because these foretold the chieftain's health! The old man lay bedridden, strength fading. Filial sons dispatched elite warriors for medicine—including Berserker Bjorn, who fetched an "efficacious human heart" from the Empire. Freshly kidnapped for potency.
Just brew the elixir and feed it now... But spooked by the Hunt fiasco, Pai divined again before brewing. If the chieftain worsened from bad omens, Pai's head was next.
The results? Disaster.
'What?! What's gone wrong?!'
[Tower] meant something amiss. [Devil], unhealthy obsession. [Death], inevitable change.
[Tower] gnawed most at Pai. Did it predict his brewing failure?
Mysteries are vague by nature—unclear dialogue defines them. True masters—Occultists—read and grasp them surely.
Pai agonized. Mysteries signaled humans; talent lay in interpretation.
"Pai. Time to start."
Chieftain's eldest, Ragnar, approached. Pai had to gut the sacrifice for the elixir—shamans handled mystic brews.
"Wait... just a bit longer."
"More waiting?"
Ragnar scowled. Over a week already—still?
'Bad vibes... find the source!'
Brew now, and something would go wrong. Shaman's instinct.
"Pai."
"I said wait!"
They glared.
'Hunt-fail-blind fraud...!'
'Clueless brute...!'
Awkward tension... then a voice.
"Ragnar! Guests!"
"Guests?"
"Sigur! Ice Claw Tribe warrior!"
"Brought Empire folk too?"
'Empire folk!'
Pai's eyes widened. The bad vibes' source! Ice god's warning decoded!
"Ragnar! Chase them off!"
"The guests?"
"They'll ruin everything! Stop the elixir!"
Ragnar inwardly cursed Pai the fraud. But this time, the shaman nailed it.
Mage Ian had come precisely to halt that elixir.