"You're Back." "Yeah... It Was Tough."
"You're back."
"Yeah... it was really tough."
Ian gazed at the Red Bear Tribe village with eyes misty with melancholy.
A short while ago.
While fleeing from Grendel's pursuit on Spirit Mountain, Ian ran into a patrol of northerners.
"What? Who are you people?"
"Can't you see? He's a person!"
Ian's grumpiness level had somehow maxed out. Meaning he looked every bit the cantankerous wizard to anyone who saw him.
As Ian unleashed his grumpiness in a shout, the northerners jumped in surprise.
Whoa! He's nuts!
Unlike in the Empire, the northern barbarians had no tales of grumpy wizards. To them, a grumpy person just looked like a lunatic.
"I don't know who you are, but you've got a filthy mouth. If you don't show some manners right now..."
"Guys! It's urgent! Lend me a hand, please!"
"...A shaman?"
Before long, the northerners grasped the situation (by force).
A furious pack of Grendels was chasing after Ian!
"Those are the Mountain King's minions, aren't they?"
"What the hell did you do up on Spirit Mountain..."
The Grendels bared their teeth and claws.
Ptooey.
That was as far as the northerners' words went. Mouth time was over. Now it was time for flesh and steel to converse.
"Hrundal!!!"
"To the Ice Palace!!!"
The northerners spat thick globs of saliva into their palms and one by one gripped their weapons. Axes and clubs—simple arms that were easy to make.
But easy to make didn't mean weak. Engineering had a golden proverb: simple is best. Once it worked, no need for fancy parts!
A crude club wrapped with an iron band at the tip was no problem if it could crack an enemy's skull.
"Kyaaak!"
The northerners let out savage war cries as they charged the Grendels. The patrol smashed the Grendels' ugly mugs with their clubs.
Ian was so moved by the sight that he nearly wiped away tears.
These guys... they fight damn well!
Fortunately, there weren't many Grendels left. Ian had already driven most away with forbidden mysteries, leaving only the scraps—the fragmented remnants—to chase him.
The pristine white snowfield was soaked red. Fresh, hot blood steamed faintly as it seeped in.
The heat of battle lingered, but Paira, the patrol captain, grabbed Ian and said,
"We spotted the yagon!"
"What? Where! Where are they?!"
Ian tossed out a line.
"Probably in Hrundal's Ice Palace?"
"..."
The classy northern version of "he's toast." In refined Korean, it'd be like "they went to America."
Hearing that the yagon had all gone to Hrundal's Ice Palace, the patrol captain looked utterly defeated as he muttered,
"No way... but why?"
"Beats me. But I saw it with my own two eyes. The Mountain King killed the shamans and tried to hide the yagon corpses."
"..."
"This is an emergency. We need to tell everyone!"
The patrols immediately headed back to their tribes. Spirit Mountain was a sacred place, so elite warriors from each tribe formed the patrols.
Ian returned to the tribe with the Red Bear patrol. The chieftain was in a good mood, having just received the filial piety gift from his son (or Ian).
So when Paira explained what happened on Spirit Mountain, he didn't order, "Smash that babbler's head."
"It's hard to believe."
The chieftain eyed Ian with the lifeless gaze typical of the elderly and said,
"What does the Mountain King gain from massacring yagon... I'd understand if he captured them to bolster his Grendel army..."
If this were the Empire, Ian would've replied, I dunno?
Ian had only reported what he'd seen and felt. To uncover the full story, a deeper investigation was needed.
"We need a tribal council, Chieftain."
Paira boldly claimed the floor. As the tribe's shaman, he had that right. Though his track record of screw-ups weakened his credibility.
"...If we really found the yagon, it's a big deal."
The chieftain muttered. If the Red Bear chieftain thought so, the other chieftains likely did too.
"Ragnar."
"Yes, Father."
"Propose a chieftains' council."
Ragnar nodded immediately.
"Yes. I'll do that."
The chieftains' thoughts were all much the same.
Upon hearing the patrols' reports, they all wanted to start the council right away. As a result, the chieftains gathered in the blink of an eye.
On the shallow snowfield, every chieftain of the Okaha Tribe Federation assembled.
The north's governance was surprisingly democratic. At the highest seat sat the great chieftain, a rotating position among the tribal chieftains. Not a king with absolute power, but more like a neighborhood rep or class president—a representative for all.
They only held tribal councils when common issues arose for the federation, like now.
What? Centralization? Bow to a king? Why should I? Savages didn't know such "civilized" ways. We're equal! Everyone gets one fair vote! That's the barbarian way (nod).
Incidentally, the Holy Empire's roots lay with these northern barbarians. The Empire's political system matching this tribal structure wasn't mere coincidence.
"Ian."
"Doing well? Helga."
Helga of the Sky Talon Tribe had come to the council site too. It was set at the federation's center for easy access—no chieftain too far to come.
Truly uncivilized savages, oblivious to the efficiency of hosting in the most populous tribe! In Korea, it'd be Seoul 99% of the time.
"I heard the story. The Mountain King messing with yagon... this is no small thing."
Helga poured out her worries the moment she arrived. And rightly so—Ian knew well how much the northerners fretted over food shortages.
"Great Chieftain! Start the council now!"
Ragnar, acting chieftain of the Red Bears, shouted. The other chieftains stomped in agreement.
But the great chieftain shook his head.
"Not yet. The guests haven't all arrived."
This great chieftain was from the Blue Axe Tribe, a striking man with a wolf pelt draped over his head.
"Ha! Has that birdbrain frozen solid? I counted—we're all here! Did our great chieftain forget how to count?"
"Hahaha!"
Ragnar snarked. Could you talk to the great chieftain like that? Yes, you could. The north's great chieftain was basically a group project leader.
"...They're here."
The great chieftain said, staring into the distance.
Beyond the white snowfield, leather banners appeared.
Ragnar—and even Helga—gaped in shock.
"Great Chieftain! Those are...!"
"Isn't that the Sgunu bastards?!"
The ones appearing at the Okaha federation's council were none other than the Sgunu Tribe Federation.
"Weapons! Bring my weapons!"
"Great Chieftain! What's going on?!"
Weaker-hearted chieftains panicked and raised their voices. But Ian quickly pieced it together.
"This isn't just a tribal council."
Helga nodded gravely.
"Right... it's a north-south federation council."
The Sgunu suffered food woes too. And they'd even had their shaman murdered by the Mountain King. Pissed off to the max? 100%.
"Long time no see. Wolfhead."
"Been well?"
The Sgunu had sent only their great chieftain and a few key chieftains. Even so, tension filled the air.
The Sgunu were the Okaha's clear "enemies," clashing violently whenever they met.
"Hm. Seems my visit isn't welcome."
The Sgunu great chieftain smirked as he scanned the council.
"Don't shake in your boots! I'm not here to lop off your heads! Haha!"
"What the hell's that bastard blabbing?!"
"Hey! Grab axes and head out!"
Curses flew from all sides, but the Sgunu great chieftain stayed cool. The guy had nerves of steel.
"Quiet!"
The Okaha great chieftain bellowed. Even if they treated the great chieftain like a dick in private, no one was dumb enough to trash their team leader in front of the enemy.
"The Great Hunt Festival's failure affects north and south alike."
"..."
"Shaman Paira. Report what happened on Spirit Mountain."
Paira recounted the events once more. Shamans slaughtered by Grendels. The Grendels that attacked Ian's group. And the frozen mound of massive yagon corpses they stumbled upon.
"Is that true?"
The Sgunu great chieftain interjected. His tone screamed disbelief.
"There's a limit to tall tales. Say the Mountain King attacked shamans—fine. But massacring yagon?"
The Mountain King was a herbivore. No reason to slaughter beasts he wouldn't eat. He'd always been gentle and wise, maintaining good relations with humans. Suddenly going war-hungry? Like he'd awakened as Kim-Hitler or something?
"It's not about belief, Great Chieftain. I only spoke what I saw."
"Hmph. Some mushroom-munching shaman 'saw' it..."
Ian couldn't hold back at the Sgunu great chieftain's jab.
"If you don't believe the report, why'd you come here?"
"What? Who're you?"
"One who went to Spirit Mountain with them."
The Sgunu great chieftain had already heard Ian was an Empire wizard.
"Some greenhorn who knows nothing about the north, strutting after one trip to Spirit Mountain?"
Ian shrugged and pulled out his Arcana deck.
"Whoops. Slippery hands."
"..."
"Almost dropped this precious gift from Hrundal~"
A few chieftains burst out laughing. The Sgunu great chieftain's face twisted.
"You punk! Think holding a shaman's trinket makes you a shaman?!"
Ian met the Sgunu great chieftain's eyes squarely.
"Of course. Hrundal granted me a mystery, and I can wield it. If that's not a shaman, what is?"
"..."
"Compared to the other shamans here, my skills are meager. But you won't even count a novice shaman as one?"
As Ian raised his voice, the guest shamans nodded. If Hrundal gifted the Arcana cards and you denied it, you'd be denying shamanhood itself. God approved—what could man do?
Riding the momentum, Ian pressed on.
"If I may boldly say, the answer's already clear."
"What?"
"Suspicious things happened in the Mountain King's territory, and he refused dialogue. So what now? We go ask him ourselves!"
That's right. Ian boldly proposed dialogue (physical). Confronting the Mountain King directly would surely yield answers.