126: Northern Warriors Besiege the Mountain King's Palace
The northern warriors had the Mountain King's palace surrounded. It was certain the Mountain King was holed up inside. But even with armed thugs storming right up to his doorstep, the Mountain King hadn't shown his face. At this point, it was starting to feel downright stubborn. Could it be the Mountain King was some reincarnated modern guy who'd picked the dogshit option between apologizing or offing himself? Nah.
Fuck that! The Mountain King had his pride! Better to die than say sorry to a human... No way he was pulling that dramatic bullshit.
"Ian."
"How'd it go?"
A little while back. After the Mountain King's palace was encircled, the shamans insisted on meeting him first. The great chieftains happily agreed. Diplomacy with the Mountain King had always been the shamans' domain anyway. Besides, the guy was a beast. No point in the chieftains yapping at him—they wouldn't even speak the same language.
So the advance team of shamans headed into the palace first. Ian, being a foreigner, got stuck in the follow-up group. He was waiting for entry when...
"...Unbelievable. The Mountain King attacked the shamans."
"??? Why's that unbelievable?"
Ian couldn't fathom Pyra's confusion. They'd been brawling nonstop so far—why wouldn't the Mountain King slaughter some shamans?
"Because it's all over! What's he gain from resisting now?"
But Pyra had a point. The Mountain King and the northerners weren't blood enemies or anything. No way he'd drag every last one of them down to hell with him. Sure, they'd come in armed, but the northerners respected the Mountain King too. Everyone had figured on some civilized back-and-forth...
Instead, the Mountain King straight-up murdered the shamans who'd come to parley. The message was crystal clear: either he'd tied a red headband on and gone full last-stand mode, or he was just plain batshit crazy.
Pyra was openly leaning toward the latter.
"The Mountain King's lost it, no doubt."
A flicker of subtle anger passed between Pyra's eyes. Even on the battlefield, there were rules of etiquette. No matter how much killing went down, some lines you didn't cross. It sounded ridiculous at first glance—stakes your life on a fight, then talk about "manners"? But wars killed grunts, not nobles, peasants, or quartermasters. Not anyone with skin in the game afterward. Those who survived had to think about life post-war. That's why the rules existed.
The Mountain King had broken them, so now the pissed-off northerners would slaughter every beast on Spirit Mountain. His mess, his fault.
[Ian. I want to hear what the Mountain King has to say.]
The phoenix Winnie chirped from atop her perch.
"Is that what you want? Or what your soul wants?"
[Both. I want it too, Ian.]
"...Alright. Let's go talk to him."
[Thanks, Dad.]
Ian headed for the cave mouth to enter the Mountain King's palace. The closer he got, the clearer the northern curses became. Something about Mountain King son of a bitch, calf fucker, that sort of thing.
"Great Chieftain. I'd like to meet the Mountain King next."
"Hm?"
A glance around revealed warriors groaning in agony, sprawled everywhere. Limbs missing was the least of it—vicious wounds galore. Plenty were showing off their guts like it was a damn contest. Ian winced and looked away.
"The mage, right? Meeting the Mountain King now isn't wise."
"Yeah, looks that way."
Ian agreed, and the chieftain scowled.
"Go in now, and you might meet Hrun Dahl in the ice palace. Ah, but you worship the sky god, so off to heaven, eh?"
The chieftain put it politely. Bluntly: you might die.
"So what happens to the Mountain King?"
"Pick our best warriors and lop off his head."
Ian nodded. He'd rejected talk right up to the bitter end. Execution it was.
But first, Ian wanted a shot at chatting with him. Winnie wished it, and opportunities to talk with a "wise monster" like the Mountain King didn't come often.
Ian was a mage. Every brush with the mysteries fueled growth.
"What if I insist on seeing him?"
"Hmph. Won't stop you."
The chieftain smirked mockingly.
"Looks like you think you're above the shamans. That confident in your magic, mage?"
Translation: Don't get cocky, stay quiet, foreigner friend.
Ian got the subtext but didn't budge. He had tricks aplenty: magic for any situation, Arcana cards for Hrun Dahl's blessing. Worst case, rip a teleport scroll and bail.
"I can handle myself."
"Fine. We're prepping for battle—do what you want."
With the chieftain's blessing secured, Ian strode toward the Mountain King's palace... only to get grabbed by his companions.
"You were gonna go in alone?"
Belenca spat rare venom.
"You nuts, Ian?"
"Hey, no need for—"
"Lady Belenca's right. We're coming too."
Ian bit back the brutal truth: I'm just talking, and if shit hits the fan, I'll magic out. You're dead weight! Even if true, it'd shatter the party the second they hit the Empire. Time for some social finesse.
If his comrades insisted... Ian allowed Belenca and Kira to tag along.
Then Takarion muscled in.
"Ian! Take me too!"
"You too?"
Ian eyed him skeptically, and Takarion wailed injustice.
"Hell yeah! They get to go, I don't?!"
"Classic Takarion. You know it."
"Haha, I'm pretty sharp... Wait, that's not the point!"
Belenca was a knight. Kira half-baked but a pyromancer. Takarion? What the hell was he? RPG parties needed a cleric slot, sure. But this wasn't a game. He couldn't heal, couldn't cast divine magic. All he had was cranking out killer gospels. What good was that?
"Takarion. You know Divine Magic?"
"Divine Magic? Nah, I'm no cleric."
"Then if the Mountain King charges to smash your skull, what can you do?"
"Pray!"
"..."
Coming from a priest, it sounded annoyingly legit...
Maybe if Takarion prayed hard enough, the sky god would be moved to help?
"Ian. During the avalanche, you used magic to save me."
"..."
"Your courage and character outshine mine. I wanna go back to the Empire with you for real. I won't let you die. Hell, I'll throw my body on the line for you."
Ian gave Takarion a dubious once-over. Offering that pudgy frame? Not thrilling...
But his comrades were deeply moved. Belenca, Kira too. Pure medieval logic.
"Heh. Thought he was total trash. Guy's got some spine."
"He's got loyalty, that's for sure."
In the end, Ian greenlit Takarion. No obvious use, but... meat shield potential? (Mountain King was herbivorous, though.)
"Ian! I'm coming too!"
Finally, shaman Pyra latched on.
"Let's go, then."
Ian led his party into the Mountain King's palace.
#
The frozen cave was breathtakingly beautiful. Icicles dangling from the ceiling evoked chandeliers; fractured crevices suggested fractal snowflakes.
"Nice digs."
Belenca summed up the vibe.
Ian thought of a certain giant lizard bunking in a cave. Lucky drake Longtail, with his Ian-upgraded pad. No mortgage, no market crash worries... Enviable bastard.
Anyway. Nice house meant the Mountain King had lived well. So why slaughter yaks and feud with humans?
[More... more humans...!]
Ian caught a low, murmuring animal cry. The Mountain King's voice, no doubt.
Thud!Thud!
A massive bulk exploded from the dark. Probably the blow that mulched the shamans. No finesse in Behemoth's attacks—just bulldozing with sheer mass! Human mimicry couldn't touch that terror. Get flattened, and you'd be human paste, buddy or not!
"Belenca! Left!"
Ian yelled, scooping Kira and hurling right. Shoving Pyra aside was bonus.
"Kira! You okay?"
"...Y-yeah. Fine."
Kira mumbled shyly. Belenca and Takarion dodged too. Belenca readied for battle.
"Hold up!"
Ian bellowed to calm them.
Something's off.
Behemoth had whiffed his body slam, crashing into the wall. Ian eyed him slowly. Dim cave, but Ian's expert Umbrakinesis pierced the gloom like daylight.
Those are... wounds?
There: long, gruesome scars raking Behemoth's flank. Not normal ones—blackened, rotting, crawling with maggots.
[This is my home! Get out! Humans!]
Rooooaaarrr!
Behemoth bellowed long and thunderous. Icicles shattered from the ceiling; ice walls cracked wide.
"Ian! Mountain King's not in talking shape—run!"
Pyra shouted, then froze. Shaman Arcana couldn't chat with berserk beasts—too indirect.
But Empire magic was different. Maronius the Archmage's creation.
"[Mountain King!]"
⟨ Maronius Language ⟩
Ian shouted in Maronius tongue.
[...You. Did you just call to me?]
Behemoth responded haltingly to Ian's will. Pyra gawked at this alien magic. She'd known Ian's was weird, but it worked on the Mountain King?!
"[Yes. I called you.]"
Behemoth was stunned too. He grasped the human's will—and the human understood his! Clearer than kin-to-kin talk.
[Incredible. Truly.]
Forgotten was his rampage; Behemoth chatted entranced. Ian sighed relief. If he'd been some manticoresque evil fucker, bolt time. But no—as the shamans said, gentle, wise spirit.
Ian ignored his budding migraine and pressed on.
"[I'm a mage from across the sea.]"
First, stress he wasn't northern—no grudge. Simple reason: Mountain King's psyche screamed unstable.
"[Saw the wounds on your back. You alright?]"
[...]
Silence. Ian's grim hunch hit home. Mountain King desperately avoided his scars.
[I... I'm...]
The Mountain King mumbled.
[I'll be fine... Yeah, I'll be fine...]