Chapter 393
Chapter 393
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 393
>Chapter Title: Really, Big Brother...
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To find Shine, they had no choice but to infiltrate Oukan's home base.
And Aster's choice was this.
‘...Collusion.’
If sneaking in or charging straight ahead were off the table, then he'd accept an invitation and walk right through the front door.
Of course, it was a method fraught with danger.
‘If I get caught... it’s over.’
In the worst case, the entire duchy could go up in flames—or even if the duchy survived, the grand duchess... no, Big Brother’s head would definitely roll.
But it was fine.
‘Not that I’m okay with Big Brother’s head rolling.’
What mattered was innocence.
Think about it.
Oukan were enemies of the empire, and their insular culture toward outsiders left the empire perpetually starved for information.
So, what he was doing now was...
‘...Espionage.’
Of the empire, by the empire, for the empire.
Who could cast stones at this noble sacrifice!
But in this situation, what truly mattered was...
‘Whether this guy buys it.’
Aster quietly regarded Yurbuke, the Driman of the Pushk Tribe.
He was a muscular giant reminiscent of Hickster, the second son of the Doranpega Family, a middle-aged man whose deep, lake-blue eyes stood in stark contrast to his sun-baked, cracked skin.
His clear eyes fixed on the token for a moment before narrowing.
“The duchy... you say?”
“Yeah, the duchy. So, care to talk?”
“Talk...”
Yurbuke calmly scanned the space. His gaze halted when it reached Aster.
His mouth opened right after.
“Mind if I verify it?”
“...Verify? You mean this?”
When Aster channeled mana into the token, the duchy's emblem materialized above it. The mana patterns flowing across its surface were an unmistakable symbol of the duchy, impossible to forge.
Of course, Yurbuke, who didn’t handle mana, might not know that—but it was the best proof Aster could offer.
‘If...’
He demanded more proof than this, Aster was out of options. He’d have to turn full thug.
Thus, he watched Yurbuke in tense anticipation.
“...”
Yurbuke took in the token with sunken eyes. It wasn’t long before he spoke, and his response caught Aster completely off guard.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“...?”
“Have a seat first.”
Aster’s instincts screamed.
Something...
‘Something’s gone wrong.’
As he hesitated, Yurbuke rose and moved to the center of the tent. He added wood to the bonfire, poured oil to stoke the flames, then fetched a leather pouch of liquor and smoked meat from a corner.
“Let’s begin the Palota.”
* * *
‘Palota’ was the Maharpart nomad ritual where warring tribe Drimans gathered to share liquor and meat, airing out old grudges.
Once Palota concluded, all grudges were forgotten by law. Short of killing a parent, child, or sibling, every resentment had to be cast aside during the Palota.
That was the meaning behind Yurbuke’s proposal.
Empire and Great Plains.
Plunderers and invaders.
A clear declaration to wipe the slate clean and forge new ties—more certain than a hundred words.
Shwick—
“Here.”
Yurbuke sliced meat from a massive leg and offered it to Aster. Aster accepted it wordlessly.
“This too.”
This time, it was a bowl. Yurbuke held it out to Aster and filled it with liquor.
“Your turn.”
“...”
Yurbuke offered the leather pouch of liquor, the leg of meat, and a sharp dagger. Aster blinked, one hand holding the bowl, the other clutching the mutton.
“What’s... this...”
“Palota. Our ritual. By the laws of the plains, unless it’s the grudge of slain parents, siblings, or children, it must be purged here. Of course, you’re not one of the plainsfolk, so don’t take it too seriously. However...”
“However?”
“Just as you showed your sincerity through proof, consider this my sincerity via Palota.”
“That...”
“Why the hesitation?”
Why indeed.
Aster had never intended to collude with Oukan in the first place.
He’d promised to give them what they wanted, find Shine, and bolt.
But now?
‘He’s been... waiting?’
That’s exactly what he’d said.
What did that mean?
‘...Is Big Brother really colluding with Oukan?’
It made sense otherwise—nobody could react this smoothly unless they’d been anticipating it for ages.
‘W-What...’
It left Aster in a real bind, but for now, he set down the bowl and meat appropriately and took the items Yurbuke offered.
“Fine... here.”
“Pour for me.”
Aster filled Yurbuke’s bowl just as he had done, then offered a slice of mutton. Yurbuke accepted them and sat.
Aster sat too, picking up his bowl and meat.
There was something to clarify before any talk.
“Let’s... put Palota on hold for a bit and just talk.”
“Once we sit sharing liquor and meat, Palota has begun. Don’t overthink it. I’m the only one bound by its laws.”
“...Bound?”
“Indeed. Watch.”
No sooner had Yurbuke finished speaking than a hazy figure materialized behind him. Aster narrowed his eyes at it.
“...A bear?”
“My spirit. Not like your continentals’ spirits. In your terms... closer to a soul.”
That was why the Great Plains Maharpart nomads were hailed as peerless warriors and shamans.
Each one communed with a spirit.
It was Aster’s first time seeing one in person, but a question arose.
‘Bears on the plains...?’
Don’t bears live in mountains? Can they even survive on plains? Well, no reason they couldn’t, maybe.
As stray thoughts swirled, Yurbuke’s voice rang in his ear.
“The law is a promise. The spirit guarantees it. Should I violate Palota, I lose my spirit.”
“...Hmm.”
Aster had plenty to say but held his tongue. That wasn’t the priority now.
Where to even start.
“Feels a bit sudden, doesn’t it?”
“Sudden? Didn’t you hear everything?”
“...Ah, well.”
It was real, then.
‘Really, Big Brother...’
No huge disappointment. Just a stifling frustration, like he’d doused Big Brother’s plans.
So, what now?
Aster decided to steer the conversation back on track. Clear the misunderstanding and proceed.
“Seems there’s a bit of a mix-up between us.”
“Mix-up? Weren’t you the ones saying we could walk the same path?”
“Well...”
Yurbuke furrowed his brow in evident confusion. Aster sighed deeply under that gaze.
Yurbuke spoke right then.
“You’re... no duchy man.”
“...”
A chilling aura rippled around Yurbuke. Not mana or ether, but the unique energy of plains nomads. The bear behind him bared its maw and roared in sync.
Flickering torchlight.
Ominous tension.
Aster thought,
‘...Messy.’
How had things spiraled like this?
“Where’re you from, scum.”
“Home...”
“Want to die?”
At Yurbuke’s words, Aster squeezed his eyes shut. Now, he truly had no choice but to go full thug.
What was the problem?
‘Even the wyvern flew off.’
By the law of conserved fortune and misfortune, the disaster with Patriarch Otto should’ve been balanced by major luck by now.
Yet why...
“I’ll ask again. Where’re you fr—”
“Ugh, screw it. Whatever.”
Aster gave up thinking and unleashed his presence. Mana radiated wildly, churning the air. Yurbuke’s eyes bulged at the sheer volume.
“Wh-What...”
As Yurbuke stammered in shock, Aster downed his bowl in one gulp.
“Whew, everything I do ends up like this.”
The strong liquor snapped him awake. Come to think of it, this was his first drink in this life.
Anyway, not the point now.
“Driman.”
Driman wasn’t a name. It was a title.
“I admit there’s a misunderstanding between us. But hey, doesn’t mean we can’t talk it out? We might give each other what we want. So, let’s talk, yeah?”
Sneaking in at night, hiding his identity—who’d want to chat with that?
It defied common sense. But Aster believed he could make Yurbuke talk. His confidence stemmed from one thing.
...Power.
‘Overwhelming power.’
If power couldn’t achieve it, then reassess if his power was lacking.
Aster figured he had more than enough to steer the conversation.
The question was whether Yurbuke agreed.
“...Talk, you say.”
“Don’t wanna?”
“Not bad.”
“Right?”
Aster grinned at the reply. He handed over the leather pouch, then offered his bowl.
“Driman, pour.”
“...My name isn’t Driman.”
“I know.”
“...”
Yurbuke silently filled Aster’s bowl. Glug-glug. As the sound echoed, Aster chewed noisily on the mutton and tossed out a question.
“So, what’d the duchy talk about? What do you want? Gotta know that for smooth convo, right? Behind me? Yeah? There’s a powerhouse no slouch compared to the duchy. So, spill freely.”
Of course, Aster hadn’t planned to collude with Oukan, but anyway.
But why...
“You don’t know that either?”
“...?”
“What about Parserik?”
“Parserik? Par... Oh?”
Parserik.
He remembered.
One of the grand duchess’s twelve pacters, famed for his horse-handling. Yeah, the ‘Tamer Parserik.’
Leading a hundred horses, toying with Urbo scum—it was a sight to behold.
“But why Parserik?”
“Sigh...”
Yurbuke sighed. The reaction suggested he truly knew nothing and had come by pure chance.
The duchy token was just wild coincidence, no scheme.
Realizing that, Yurbuke relaxed. ...At least it wasn’t the worst case.
Back to the point.
“...I asked the duchy for one thing. Land for the Pushk Tribe to settle. In exchange, our warriors’ strength. Originally... I planned to use Parserik as messenger. That’s why I mentioned him.”
“Hmm...”
Land to settle? Them, born and bred on the Great Plains? Must be some story, but before prying, Aster had one thing to confirm.
What was it?
“Is that land... has to be the North?”
Yeah, this.
“...?”
“Y’know. There’s a nice spot over there with mountains and water. But does it have to be the North?”
Aster envisioned it.
The nest before the Arapurkin Mountains.
Vast plains encircling the nest.
Brave Great Plains warriors charging on horseback toward it.
‘How...’
Epic that’d be.
Aster’s eyes sparkled brighter than moonlight.