Chapter 397
Chapter 397
-----------------------------------------------------------------
>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 397
>Chapter Title: Hey, You! Just Because You're Strong!
>-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yurbuke reined in his horse and narrowed his eyes. His gaze naturally fell upon Aster.
“How...”
Jorte was the undisputed strongest warrior of the Great Plains. A great warrior with no equal aside from Oukan.
Sure, if you scoured the other tribes thoroughly, you might find one or two more great warriors on par with Kariman who were hiding their strength. But even so, it didn’t diminish Jorte’s own prowess.
Yet this Magic Tower Master had sensed Jorte’s presence before Jorte even entered his field of vision.
So, what did that make this man...?
“Get your head straight.”
“...”
Yurbuke snapped out of his thoughts at Aster’s voice. His gaze shifted back to Jorte in the distance. Right now, what mattered wasn’t the Magic Tower Master’s level—it was Jorte.
“Why is Jorte here...?”
He might be Oukan’s great warrior, but he didn’t always stick by Oukan’s side.
Oukan was strong enough not to need bodyguards, and like most Drimans, he enjoyed traveling with only attendants to flaunt his power, eschewing escorts altogether.
So it wasn’t strange for Jorte to be wandering alone away from Oukan. What was strange was...
“Why is he out here on the plains alone?”
On reconnaissance? No, even that didn’t make sense.
His mind still in disarray, Yurbuke watched as Jorte blew a flute in the distance to summon the scouts, then kicked off across the earth.
As expected of a Kariman-level warrior.
His movements were like the wind.
Moments later, Jorte closed the distance and narrowed his eyes at the sight of Yurbuke.
“...Pushk Driman.”
“Long time no see.”
The two locked eyes in silence for a moment. Yurbuke didn’t dismount.
No matter how imposing Jorte’s presence, Yurbuke was a Driman leading his own tribe, and Drimans never lowered themselves to anyone who wasn’t a Driman.
...Even if that someone was a Kariman-level great warrior.
In the end, Jorte broke the silence first.
“...I’m sure I ordered you to hold the front lines.”
“You say it like it was your command alone. ‘Dogs follow their master’s prestige,’ the Great Sorcerer said, and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Hmph.”
Jorte let out an irritated grunt. But he showed no further reaction. Instead, his gaze shifted to Aster.
“And who’s this? Did Pushk have a young warrior like him?”
Aster flashed a bright smile at Jorte’s look. His mouth opened right after.
“Driman.”
“Speak...”
Matching Aster’s disguised identity as a young warrior, Yurbuke shifted to a rougher tone and narrowed his eyes. With no idea why Jorte was out here, his nerves were on edge.
Amid all that, Aster grinned innocently and tossed out a question.
“Does Gear Driman have punks like this under him?”
“...”
“I’m too young to know, but can a great warrior under Gear Driman strut around like that in front of a Driman and spout nonsense with his head held high?”
Yurbuke’s eyelids twitched faintly at Aster’s question, having gleaned from the prior exchange and Jorte’s aura that he was a great warrior under Oukan.
“What the...”
Jorte was a Kariman-level great warrior. And one of Oukan’s most favored lieutenants, at that.
Of course, an outsider wouldn’t know those details, but to act this way even after realizing he served Oukan?
What the hell...?
“Ha, heh, hahaha!”
As Yurbuke struggled to hide his bewilderment, Jorte burst into laughter and curled his lips in a sneer.
“Driman, the battlefield must’ve been rough on you. Poor thing—the young warrior’s lost his mind. Even the fearless Pushk couldn’t do a thing about it?”
Yurbuke frowned. It was blatant mockery. No matter that the man was a Kariman-level great warrior, this was an insult he couldn’t swallow.
“Great Warrior Jorte, what did you just...?”
Yurbuke’s nostrils flared as he stepped forward, but Aster beat him to it with a scoff.
“Ha, you’re laughing?”
“What else should I do? Listen here, great warrior. Who do you think you’re talking to like that? Is our Driman your buddy? Or do you think you’re a Driman yourself?”
“...”
“Look at those eyes. Gonna kill someone, huh? Yeah, go ahead and try. What, you think staring me down will drop me dead? Running around without knowing your place... Tsk.”
Jorte’s lips twitched as if to retort, but he clamped them shut. He wasn’t annoyed.
Just... a bit—no, very—flustered.
But when the young warrior spoke again, the fluster turned to rage.
“‘Dogs follow their master’s prestige’... Our Driman nailed it. Didn’t he? Spot on.”
“Hah, haha, hahahaha...”
His fury peaked, erupting in laughter. His vision swam with rage. Yet even then, Jorte kept his composure.
“Driman, what’s your game?”
No way a sane young warrior would pull this. It had to be Pushk Driman’s doing. Jorte eyed Yurbuke accordingly.
Yurbuke narrowed his eyes at the look. Shhrrk, shhk... A low frictional whisper in his ears. Something invisible encircled the Magic Tower Master and him. And at the same time...
Tzzzt, tzzzzzt.
A chilling killing intent that squeezed his throat.
“Why so quiet? They say Pushk Driman is the bravest of all—another lie? Where’s that courage you showed defying Gear Driman?”
Terror flooded Yurbuke, urging him to bolt. This was the power of a Kariman-level great warrior.
It was an overwhelming violence even a Driman like Yurbuke couldn’t resist.
But Yurbuke steeled himself with superhuman willpower. He couldn’t shake the fear, but he mustered the courage to face it.
Of course, to Jorte, it just looked pathetic.
“...Pathetic.”
“...”
As Yurbuke shuddered in humiliation, Jorte turned back to the young warrior.
“You tell me. What did your idiot Driman order you to do? Speak, and I’ll spare your life.”
“Th-that...”
The young warrior stumbled back. So terrified, he tripped on a rock after a few steps and plopped down.
“Pushk’s Drimans and warriors are equally pathetic. No idea why Oukan keeps trash like this close... Tsk. Young warrior, cat got your tongue? Come on, say it. What did your idiot Driman tell you?”
Jorte approached and squatted down. The young warrior mumbled with his head bowed.
“...Do it.”
“What?”
“...He said.”
“...?”
Jorte leaned in closer at the muffled words. Their faces drew near.
“Speak louder.”
“Th-that...”
Trembling, terrified eyes.
“Speak up!”
Jorte pressed, and the young warrior’s face went pale. Not just his face—his shock was so great that even his hair color...
“...?”
Changed? That’s when the young warrior’s mouth opened.
“...He said don’t play around.”
Don’t play around?
“With the sucker...”
Sucker?
Jorte tilted his head, and the young warrior smiled. At the same time, chills raced down Jorte’s spine.
“With the sucker, don’t play around, he said, you fucking asshole.”
“What the...!”
Jorte recoiled in shock. At the same instant, the spirit encircling them shhrrked and gaped its massive jaws. A gigantic serpent.
But.
“Too late, asshole.”
A scorching heat and explosion rang out.
Roooar—crack, craaack—!
Blue flames bloomed in the air, azure sparks bursting outward.
It looked as if fire and lightning had struck together. Yurbuke blinked in astonishment. It had happened without warning.
But the real shock was...
“...Gaaah, graaaah!”
Jorte, battered and screaming amid the flames.
“What...?”
Yurbuke stared blankly before instinctively glancing at Aster. Aster had dropped his disguise, veins bulging in his neck as he berated Jorte in a furious voice.
“Hey, you! Just because you’re strong! Huh?! You think you can treat your superiors like that?! Huh?! You disrespectful punk!”
“...”
“Revenge begets revenge, life is an egg, and death is... death is... Whatever! You’re in the wrong! Anything that happens from now on is your own damn fault—don’t cry about it!”
“I’ll... kill you...”
Even wreathed in flames, Jorte’s killing intent flared. But Aster wasn’t one to let that slide.
“Where do you think you’re going!”
Bam!
Aster kicked off the ground and slammed his foot into Jorte’s head with all his might. And then...
“...Guh.”
Jorte let out a final gasp and blacked out. The flames died down right after.
“Big talk from a nobody.”
Yurbuke silently watched Aster dust off his hands. It was utterly surreal. Jorte... a Kariman-level great warrior, taken down so easily.
“What’re you staring at?”
“...Nothing.”
“We’re outdoors here. Right? Oh, by the way...”
Aster spread his senses wide, tracking the approaching presences.
“What about the scouts?”
Only then did Yurbuke remember Jorte had summoned them with the flute. What about them?
He glanced at Aster, then turned forward and closed his eyes. A brief deep breath.
When he opened them again.
“Better to take care of them.”
His eyes no longer wavered.
* * *
After capturing the incoming scouts as well, Aster left them there with the unconscious Jorte and hurried on.
He took one of their horses, releasing the rest in the opposite direction from camp.
“But...”
“What is it, Driman?”
“...”
Yurbuke shot Aster a sidelong glance before looking ahead again. His lips twitched.
“...Madman.”
The Magic Tower Master was a madman. No other explanation fit.
But even more astonishing than that mad mind was the cunning scheme that had lulled Jorte into dropping his guard and subdued him in an instant.
Amazing was amazing, but now he couldn’t hold back the question.
“What exactly are you planning?”
“What do you mean, Driman?”
The innocent, boyish response made Yurbuke’s stomach churn, but he suppressed the nausea with heroic patience and spoke.
“Do you know what kind of man Jorte is?”
“Do I need to?”
“...He’s Oukan’s great warrior. Might’ve been better to kill him back there. But why...?”
The Magic Tower Master hadn’t just spared the unconscious Jorte—he’d even healed him. Such astonishing magic that he looked fully recovered on the outside.
That was exactly what worried Yurbuke.
Even bound, what if Jorte woke up and came after them?
“Yongyong will handle it.”
“Yong...yong?”
“Yeah, Yongyong. And why kill innocent people? Keep ’em alive, and who knows what help they might give... Not hostages, I mean.”
Yurbuke flicked his eyes to Aster at “hostages,” then looked ahead. It wasn’t long before he spoke again.
“Be careful.”
“Of what?”
“Oukan.”
“...Oukan?”
“Oukan... is a Kariman-level warrior like Jorte, but no normal logic applies to him. Even you... against Oukan...”
“Hmm.”
“...”
Yurbuke shut his mouth mid-sentence at Aster’s grunt, assuming he’d bruised his pride.
But Aster hadn’t grunted out of pride.
He was pondering Yurbuke’s warning deeply.
“...Fair point.”
That Jorte guy earlier wasn’t a pushover. If he hadn’t let his guard down, victory wasn’t guaranteed.
“Not that I think I’d lose...”
Still, it would’ve been a tough fight.
The spirits and energies wielded by these plains warriors were that unfamiliar, and in a way, Jorte going down so easily fit the same pattern.
“But...”
If even Jorte was like this, what about Oukan?
Probably not so simple.
“Best to avoid clashing with Oukan and slip away...”
Guess we’ll see when we get there.
As he mulled it over.
“We’ve arrived.”
“This is it, Driman?”
“Y-Yes...”
As Yurbuke fought down revulsion, Aster’s eyes sparkled at the distant sight.
...Oukan’s camp lay ahead.
Aster glanced up at the sky.
“Somehow, feels like the moon’ll be bright tonight, Driman!”
Yurbuke squeezed his eyes shut.
“...Crazy bastard.”