Chapter 138
Chapter 138
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Hatan's Victory
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Led by Brontes, the Cyclopes had been guarding the triangular zone of the Cerulean Heavens with airtight vigilance—the very place where Hatan and One-Eye's wyvern had been drawn in.
Even up to the moment the final wyvern came crashing down to the earth.
Boom!
"Brontes, you can stop standing guard now and come on out, right?"
"Hmm. Hatan still hasn't emerged. Didn't you tell me not to allow even the slightest impact?"
"Well, true... but it feels like it's about to shatter on its own any second."
Others might not know, but I could sense it.
The Heterogenous Power. The Cerulean Heavens formation unfurled by its array.
The feeling that its energy was depleting was growing ever stronger.
Crack! Boom!
From behind Brontes came the sound of something shattering, followed by a thunderous roar.
That noise alone told me the outcome of the battle raging inside the formation.
'As expected. You won, Hatan.'
If One-Eye's wyvern had survived, there'd be no reason for such a deafening crash.
No, that was the sound of its corpse slamming into the ground.
Any moment now, Hatan would come snorting out with a...
"Kiiing, kiiing."
"Huh?"
Instead of Hatan's familiar snort, what reached my ears was a pitiful whine, like a puppy desperate to do its business.
I wasn't the only one thrown off by the strange noise—Brontes turned toward it as well.
There, drenched in blood and collapsed on the ground, was Hatan. A dire wolf had his nape in its jaws and was straining desperately to drag him free.
"What the hell? What happened?"
Saladin staggered over, his clothes reduced to rags from fleeing every which way with his tail tucked firmly between his legs.
"...Call Lady Aria. Right now."
"Huh? Why all of a sudden..."
Pop!
I had no time to answer Saladin's question.
I uncorked an emergency potion as I rushed to Hatan's side.
"Sn...ort..."
Hatan forced his eyes open.
"Hatan! You idiot, Hatan! Pull yourself together!!"
A closer look revealed his entire body shriveled from burns, with nothing left of his left eye but an empty socket.
I didn't need to guess. Battling the wyvern chieftain couldn't have been a gentle tussle.
"Sn...ort... Je...rome. I... did it."
With those words, Hatan lost consciousness.
In the haze of his fading awareness, faint voices drifted into Hatan's ears.
-Pour every potion we've got on him!
-Here, this one!
-You lunatic, that's a Holy Empire potion! You trying to finish Hatan off?!
-Heal!
How long those voices echoed on, he couldn't say.
"Sn...ort..."
Hatan struggled to open his eyes, and there before him was the human woman, Aria—the one who'd played bait alongside him.
"Oh?! Hatan, you're awake?!"
"Sn...ort. Where... is..."
Aria didn't even wait for his answer before bolting outside.
Hatan's gaze took in the tidy wooden structure.
A simple yet solidly built home, pieced together with expert care.
Identical to the endless procession of buildings he'd grown sick of seeing on the climb up the Abyss Cliffs from the lowlands.
'Snort... Got it. A Cyclops cabin.'
Bang!
Aria had barely stepped out when Jerome burst into the room.
"Hatan, you with us?"
"Snort... Jerome..."
"You brute. What the hell did you do fighting that wyvern to come back like this? You nearly died, you know."
Hatan barely reacted to my scolding.
"We managed to patch up the burns somehow, but that eye... no way to fix it."
"Snoort. Doesn't matter... More importantly, the bastard... dead?"
His eye bound in cloth, Hatan had to feel the void in his vision, yet he paid it no mind.
"...Dead. The other wyverns are already being broken down by the Cyclopes. Just like you wanted, One-Eye's is completely untouched."
In a situation where meddling could spark all-out war with the orcs, who'd be dumb enough to touch it?
"You've been out for three days straight. Pull yourself together by tomorrow—we're heading out soon."
I knew Hatan's circumstances well enough, but the Cyclopes and I had mountains of work ourselves.
A full day later, around noon, Hatan finally shook off his daze and rose.
"Snoort, apologies. Caused you trouble."
Now one-eyed like the wyvern he'd slain, Hatan bowed his head with dignified grace.
Orc or not, the poise befitted a king.
'He's fully transcended mere 'rank' now.'
"Forget it. That was the deal anyway."
The long investment had paid off. Time to settle up according to our goals.
I turned first to Brontes.
"Brontes, you've secured all the wyvern corpses and the Cyclopes, right?"
"Hmm, yes. The wyverns were so massive, more than enough for our tribe to work with."
Brontes spoke with evident satisfaction.
Cyclopes were warriors, but also craftsmen rivaling dwarves in renown.
Unlike dwarves, though, scarce materials forced them into subpar gear despite their skill.
The haul of wyvern hides would more than slake that thirst.
'Naturally, Argus's standing—who chose truce with the orcs—will rise.'
The higher Argus climbed through ties with us, the smoother links with the Cyclopes would become.
Which meant it was time to press a step further.
"Brontes, in two years, I'll have carved out a foothold in human territory."
"Hmm?"
"And secured a generous supply of iron ore. How about we make it official this time?"
The Philador methods and iron ore pledged to Marquis Midas of the Nile.
Divert a hefty share of that ore back to them for forging weapons, and we'd generate extra value.
"...So, steady iron ore shipments?"
Brontes's single eye gleamed.
'No way he'd turn that down.'
This was a win for the Cyclopes too.
"Naturally. And anything else you need to keep the humans below the mountains in check—name it. In exchange, share some of your crafted arms with us. Sound good?"
"...You make it impossible to refuse. Deal."
'Perfect. Cyclopes locked in.'
With Argus and Brontes feeding their crafting hunger indefinitely, their positions were ironclad.
"Hatan, how about weapons blending wyvern hide and iron ore? Split 'em half and half?"
"Snort, works for us. But we're pushing north as planned. Sooner the better."
I slowly shook my head at Hatan's words.
"No. Orcs should build strength for now. Breaking north is suicide."
"Snoort! What're you saying?"
His face hardened, taking it as an insult to his warrior kin.
"Don't take it wrong, Hatan. Not dismissing you."
How could I undervalue such a key piece as the orcs?
"Just saying we take it for certain victory. Like the Cyclopes said, the humans guarding the north are off the charts. You saw my father—you get it."
"...Snort!"
He clicked his tongue, recalling the duel between my father Bacchus and Minerva.
No forgetting that fight. He'd know he still fell short.
"So take the Cyclopes' weapons and hone your forces into elites. You can do it."
"...Snort, Jerome. You confident?"
"Hmm?"
Hatan's tone carried an odd edge.
"Snort! Two years from now at the Makgora, if I win... that pact of ours vanishes. No need to head north then."
Two years back, before departing for Olivia, I'd set a Makgora with Hatan.
Lose, and the ban—"no eating humans south of the Dragon Mountains"—lifts.
No drive to push north after that.
"Ah, no worries. I'll win."
"...Snoort! Fun."
Did my(? ) taunt backfire? Hostile aura flared from Hatan.
"...Won't dance to your tune this time. Snort!"
With Hatan on board, only the lycanthropes remained.
"Baukalrak, good work. Tell Chief Lugal back at the village—I'll send folks soon to kick off trade."
"Growl, got it. Will do."
I grabbed the nape of Baukalrak, who looked ready to bolt like a whipped dog.
"Oh, and don't forget migration prep. Sub-dragons are still rampant."
Two promises to the lycanthropes.
Trade, plus ceding the northwest mountains as their turf post-wyvern purge.
"...Growl, gotta do that?"
Baukalrak widened his eyes in maximum pity-play.
"Yep. You've got your own jobs."
It fell flat.
"Growl!! Damn it!!"
Something inescapably familiar about his wail.
'Now I see it.'
This guy's got the same stench as Saladin.
With all the cleanup done, a lone massive wyvern corpse lay before the cabin.
Hatan stood vigil long before it, then at last raised his axe slow.
"...Snort!"
Slash! Slash!
Hatan set to butchering the wyvern.
Skin stripped, flesh and muscle diced neat.
Raw as it was—barbaric, even—Hatan's expression, noble as a warrior saint, washed away the savagery.
Dismantling complete.
Orcs laid the wyvern's eye and flesh upon their prepared altar.
Hatan gazed mutely at the sky a spell, then signaled a great-village chief to light it.
Roar!
Flames slowly devoured the altar and remains.
So enormous, full burn took ages, but Hatan never budged.
As embers died to ash alone, he turned away without regret.
"...Snort!"
Hatan said nothing more. Nor did we, as we quietly began our departure prep.
Words here would just be empty chatter.
Hatan's soul rite marked our exit from the sub-dragons' domain—from Death Valley.
Cyclopes carted hides back to Gaia.
Orcs moved to solidify the unconquered central regions.
Lycanthropes returned home to prep northwest migration.
And we—tied to it all—faced the heaviest load.
Trade setups with Cyclopes and lycanthropes.
Makgora training with Hatan.
'Two bodies wouldn't cut it.'
Aria and Set's aid wasn't free, either.
Aria got the wing scales post-hide processing.
Then with Set, off to rescue Ishvar—one of Osiris Kingdom's Great Three Sages.
"Aigoo, you tough old goat. Not a single peaceful day."
Saladin grumbled, kneading his shoulder.
"Lotsa talk from a guy who just ran."
"Hey? That's crossing the line! Without me, that Beast Sword would've ended you ages ago! Know that?!"
'If not for that, I wouldn't have run from the wyverns like a coward!' Saladin groused.
'Fair point, gotta admit.'
"Once home, I'll supercharge Mimi and Nene for you. Satisfied?"
"Kuhhh! Thank you, boss! Grateful and all... but you sure about that Makgora with Hatan?"
Mid-clowning, Saladin straightened up.
"Hatan's closing the gap on you, from what I saw. Two years is long... and you're swamped. You good?"
Foolish at times, but Saladin had been Stigma Mercenary Corps vice-captain in his past life.
With ventures this grand, even he could guess.
I wasn't just playing house heir.
'Scale's gotten huge, yeah.'
He held back from prying, waiting for me to spill someday.
Perverted idiot, but deep down...
"...You look like you're thinking something hurtful."
"Just your imagination. Relax—I've got plans."
I brushed off his doubt and drew out the item I'd kept hidden in my bosom.