Chapter 138
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 138
A wind as sharp as a blade swept across the frost-covered earth.
Tyron frowned, feeling the tiny ice particles suspended in the air graze his cheeks. As the shimmering white haze settled, the panoramic view of the Argand Forest filled his vision once more. He gripped his horse’s reins and, from beneath the shadow of his low-slung hood, cast a piercing gaze over the trail ahead.
At the mouth of the silent forest path, fine dustings of frost floated sluggishly, catching the faint, wintry light.
At a glance, the scene was so tranquil it was impossible to tell what had piqued his instincts. After scanning the surroundings with narrowed eyes, Tyron eventually looked back over his shoulder.
Lowell, the chairman of a massive merchant guild with influence stretching across the East and North, followed slowly in formation with his subordinates. Tyron carefully observed their pale faces, haggard from the long journey, and confirmed the presence of the two wagons at the rear. His eight subordinates remained stationed around them, vigilant.
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Tyron urged his horse forward.
It was then that a rustling sound reached him from the brush ahead.
Intuitively sensing it wasn’t the wind, Tyron drew his sword in a single motion. At that exact moment, arrows hissed through the air from between the trees.
“Ambush!”
Tyron shouted the warning, narrowly deflecting an arrow with his blade. His warriors drew their steel in unison, but the enemy was a step faster. Dozens of assailants lunged out from beneath the thick layer of fallen leaves, throwing snares around the horses' legs.
Startled, the horses reared violently, letting out frantic cries. Tyron gripped the saddle tight with his thighs to keep from being thrown and instinctively swung his longsword.
With a wet shlick, hot blood sprayed across his face. Through his blurred vision, he saw an assailant retreating while clutching a mangled, blood-soaked arm. The man wore a helmet fashioned from a beast’s skull.
Are they Zram people?
His face contorted into a grimace. Tyron spurred his horse to pursue the retreating man, but a long spear lunged out from his left. Barely preventing his horse’s flank from being pierced, Tyron yanked the reins back savagely.
His agitated warhorse, Elak, snapped the ropes binding its ankles and reared its front legs high. A moment later, the skull of the man who had attacked him was crushed like a soft pumpkin under the hooves of the massive stallion.
Seeing this, the enemies hesitated and backed away. Seizing the opening, Tyron turned his horse to check the rear.
The Northern merchants were struggling to stay in their saddles, swords drawn as they resisted the attackers. However, men without military training could hardly respond effectively to a surprise raid.
Soon, one merchant was knocked from his horse by a Zram warrior. Recognizing him as a guild leader of the Silver Alliance, Tyron immediately spurred his horse forward, sweeping his long blade in a diagonal arc.
His longsword, extending like an eagle’s wing, severed the head of the enemy in a single stroke. After crushing the blood-spouting torso under his horse’s hooves, Tyron turned to find his next target, but the enemies had already put distance between them, vanishing into the trees.
As the raiders disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, he ground his teeth and shouted to his subordinates.
“Do not pursue! Reform the line and take a defensive stance around the wagons!”
His men immediately surrounded the carriages.
The enemies didn’t seem to have any intention of launching a second attack immediately. Scanning the forest, which had fallen deathly silent, Tyron dismounted and helped up the man sprawled on the ground. Fortunately, he didn’t seem seriously injured; the man let out a groan and staggered to his feet.
“Dammit, what kind of disaster is this?”
“Get your wits about you and get on your horse! We have to get out of this forest immediately.”
The man, who had dark brown hair—unusual for a Balto native—muttered something under his breath as he climbed back into his saddle.
Once he confirmed the man was fit to ride, Tyron stepped back toward Elak. Just as he was about to mount, something lunged at him from his blind spot.
He rolled instinctively. He narrowly avoided the blade aimed at his flank, but he was helpless against the follow-up. Before he could regain his footing, Tyron was kicked squarely in the stomach. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
A man with golden eyes, clad in animal skins, approached him like a gale and raised a crescent-shaped sword. Sensing death, Tyron’s entire body went rigid.
In that instant, a long spearhead erupted through the assailant’s chest.
“Guh!”
The golden-eyed man coughed up blood and looked behind him in shock.
Tyron’s gaze shifted reflexively. His eyes widened as he saw a man with pale, shimmering blond hair sitting atop a gray warhorse. With a face so cold it was hard to believe he was a living human, the man lifted the spear shaft with one hand. The assailant’s body, pierced through the abdomen like a fish on a harpoon, was hoisted into the air and swung in a great arc.
The axe-blade of the halberd, swung with terrifying speed, sliced through the waists of three Zram warriors who had surrounded him. It was a display of monstrous strength that remained unbelievable no matter how many times one saw it.
“Why are you standing there dazed? Assume a defensive posture immediately.”
The man gave the command in a dry tone, ruthlessly slamming the corpse hanging from his spear onto the ground.
Only then did Tyron snap back to his senses and hurriedly scramble to his feet. However, the enemies were already retreating rapidly, their will to fight broken.
Barkas gestured to the warriors who followed him.
“Pursue them.”
As soon as the order was given, dozens of knights dashed into the trees.
The ruler of the East watched the scene with an expressionless face before looking down at Tyron again. Having finally regained his composure, Tyron hastily offered his respects.
“You saved my life, Your Excellency.”
“You were lucky, Drakan. Had we not been conducting a search following a report that a band of raiders was nesting in the Argand Forest, you would have met a grim end.”
The response came not from the Grand Duke of the East, but from Daren Dru Sieorkan, who served as his aide. Daren led his horse out from between the trees and surveyed the corpses scattered on the ground.
“Regardless, I didn’t expect the Zram people to be acting up this close to Kalmor.”
Clicking his tongue, the man turned toward the ruler of the East.
“Wouldn’t it be better to begin a subjugation before the cold snap hits?”
“...The timing is poor. For now, we will settle for expanding the scout perimeter and controlling the roads.”
The man handed his blood-stained halberd to a squire and turned his gaze toward the frozen Northern merchants. Every one of them looked as if they had just seen a ghost.
The ruler of the East guided his horse toward them and offered a greeting in a dignified tone that felt out of place for the carnage.
“Welcome to Kalmor. I regret that you had to experience such an unpleasant incident on your first day.”
“N-no, not at all, Your Excellency! Such things are bound to happen when leading a merchant caravan.”
The merchant bowed his head respectfully. As the leader of a massive guild, he had recognized Barkas’s identity immediately. The man began to pour out flattery with a practiced tongue.
“In any case, your prowess is truly remarkable. The reputation of the continent’s strongest spear knight is certainly no exaggeration. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed Your Excellency’s majesty. How can such immense strength come from such a lithe frame...!”
“We will save the small talk for later. Getting out of the forest is the priority.”
A dry, emotionless voice cut the merchant’s flattery short. The Northerner bowed his head immediately, showing no sign of embarrassment.
“Of course! We shall follow quietly behind Your Excellency.”
As the Northerner signaled his subordinates, the men reorganized their formation in unison.
Barkas watched the scene with sharp eyes before finally turning his horse. Tyron rode to his left, carefully scanning the surroundings for any potential ambush. Fortunately, they reached the edge of the forest without further incident.
His sigh of relief was short-lived, however, as Barkas, who had been riding with perfect posture, suddenly drew his bow.
Has another enemy appeared?
Tyron drew his sword at once.
Barkas, staring intently into the deep shadows of the forest, drew back his bowstring. A moment later, a sharp cry rang out along with the sound of fluttering wings.
Tyron looked at Barkas with a bewildered face, unable to grasp the situation. Just then, a hunting dog that had been following quietly like a shadow dashed forward and returned with something in its mouth.
“...A pheasant?” Tyron blinked blankly.
The large hunting dog proudly presented the arrow-pierced bird to its master. Barkas hopped down from his horse, pried the pheasant from the dog’s jaws, tied its legs with a leather thong, and hung it from his saddle.
Only then did Tyron notice three or four brown female pheasants already hanging near the horse’s rump.
Daren explained in an awkward tone to Tyron, who wore a look of utter confusion.
“The Grand Duchess is fond of pheasant meat. It seems she finds it easier to eat because it isn’t very gamey.”