Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Dragon, Tiger. Vanguard.
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*
"Ravirata's legions are advancing north! We've got no choice now but surrender or retreat!"
"Nonsense! You think the neighboring countries will just sit back if we bow to Ravirata? The rival chieftains' rabble will tear us apart the second we show weakness!"
"Are you saying you'd rather die here fretting over what comes later? Or do you mean to retreat?"
"Retreat's no good! They'll catch our rear and devour us whole!"
Candlelight flickered. The command tent's meeting room brimmed with chaos, shouts, and frenzy.
"Haa..."
Kirhas Hearttaker rubbed her weary eyes and sank deeper into her chair. The elders pounded the table, clicked their tongues, or spewed curses, each raising their voice in turn.
It had been a month since Fernandez had left. His sole order: "Do not lose."
At first, it had seemed manageable. Few among the beastkin could match her in duels or brawls, and the tiger clan alliance's warriors respected her position as Apostle of Kadan.
But war was a different beast entirely. She had no grasp of ambushes, strategies, or tactics to begin with. Handing her the great chieftain's seat didn't magically turn her into a legendary tactician overnight.
"Enough."
A sharp, eerie voice cut through the din. At the far end of the meeting table, opposite Kirhas, an elder quietly raised his arm and rapped the table.
*Tap, tap.*
The myriad trinkets coiled around his wrist clinked noisily. Demonic tattoos and grotesquely twisted fingers drew the eye. Purple robes danced with his movement. Partak Blackfang.
In this official gathering, seated at the great chieftain's direct opposite. The man who dominated the elders through black magic, sorcery, and schemes.
And one of Fernandez's key limbs. Kirhas suppressed her instinctive revulsion and glared at him.
"Quiet down. Now, let's hear from the great chieftain first."
Partak's black teeth gleamed in the candlelight. He knew she had no better options, yet he sought to publicly humiliate her all the same.
That was their division of roles. Partak actively checked Kirhas, who could claim absolute authority, pulling anti-Kirhas faction members from every tribe under his control.
Kirhas, meanwhile, had seized the war-hungry elders fed up with table-talk debates, along with most of the alliance's warriors, through her authority, charisma, and raw power.
With Kirhas and Partak united under Fernandez as their core, the tiger clan alliance moved wholly within their influence. Kirhas understood the situation and had admired Fernandez's scheme.
But it wasn't a role she relished.
"We retreat."
"To where?"
"Kargari tribe territory."
"They're allied with the rival chieftains. Isn't that walking straight into a trap?"
The rival chieftains: a provisional council formed by tribes opposing the sudden handover of great chieftain to a wandering beastkin maiden.
Kirhas and Partak claimed the true lineage of the tiger clan alliance, still dominant in warrior society. Yet the rival council's forces couldn't be dismissed.
One misstep in this war with the Pharaoh, one major defeat, and her legitimacy would suffer. Her alliance could not afford defeat.
For that, she needed force over politics. That was Kirhas's belief.
"The rival council's camp is still a good distance off. We subjugate the Kargari by force and regroup our legions there."
"...Fine. Then who covers the rear during the withdrawal?"
Ravirata of the south. That mighty Pharaoh's legions pursued her relentlessly. Kirhas eyed the tactical map with fatigued gaze.
Unlike other Pharaohs, Ravirata held a clear geographic edge. Holding the great wilderness's southernmost tip meant only jungle below and the White Horse Tribe's plains to the side.
No adjacent enemies. Her forces expanded unchecked, making her one of the wasteland's mightiest warlords.
Thus, she could hurl her full strength at a single front. Unlike Kirhas.
Before those legions could chew through the retreating alliance's rear, they needed to fall back to safety. But who would buy that time?
All eyes nailed her. A near-suicidal mission. Sacrificing any tribe would spark fierce backlash against the great chieftain.
They were wolves, jackals, hyenas. They wouldn't strike first, but they never passed up wounded prey. Schemers who rejected the great chieftain's authority yet craved its power.
Amid them, Kirhas closed her eyes and sighed.
*'Benefactor, I need your grace.'*
Her eyes snapped open. Turquoise irises blazed sharp.
"I'll take it."
Partak's mouth gaped, failing to hide his shock. He quickly schooled his features.
"You could die. Great Chieftain, if you fall, this alliance ends."
"War means anyone can die."
"Not you. What are you playing at?"
*-You're trying to ruin everything?*
Partak mouthed silently. Kirhas stifled a laugh at his flustered look.
"The Pharaoh doesn't anticipate defeat at all. They're overconfident in victory. Against fools like that, I can buy time and slip away."
"You seem overconfident too."
"In my case, it's not overconfidence. It's certainty."
*-Thud.*
Kirhas snatched the golden mask from the table and rose. The moment it touched her hand, that eerie voice echoed in her mind again.
*[Serve me.]*
Kirhas frowned faintly, then strapped the mask to her waist.
"Because God is with us."
"War is forged in our blood, not God's."
"Our? No. Not anymore."
*-Scrape.*
Kirhas tsked and shoved her chair back noisily. She strode across the tent. Roughly parted the meeting flap, took one more step—
*-...*
The elders' tent crowned the camp's highest point. Below stretched the alliance's citizens and warriors, worn by anxiety and exhaustion.
They gazed up tensely, awaiting the meeting's end and its outcome.
Kirhas saw the thick unease in their eyes. Partak controlled the elders. And she...
*-Clink.*
She raised the golden mask. Infused with Kadan's soul, it was now iconic across the tiger clan alliance—a symbol of divinity, authority, dominion.
The dead god had returned to the beastkin. A wandering folk forsaken by gods. Outcasts from civilized world. Warriors' hearts harbored pride and inferiority.
To stir those hearts again, an icon was needed. One embodying this wasteland, voicing their era.
Slowly, so all could see, Kirhas lifted the mask over her face. Though half-missing, its size fully shrouded her features.
Her attendant approached, draping a cloak trimmed in soft fur over her shoulders. She bellowed in a resonant voice.
"Not our blood. God's will demands the enemy's blood!"
*-Death!!
The crowd roared back.
"With enemy bones, enemy corpses, and glory blazing between!"
*-Victory!!
Hope and fervor lit the crowd's eyes. Partak held the council, but Kirhas hadn't idled.
Night and day, she patrolled warriors and citizens, enforced order, judged injustices, administered sacraments. In battle, she led the charge; at rest, she reveled amid soldiers, drinking, laughing, praising them.
Elders no longer commanded the tiger clan alliance's respect. It had transferred to her. Partak held the elders; Kirhas, the people.
*-Shing...*
Kirhas drew her longsword.
"The hunt begins, warriors! Time for wolves, ravens, and lions!"
*-Hearttaker! Hearttaker! Hearttaker!!
Even false hope was her duty. To kindle that spark for her followers.
Her innate talent awakened. Charisma captivating crowds and uniting warriors shone.
She was a born warlord, a natural field commander.
*'Strategy as Benefactor prepared. And I...*
*I'll excel in my role.'* Kirhas's turquoise eyes gleamed beneath the mask, fatigue be damned.
*
"Why can't you provide support?!"
The empire's envoy scowled and slammed the negotiation table. At the rudeness, Pafnarmere's brow twitched.
True to his 'Knight of the Rock' moniker from the Round Table Council, Pafnarmere's face barely betrayed inner fury.
He sank deep into his chair and rumbled low.
"Our camp isn't ready yet."
"When will this 'readiness' be enough?!"
"Who knows."
The envoy grumbled hotly, then shot to his feet.
"His Imperial Majesty will remember this. Duke."
"Give him my regards. Pinri, see him out."
"Yes."
A standing knight gripped the envoy's shoulder firmly and hauled him from the tent. Inside, a smirking man with arms crossed eyed Pafnarmere with a sly grin.
"Commander. Truly no fear of repercussions?"
"Repercussions?"
"I'm quite wary myself. As you know, things back home aren't ideal."
The man guffawed. Pafnarmere disliked him. He wasn't so shallow as to laugh and jest with Fairn's royal man after near-war only recently.
Knowing what Fairn's royals had plotted against Dane Kingdom. As Pafnarmere stared silently, the man chuckled and shook his head.
"Come now, Commander. Just glaring like that..."
His eyes weren't laughing.
"It looks like a duel challenge. In our culture, that's the men's signal."
"If you want one."
Captain of Fairn's Royal Griffin Knights. Ludwig von Wolfstal. Fairn's strongest. His flashy attire and flippant demeanor belied legendary repute.
Yet Round Table Knights needn't fear him. Especially since Ludwig was mere guest from the eastern kingdom alliance. Fairn's power had waned post-Walker Plague, limiting deployments.
Pafnarmere's wordless glare prompted Ludwig's grin and shrug.
"Well, it'd shame the lads. Civil strife mid-war and all. Oh, where's 'she' now?"
"...Why ask?"
"Our virtue is to cherish beautiful flowers."
Pafnarmere's lips twitched in the first expression: a scoff of ridicule.
"Try if you dare."
"What? Already claimed?"
"A hero."
Wielder of the founding king's sword. Slayer of fallen black mages. Savior of the realm from crisis. Blessed by Shild. Dane's great hero.
Dane rushed forces due to his disappearance; withheld him from battle as protest to empire.
"Well, fine. But who is she, getting such treatment so young? Royalty?"
"No, our forebear."
Ludwig's face twisted oddly.
*
"Again."
"Such an honorraaah!!"
The knight in light gambeson panted, hauling himself up. He regripped his training sword, sweat streaming, eyes fixed on the woman before him.
She wore spotless, simple garb untouched by dust. No valid strike had landed in their fierce bout.
He bit his lip and swung his greatsword. Air whistled under brute force.
*-Whoosh!
Golden hair gleamed brilliantly in sunlight. Her wooden sword tapped his wrist—*tap*—then flowed to—
*-Tap-tap.
Shoulder, head, waist. Light taps, a half-spin, and she stepped beyond his reach. He cleaved empty air, staring blankly.
"Too much force. Like a child."
The knight flushed with shame. Abel smiled softly. Then—
"Uwoooooh!!"
"As expected!!"
"So beautiful miladyyy!!"
Knights who'd dazedly watched the duel around her erupted in ecstatic howls. A month since her arrival; Dane Kingdom's royal knights had become her fervent devotees.
Tutor to the founding king, kingdom's guardian dragon. Those knowing her identity had submitted to her authority from the moment she appeared.