Chapter 216
Chapter 216
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 216
Chapter Title: Annoying Swarm of Mosquitoes (1)
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The Great Wasteland, now called the Karadis Plains, was currently dominated by four major factions. Given the vast expanse of land, conflicts between them weren't overly prominent. Yet the plains remained a powder keg as dangerous as ever during the wasteland days.
The Labirata Dynasty in the south, locked in a fierce rivalry with the Tiger Clan Alliance, steadily expanding its forces along a protracted front line: the Wraith Legion.
In the north, Apotazar. During the height of the Fifty Years' War fifty years ago, it had entered into an alliance with the Empire through a pact with the Emperor: the Wraith Legion.
Spanning the entire plains, the beastkin Tiger Clan Alliance, Karadis. Claiming sovereignty over the plains, a patchwork of beastkin tribes scattered throughout.
And finally, the Opposition-Great Chieftain Federation. Rebels led by Cherad Blondetail. Denouncing the long-absent Great Chieftain and the self-preserving council of elders, they had risen up to protect the rights of beastkin still openly traded as slaves.
During Kirhas Hearttaker's rule, uprisings had occurred more than once or twice, but never had such a massive group joined the rebels since the schism era.
Suppression? At this point, it wasn't mere suppression of rebels—it had escalated to full-scale war. About a third of all tribes had joined the rebellion, with several others declaring neutrality.
The Tiger Clan Alliance wasn't suited for a centralized system to begin with. With each tribe's autonomy and territory firmly established, Cherad's revolt was spreading like wildfire across the entire Great Wasteland.
For Kirhas, now out in the wider world, the situation was extremely disadvantageous. If the rebelling tribes were neatly gathered in one area, that would be one thing, but the alliance was decentralized by nature. Guerrilla actions were breaking out sporadically across countless regions, and even tribes aligned with the chieftain faction, unable to defend themselves, had declared neutrality for survival.
"Hand Daral over to Kirhas."
Fernandez Cerned muttered as he marked a spot on the map. His map detailed the leanings and positions of each tribe.
Before his eyes, the fire in the hearth crackled and sputtered.
[In that case, my lord, we'll cede Melmard to Cherad.]
"Good. Then we'll scorch Zone 3 in the west."
"Will the Sultan just sit by?"
"He'll have to. Their situation isn't great either."
Fernandez chuckled dryly. This war was little more than a scripted play from the start. The rebels' role, the suppression force's role, the realignment of powers, and the elite soldiers who would emerge from the crucible of war...
Other lords looking at the Great Wasteland now would think the powder keg had exploded. But no. To Fernandez, this region—this vast landmass—was no powder keg. It was a forge.
A forge to skim off the dross and impurities, extracting pure gold. The opposition forces? Most were malcontents against Kirhas's rule, but the rest were sacrifices for the greater wars to come.
That was why he couldn't bring Abel along. The excuse of sacrificing cattle for the future meant nothing to her. If someone had to be sacrificed, she would offer herself—and Fernandez was not that kind of person.
[What's the Empire's movement?]
"I've laid the bait."
At this juncture, Fernandez had two major tasks to prepare. First, halt the Emperor's eastern conquest, toppling him or ruining him politically.
Second, about twenty years from now. Build an outpost to repel the advance of the Great Khan of the White Ghost Tribe, Karadskär.
Creating a new hero for the Empire and slipping a leash around his neck to use as a pawn was merely a side benefit. Aiming for just one gain from a single scheme was amateurish; Fernandez never played for less than multiple objectives in one move.
-How righteous of you.
'This is the right thing to do.'
-Since when have we ever pursued 'righteous' endeavors?
'Since the moment I was reborn.'
-Have you forgotten? The day we first opened our eyes, we killed our uncle and cousin. All in the name of an experiment.
The reason to stop the eastern conquest was to prevent even greater bloodshed than the Fifty Years' War. The reason to block Karadskär's advance was to avert the fall of countless petty states and the societal vacuum that would follow.
So it was righteous. Fernandez paused as he went to mark a spot in the corner of the map. The fire crackled on its own, whispering.
[My lord?]
"No, nothing."
The battlefield on the map was dry and cold. To those not involved, war was just a game of numbers. A hundred dead, a thousand dead. No matter the tragedies and comedies mingled into an inferno between them. It all boiled down to a few digits.
In this theater of war, one thousand two hundred and thirty-two people died or were injured. Plunder in that region killed three hundred and fifty-three, and destruction of infrastructure is projected to cause famine deaths of around two thousand five hundred. By harvest season, a total of about three thousand refugees will be incapacitated by starvation.
The cold numbers seemed to clatter and roll like dice. Fernandez set down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Halting a war that would destroy infrastructure for at least five hundred thousand, by sacrificing thousands, was just pretty packaging.
With this order, they would die. Blades would slit their throats, but the hand wielding those blades was connected to his pen tip.
"Have Cherad ally with the Labirata Dynasty."
[Shall we launch the southern pacification?]
"Consolidate the battlefield as much as possible. Ensure front lines don't proliferate. Use Zones 1, 5, and 9 in the south as theaters. Arrange for a pitched battle in Zone 1 three days from now."
[Three days from now, southern Zone 1, Labirata. Understood.]
-Whoosh.
The hearth fire regained its red glow, burning steadily, and Fernandez felt the magic-linked incantation shatter. He let out a sticky sigh, rubbed his dry face, and picked up his teacup.
-Pity for them?
'No. Empathy forming.'
-For beastkin?
'For Beorn.'
Inquisitor search, detection, or extermination operations. Averaging all missions, a single operative's survival rate was about 48%. For extermination ops, it dropped below 15%.
Mission assignment and final approval rested solely with the abbot. Immense power, but a chilling duty. Sending 'brothers' into the jaws of death.
Beorn must feel this every time. Or worse. Fernandez had no personal ties to the beastkin dying in the battles below, but Beorn oversaw every inquisitor's training personally.
-You've weakened, Fernandez. Disgustingly soft.
'Maybe.'
Fernandez replied coldly and gripped his pen again. Was it a shift in temperament? Cumulative experience? The only certainty was he hadn't agonized like this in his past life.
No reason to agonize now. Most agonizing was mere luxury. Time was finite, lives just one of many expendable resources. War was a devouring flame, and he had plenty of fuel to throw it.
He slid the clock atop the map. The eastern regions appeared under his hand. A mountain village in the imperial east came into view. A small hamlet sure to be engulfed if the Emperor declared war on the eastern kingdoms.
"Aria."
He had to stop the eastern war, no matter the cost. Nail the Emperor's gaze to the west. Whatever the sacrifice.
Even if it was pure selfishness. No matter what.
* * *
Kirhas found Bora annoying.
"Oh, see that, Great Chieftain? That's the mark of the sword-tooth tiger I shredded five days ago!"
Riding along, Bora pointed here and there, making a racket. Kirhas led her horse silently, her expression icy.
"Ah, this is the quarrel that mountain bandit shot at me—look, it's still lodged here. Ha!"
Bora guffawed, pointing at a small quarrel embedded in a tree stump. It had been like this the whole way. The path from Libye into the wasteland was littered with destruction and un cleared battle scars.
Strictly speaking, Libye was merely the capital of the Carbelier barony. Not the heart of the battlefield or the front lines, but the safest land.
Thus, seeing battle traces even during this patrol of Libye's outskirts vividly illustrated the current state of Libye.
Bora, oblivious or not, kept bursting into laughter, urging his horse on with the look of someone fondly reminiscing.
"Ah, I miss Silver Duke."
Kirhas sighed and shook her head. The horse snorted discontentedly before stepping forward again.
Fernandez had ordered her to inspect security around Libye. It was one of the terms in his deal with the duke. With the imperial envoy dispatched, she was to remain in the territory until a response, subduing rebels and bandits.
It made sense. Duke Carbelier lacked forces to deploy externally right now. To win him over, stabilize his base territory first.
"You're a quiet one, Great Chieftain!"
"Nature of mine."
Kirhas replied curtly, pulling a pipe from her bosom. The other warriors had been dispatched elsewhere, and she was out for a bored patrol loop.
One couldn't send a foreign lord without escort, so the duke's side assigned their most trusted knight. The problem: that trusted knight was overly interested in Kirhas.
Mainly, her martial prowess.
"A taciturn warrior is a virtue! Say, Great Chieftain, I'm curious how you ascended. A duel or something?"
"Diplomatic discourtesy."
"Hm! Sorry about that!"
Bora shouted without a hint of apology. After some time, passing villages, they reached the wasteland's edge.
Vast grasslands stretched before them. Kirhas still found the transformed wasteland strange. Her childhood had been spent entirely in the wilds, and her brief time as Great Chieftain mostly bleeding atop barren wastes.
Beside her, Bora called out.
"Ah, your lands! Ever seen skeletons walking at night around here?"
"The Wraith Dynasty?"
"No! Real skeletons shambling about at night!"
Bora spoke with grave seriousness.
"Head north from here two days, there's a village. Poor little settlement. Once, weird rumors drew our knights there."
"And?"
"The village was gone!"
"...?"
Bora gazed into the distant plains, frowning briefly.
"The village had vanished. Buildings intact, people gone."
"Raided?"
"No. Food and goods untouched. Tables set as if for a meal, dust gathering. Spooky, eh? After that, rumors spread to a few villages from there."
Rumors of skeletons walking at night.
"We thought Wraith Dynasty incursion at first. Alert for a while. North is Apotazar territory, no? They'd made peace with our duke in the last war. Sent envoys demanding explanation; our royal court mage and their shaman inspected the land personally. No conclusions."
"People just vanished?"
"Yeah. Poof, gone. No abandonment, no raid, no curses or spells. Clean as dust!"
Kirhas slowly closed her eyes. To a Torchman, this sounded like the start of a heresy incident.
* * *
At that moment, an unexpected guest arrived for Fernandez.
"Busy with special ops, I know, brother."
A slender young man in full inquisitor regalia sat across from Fernandez, smiling softly.
Fernandez had heard rumors of inquisitors dispatched to the duke and made contact immediately. A familiar face: Pascal Andrey of Heretica. Not close, but often crossed paths at the monastery.
"What's the occasion, brother?"
"Heretical activity suspected in Libye reports. Direct order from the Abbot."
"You knew I was here."
"Separate operation. No issue."
Pascal sipped tea, crossing his legs.
"What sort of incident?"
"Villages abandoned repeatedly, eyewitness reports of skeletons and ghosts roaming at night flooding in. Highly suspicious, no?"
-Manderson.
'Why is Manderson here now?'
-Who else would pull this openly besides Manderson?
'No, the imperial west isn't his territory... Ah.'
Disrupted security always—inevitably—saw heretics and black mages running rampant. Post-Fifty Years' War, with imperial central attention shifted away, a garrison vacuum, and crumbling order, it was perfect for black mages to hide.
Manderson. Necromancer Manderson Allen. He favored corpse-rich, low-surveillance areas for labs, and Libye fit perfectly.
Fernandez sighed inwardly. Troubling. Inquisitorial probes would curb the duke's actions.
'End it as fast as possible.'
Before the imperial envoy arrived.