Chapter 311
Chapter 311
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 311
Chapter Title: War of the Puppets (8)
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The army personally led by the Sultan comprised about a third of all the forces he could mobilize. In other words, even judged purely by numbers, a third of Kirzat's military strength across the entire nation was under his direct control.
This was a grotesquely powerful force. No warlord, no matter how ambitious, commanded royal troops numbering up to a third of the kingdom's total mobilization capacity.
And that colossal legion—likely the mightiest under history's greatest warlord—was now encamped in the forest near the fortress.
"Is that so? They were defeated?"
"Yes. As planned."
"Planned or not, it's excessively early. Our forces aren't even fully assembled yet."
"It should have bought us plenty of time."
Fernandez bowed his head to the Sultan, who lounged leisurely in the opulent tent. From beyond the curtain, the Sultan now addressed him directly without reservation.
By ancient tradition, this was a breach of protocol. Sultans never spoke directly to their subjects. The Sultan's authority was regarded as almost divine.
Yet Sultan Al'Hashr was no rigid monarch fretting over etiquette. If he wanted something, he was a beast who would rip out his enemy's throat to claim it.
"What was the method?"
"One of my subordinates took the enemy commander's head. They won't be moving from the plains anytime soon."
"The commander's head? Impressive."
The Sultan feared no one. But at the same time, he underestimated no one. Even when a lion hunted a rabbit, it gave its all.
Thus, he fully recognized the resilience of Karadskarr's forces on the open plains. Decapitating their commander would have been difficult even in a standard clash—how had they managed it amid an army where nearly half were cavalry?
"Come to think of it, you have quite the talent pool."
"You're too kind."
"No, I mean it. Care to sell any to me?"
A rider who could sever an enemy general's head amid the continent's finest cavalry and still withdraw.
A staff officer who could grasp troop movements and routes from a seated position, albeit within limits.
A swordsman who fought more sharply and precisely than the Sultan's own elite guards.
And this man, who held diplomatic ties to nearly every kingdom in the continent's east.
The small cadre he led could twist the tide of battle and tip the scales of international relations simply by existing. Al'Hashr thought so sincerely. He coveted those talents.
"No, that was a slip. Your limbs are your lovers, after all. Very well, let me ask differently. Cerned—will you pledge yourself to me?"
Kirzat respected both polygamy and polyandry. Bluntly put, if one had the ability and wealth, no one interfered with the number of spouses. This mindset was utterly foreign to the eastern kingdoms' nobility, obsessed with form and face.
Thus, the Sultan took Fernandez's entourage at face value: an exceptional young man accompanied by exceptional wives.
"If it's loyalty you seek, that's not a commodity I offer, Sultan."
"Loyalty? Ha! Do I seem short on that?"
"If it's capable talent you need, you hardly seem lacking there either, Sultan."
"Unlike loyalty, talent is always better in greater numbers."
Beyond the curtain, sharp eyes gleamed. Without his memories of his past life, Fernandez would have unhesitatingly deemed the man a demon or its servant. The Sultan's presence transcended the human.
Few on this continent possessed such eyes and aura. Vicente II at his peak, Darian Shrike, Erik the Black, and Karadskarr. Each was a hero who had overturned the continent's fate.
"Whatever your lord has given you, it won't surpass what I can offer."
"And you know what that is?"
"The Empire's emperor is elected, while my authority is divine. Your lord granted you spoils amid laws and justifications. But I am this land's law, my will its justification, and my name is Kirzat."
"The emperor offered marriage in exchange for my loyalty."
"With which... noble house? You don't seem short on wives, but if you wish, I have beauties to topple nations, sheltered maidens, and noble ladies in abundance."
"With the emperor herself."
"......"
The Sultan fell silent for a moment. From behind the curtain, he slowly scanned Fernandez's face. Handsome, sturdy, aristocratic—but utterly unappealing. Naturally so; he wasn't inclined that way.
And the young man didn't seem to favor men either. His entourage was all women, after all—if anything, he was a lecher.
After a brief silence, a bolt of realization struck the Sultan's mind. He slapped his knee and cried out in shocked delight.
"If I capture you, the Empire's emperor becomes my subordinate's concubine!"
"......"
Watching the Sultan guffaw, Fernandez was the one left speechless this time. He'd thought the man extraordinary, but perhaps even that assessment had been too narrow.
-Crazy bastard.
Feizashi muttered with a groan. There was no grounds to disagree this time.
* * *
At the very moment the Sultan and Fernandez discussed their plans, Kirhas Hearttaker was throwing a feast with her riders behind the tents—her first reunion with them in ages.
Everyone was in high spirits. The battle had been a rout, allied losses miraculously near zero, and their lord, the Undefeated Kirhas, had taken the field with her unchanged prowess and insight.
A battlefield with her was mere hunting grounds. She had the eye for victory, the pride and envy of all beastfolk. Proxy of the Hunt God, greatest warrior, a legend proven in blood. Every beastfolk was practically her fervent devotee.
"Here, have a drink, Great Chieftain!"
"Ah, sorry. No alcohol for me. I'll stick with this."
"Pardon...?"
Kirhas raised her brimming cup with a smile. It was a mature expression, utterly unlike her usual domineering strength. To her riders, who knew the mask she wore, it felt profoundly unfamiliar.
"Are you unwell...?"
"Hm, no! I'm perfectly healthy. Thanks for worrying!"
"Then is there some reason you can't get drunk suddenly...?"
"Alcohol's poison!"
"Pardon...? Since when...?"
"For the baby!"
"Ugh-ek?"
"Kek!"
The riders spat out their drinks in unison, choking and sputtering. Kirhas wrinkled her nose at the mess. "Gross!"
"Is that the issue right now, Great Chieftain? No, seriously—who is it?"
"Who else? Sir Fernin, obviously!"
"I'll challenge him myself—aaargh!"
"If the captain dies, make me the next captain, Great Chieftain!"
One flushed beastfolk warrior gripped his sword hilt fiercely, then froze. He could imagine a manly one-on-one with Sir Fernin—but the next image was always his own severed head.
The warrior quietly sat back down.
"Thanks, everyone, for following this foolish chieftain's orders so well. The steppes weren't easy, I'm sure."
"Aw, what're you saying? We're feasting thanks to you, Great Chieftain."
The beastfolk chuckled. It was true. Life was far better than their wasteland wanderings. With one electorate practically theirs by default, the steppe tribes no longer fought over scraps.
It was due to the Great Chieftain's towering authority. Kirhas had banned infighting with iron fists, personally butchering rebels. Her feats had brought the steppes an unprecedented peace.
And the Empire, despite the invaded electorate, tolerated the beastfolk to bolster control near the Great Steppes. In Kirhas's view, Rene Philippa de Carbellier had played a major role.
If just one generation passed peacefully, the beastfolk would naturally integrate into the Empire. A cultural infiltration baited with peace and food. Not a bad deal for them—and Kirhas knowingly permitted it.
The beastfolk needed a safe haven. No more enslavement or hunted as prey. The Empire gained the Great Steppes; they gained security. A win-win.
"How're the young ones? Listening well?"
"Blackpang's got a firm grip on real power, Great Chieftain. Piel the Great Shaman's allied with him, and Golden Tusks shows no resistance."
"Partak hasn't done anything shady, right?"
"Blackpang's a dirty everyday sort... Some elders vanished, but they were shady too. No complaints from the tribesfolk."
"Good!"
Kirhas had directly wielded power for only a brief time. To the beastfolk, she was less a hands-on leader and more a symbol. The symbol who ushered a mythic age and united them all.
Had she ever seized direct control to influence a tribe? The warriors thought not.
Yet none challenged her authority. The moment she appeared, fractured warring beastfolk united; mighty steppe foes crumbled under her command.
The Undefeated. Proxy of the Hunt God. Unifier of the people. And finally, the symbol who turned dust-choked wastes into grassy plains, where children no longer starved, froze, or died.
"So, Great Chieftain—when do you return?"
"Soon, probably? At least within ten months. Gotta show my kid their homeland, right?"
"Is Sir Fernin's homeland the Great Steppes?"
"No? But I won't raise my child in an eastern kingdom. This kid's gonna be Great Chieftain someday."
Kirhas stroked her still-smooth belly with a smile. In her ripe poise, the beastfolk understood why she no longer wore the mask.
She had grown. Before, their Great Chieftain was a hero brimming with talent, yet childlike and precarious at times.
But the woman before them now was an adult. A radiant figure, the hero's seed fully bloomed. Mother to a child, blending softness and strength.
"Great Chieftain!!"
Then, a horse galloped from afar, kicking up dust. The beastfolk snarled, snatching sword hilts from the grass. But Kirhas waved them down. The rider was beastfolk.
"Who goes!!"
"Blacktail Captain, forgive me! Urgent news—came myself!"
The dusty, ragged beastfolk warrior leaped from his mount and prostrated before Kirhas. Panting without lifting his head, he gasped.
"I am Balain of the Cherasen tribe. An honor to meet the mighty Undefeated!"
"Yes, it's fine. Someone give this warrior a drink! Now, Balain of Cherasen—take your time, catch your breath. I'm alright."
"Thank you, Great Chieftain!"
The warrior gulped liquor, wiped his lips hastily, cleared his throat, and blurted.
"The tribes are burning, Great Chieftain! Enemies invading!"
"Enemies...? Details!"
"A few days ago, Ravirata requested aid—several chieftains led warriors there! Only half returned alive, and now clashes rage across the Great Steppes!"
"Lies! When we left, the Steppes were fine!"
"Blacktail Captain—no! It was right after you departed!"
"Even so, it's odd? Ravirata's on the Steppes, sure, but way south, isn't it? Most beastfolk are..."
Most beastfolk garrisoned near Vyran, the Empire's elector seat. Only conservatives and traditionalists remained on the Great Steppes. To strike meaningfully, enemies needed to reach Vyran—and Ravirata was far from it.
By this messenger, if Ravirata fell days ago, Vyran wouldn't be threatened immediately. Plenty of imperial lands lay between...
*'When word of the Pale Demon Tribe's advance reached the capital, they'd already conquered five cities.'*
Shaksisi's voice echoed from her mind, fresh from Sharkja port. The Pale Demon Tribe marched at unnatural speeds. If Ravirata fell with little fight, before the Empire knew, they'd already...
"You! Fetch Sir Fernin! Now!"
"Yes!!"
Her eyes sharpened. From gentle strength to a warrior's blade-edge gaze. She shook her head and rose, shouting.
"No! Everyone, prepare to march! I'll go myself!"
"Yes, Great Chieftain!"
The Pale Demon Tribe conquering the Great Steppes was only a matter of time. No significant resistance remained there.
Most beastfolk were near Vyran; the southern Steppes had been Ravirata's duty. If seized, the demons would cross the vacuum laughing.
And the Empire had a major domain closer to Ravirata than Vyran.
"Did Libye fall...?"
Rene Philippa de Carbellier. Archduchess of Libye, Emperor of the Empire. She wouldn't have sat idle...