Chapter 322
Chapter 322
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 322
Chapter Title: War of the Puppets (19)
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The Great Wasteland bore no resemblance to its former self. Ever since the great demon Mumto, incarnation of death, had perished and unleashed the life force it had devoured over a thousand years in a single cataclysmic burst, the wasteland could no longer be called barren.
Every inch of visible land was cloaked in vibrant green grasses. Nameless shrubs grew waist-high, sprawling like a vast prairie, interspersed with occasional jungles, waterfalls and lakes, ravines and valleys.
The terrain had changed so drastically that mapping by landmarks was impossible. No, this land that had once been a wasteland now pulsed with life of its own. In as little as hours, or at most a few months, entirely new landscapes would emerge.
The overflowing vitality made the earth itself seem alive and breathing. As if exacting vengeance for centuries of suppressed decay.
-The stars are going wild. Rain's coming.
Feizashi grumbled. Fernandez snapped shrubs aside to clear a path as he walked. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the path where flower buds were bursting open. He gazed up at the starry night sky and thought.
‘Even if it's late, we'll arrive by tomorrow evening.’
-The core of your plan right now is assassinating Karadskar. Fernandez, Karadskar is impossible to assassinate. How about we pivot the plan even now?
‘It was impossible until I came along.’
-Even Darian Shrike failed to assassinate him. What makes you think we can take down a guy like that?
‘Feizashi, there's a saying: If a mage says something is possible, it's almost certainly possible. But if that mage says something is impossible...’
-Then the mage's words are probably lies? Hey, this isn't a lecture on magecraft theory. This isn't the academy. Common sense says, have we ever beaten Darian?
‘We were just at different peaks of our powers.’
Fernandez muttered grumpily. Feizashi couldn't dismiss it as mere excuse-making. This was a matter of pride.
Feizashi's prime had come late in life, right at the outset of the Great War chronologically. It was in his old age that decades of flight and wandering had honed his experience and talent to full bloom.
But Darian was a warrior. His peak aligned almost perfectly with his physical prime—from his mid-thirties when his skill matured, to his early forties when his body began to decline. So in his youth, Feizashi had always insisted on fleeing whenever facing Darian.
And in his later years, just when Feizashi deemed himself ready for a real fight, Darian had already retired to train successors. To Feizashi, that felt like a coward's escape.
-Yeah, if he'd come at us back then, we never would've lost.
‘Mm... yeah, probably. And Karadskar in the homeworld rose up right before Darian retired. Meaning he never tried assassinating the guy at his peak, in full fighting form.’
Thus, simple logic held.
Darian at his peak and Feizashi at his peak never overlapped in time, but if they had clashed, the outcome would be hard to predict.
Karadskar was stronger than Darian in retirement. Assuming the current Karadskar matched that level of power.
Could Fernandez now, able to summon fragments of his prime, not stand against Karadskar?
‘And honestly, my conditions now are better than back in the homeworld in some ways.’
-Oh? You saying you could've taken me if my body and soul were intact? With what? Arm wrestling?
Feizashi snickered mockingly, bursting into laughter. Soon, the argument between two prideful old mages in their eighties raged through the night.
* * *
“General, shouldn't we head back to the Kagan? How many days has it been of nothing?”
“The Kagan wants the enemy's head.”
“The soldiers are starving. Even rationing, we can't last three more days!”
“The Kagan hungers for the neck of the bastard who started this dogshit mess. If we return empty-handed, he'll sate his hunger with our heads.”
Bayan stared blankly at the horizon. Beyond it, torches flickered. They were his soldiers' torches, out searching for any trace, no matter how small.
His adjutant scowled at the sight. A few days ago, the supply wagons they were guarding had burst into flames in the dead of night. The work of this wasteland's ghosts, as always. They appeared without sound, set fires, and vanished without a whisper.
The Kagan had ordered heads brought back—enemy commander's, ghosts', or even steppe kin's, it didn't matter. Bayan had immediately analyzed the routes of all raided supply convoys and begun tracking the culprits.
That was days ago. And such incidents were happening simultaneously across the entire plain.
Morale was in the pits, naturally. This pointless chase after formless foes had hurt worse than any battlefield loss. Deserters were rampant, and depleted supplies from the raided wagons were running dry.
“It was futile from the start! Hasn't it been at least five days since those bastards showed?”
“They're waiting for us to let our guard down. If we abandon the hunt and pull back, the next hit could be even more devastating.”
“General... what if we follow Turbi General?”
Bayan stared at his adjutant's face. Conversation paused briefly, but the adjutant flinched back, sensing the murderous intent lurking beneath those glassy eyes.
“If you desert, I'll take your head myself.”
“We're brothers. We shared blood! General... no, damn it. Brother! This is dogshit, the Kagan's mad, and all that's left is starving to death, getting killed by starving troops, or dying to the Kagan you follow so loyally!”
“If you weren't my brother, I'd have your head right now.”
Bayan growled low. The adjutant shook his head and gripped his sword hilt.
“If the Elder hadn't ordered me to bring you back safe no matter what, I'd cut your head off too.”
“...You?”
“Brother. Get a grip. That bastard's promised great war, glorious plunder, some massive world-scar? All illusions, right? He just wants revenge for his dead son. Where's this grand war he promised?”
“Everything has its proper order...”
-Whiiiiiing!!
Then, a tearing wind whistled from the horizon's edge. Bayan whipped his head around, acrobatically hanging from the stirrup, seizing and drawing his sword from its scabbard.
“Br-brother?!”
“Enemy attack!! They're here!!”
Life returned to Bayan's eyes. Paydirt. This area might be their camp or outpost! He shouted at his sworn brother.
“Rally the soldiers! We strike them now!”
“Something's off, brother! The ghosts never shot arrows before!”
-Boooom!!
The adjutant grimaced fiercely, raising his shield. Moments later, a sharp whistle pierced the air as an arrow thudded into it, ringing with a ping.
At his words, Bayan hurriedly scanned around. Torches spread wide beyond the horizon. Panic was visible. The commotion was rolling in from the east.
“Brother, that direction... isn't that the ‘city’...?”
“Damn it. Not ghosts...!”
Bayan finally looked toward the noisy front. They were combing the ground. Most of his soldiers had left horses tethered at camp, searching on foot.
They hadn't anticipated facing the enemy. Call it complacency or strategic blunder, but Bayan felt wronged.
The ghosts hadn't appeared in over five days, and all living resistance was blockaded far east in that city. The imperial outpost called ‘Byurang’ was already theirs.
Thus, the vast plain from Byurang to the wasteland should have been a perfect safe zone for their forces. No foe bold enough for open battle, just sporadic hits on supply wagons at worst.
“The ghosts never struck us directly. This is...”
“Means they're not ghosts! I know!”
“No! Idiot! Their identity isn't the point! The real problem is they're ignoring our rear!”
“...Pardon?”
“Go to the Kagan now and report this! They've taken the city!”
No way could they raise this ruckus with steppe cavalry at their rear. Considering the Hundred Kingdom nomads' prowess on the plains, encirclement and annihilation couldn't be ignored.
Thus, this bold assault meant one thing: Their outpost, Byurang, had fallen. And if the force that toppled it was now attacking from the west, then...
“It's their counterattack! Tell the Kagan!”
“Damn it! What about you, brother!”
“I'll rally those idiots fighting there and follow! Go first!”
“You have to come back alive! The Elder will kill me!”
“Ratraya, when did this kid start worrying about me? Go! I don't plan on dying here!”
The adjutant ground his teeth and spurred his mount. The horse bolted toward camp. Bayan raised his sword and charged the opposite way.
Torches glowed beyond the horizon. And faintly between them, black-lacquered arrows whistled through the air.
-Whiiiiiing!
“Arghhh!”
Screams echoed everywhere. Judging by the arrows' volume, spread, and skill, the enemy was no small force. He was certain once more. They'd seized Byurang and launched a counteroffensive.
“Yeke Tetai Ulusu's Kesik, Bayan Tataraida! Who dares take my blade!!”
He bellowed in clumsy imperial tongue without slowing. In that instant, the arrows slaughtering his men halted as if by magic. Wounded soldiers groaned around him, but to Bayan, it felt like hushed tension and silence.
Soon, the clip-clop of a single horse approached from afar. His men weren't mounted now. Which meant horse meant enemy...!
“Impressive spirit.”
“Coming at defenseless men like a coward, then strutting out so boldly! I'll kill you and claim justice! State your name!”
He needed to buy time. At least for his sworn brother to escape. If the Kagan heard this, he could quash internal unrest and prepare for full battle.
Bayan's sharp eyes finally made out the enemy rider fully. A lithe silhouette atop a massive black horse. Slender limbs like willow branches, a glittering ornate mask, and two pointed ears jutting from behind.
‘Beastkin... woman...?’
-Clip-clop, clip-clop.
The enemy approached leisurely, unhurried. As if wanting everyone present to witness. Soon, the sharp hiss of a blade sliding from its sheath rang out.
-Clip-clop, clip-clop... thundering hooves!
The horse charged. Agile, but Bayan scoffed, raising sword and shield. Beastkin might excel at riding, but daring a mounted duel against a Hundred Kingdom Kesik?
Mounted combat was his specialty, and among Kesiks, he was burly. In any fight, raw power trumped finesse.
This small, frail beastkin bitch daring to draw and charge? Bayan laughed savagely, spurring to meet her.
-Shing!
The blade flashed, slicing empty air. Bayan gaped at the passing beastkin woman.
He hadn't seen the draw or strike trajectory at all.
“Hearttaker.”
Whoosh—he heard the blade whirl behind him and snap back into its sheath. Then blood sprayed from his right collarbone down his chest in a long gash, and his massive frame crumpled beneath the horse.
* * *
“The escapee?”
“Caught him. Interrogate?”
“Do hunters interrogate deer?”
“Haha, then what?”
“How did these bastards treat our families they captured during last retreat?”
At her words, Golden Tusk bared his fangs.
“Tied to wagon wheels and rolled them.”
“Kadan wants equal retribution for equal crime. Hang their hearts on his scales.”
“Yes, Great Chieftain!”
He wheeled his horse and rode off toward the camp. Soon, screams echoed from afar. Kirhas flicked her ears briefly, then gazed at the night sky. Rain scent wafted from the distance.
“Rain's coming.”
[Hunting in the rain has its charm.]
“Kadan. Do you think we'll win this war?”
[The moment you’re certain of victory, it stops being a hunt and becomes a massacre. Not my domain.]
“Useless.”
[Yet you invoke my authority to command your men. Such hurtful words.]
Kirhas removed the chattering golden mask, hung it on her saddle, and took a swig from her waterskin.