Chapter 95
Chapter 95
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: De'Rakaz Swarm
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*
Fernandez stirred the campfire, smothering the embers, and stretched his arms. It wasn't exactly a satisfying bed, but the drinks from the night before had eased his tension, leaving him surprisingly refreshed.
-Shooooaaa...
The roar of a waterfall poured from nearby. How long would it take for Abel and Kirhas to finish washing up and return? Fernandez covered the ash pile with dirt to clean the site, lightly flexing his fingers.
Index, thumb, middle, ring, pinky. The five fingers intertwined and released in rapid succession, completing five mudras in an instant. Of course, it wasn't awakening his mana circuits or manifesting a spell—this was just a warm-up.
"Hoo..."
Fernandez closed his eyes, fingers still crooked, and took a deep breath. Time for a quick function check.
-Kiiing...
The Bronze Throne flashed an olive-green light and vibrated against his wrist. Natural mana seeped into his mana circuits, bringing them online. Fernandez snapped his fingers crisply, forming the mudra.
-Fwoosh.
A black halo ignited behind his head. Amid the thick cascade of dark curly hair, blue eyes gleamed, and three mudras materialized in the air in a flash.
First [Inscribe]. Then [Beacon]. Finally [Arrow]. The spell traced a swift path through the air, and soon an arrow forged from mana appeared at his fingertip.
'1.3 seconds?'
-Yeah. Your reaction time's improved a bit.
'Any idea why?'
-The hesitation's gone from your fingertips. Probably Kadan's doing.
'Haha. Feizashi. We've never hesitated when weaving magic.'
Not even when ending his own son's life. To him, magic was as natural as breathing.
Fernandez chuckled and launched the arrow into the air. It arced away along a long trajectory before vanishing.
Now, it was time.
*
The midday Great Wasteland was astonishingly hot. Scorching heat waves distorted the horizon, making it waver even now.
Abel clung awkwardly to the swaying camel's back and uncorked her waterskin. She glanced sidelong at Fernandez, who was studying the map.
"Uh, isn't there a city just a bit south down there?"
"That city's now an outpost for Kirzat. From here to here—this whole wide stretch is the front line."
Fernandez explained with his usual expression to Abel, who leaned in close to peer at his face.
"It's the frontline between the Apotazar Dynasty and Kirzat. It arcs broadly across the southern region. If we enter that city and get inspected, it could escalate into a diplomatic incident."
"Why?"
"My brief alliance with Shakshisi is classified, and I don't have any public identity that Kirzat would swallow."
The cover identity he'd received when dispatched from the Inquisition as Ironside was that of a knight from the Eastern Kingdom Alliance.
With the Eastern Kingdom Alliance allied to the Levinthur Empire, he lacked justification to enter a Kirzat Sultanate city in broad daylight. In this brutal battlefield, he'd have no excuse if detained on the spot.
Especially not on Kirzat's front, frayed from a draining multi-front war.
"So, we're heading to the Nomad Alliance. West for a day... hmm, a day and a half."
"What about flying? It'd be wider and comfier than this stupid beast's back. Didn't we ride once before?"
"Abel."
"Eek!"
Fernandez chuckled and ruffled her hair. Abel flushed and shrank back. She wasn't used to such treatment, but Fernandez reached out with practiced ease.
"Value your life."
"...Coward."
Fernandez said nothing in response, urging his camel forward. Clop, clop. The sound of hooves on the sand echoed.
Kirhas watched them for a moment, lips twitching. Then she bowed her head and followed Fernandez.
Her hand brushed the golden mask strapped to her saddle. A strange voice echoed in her mind.
-Serve me.
'No.'
There must be a reason Fernandez gave her this haunted relic. Whatever it was, her lord never acted without purpose.
So, this was a test. One she could pass. Kirhas gazed at Fernandez's back.
From behind him to her stretched a blue path, rippling gently. A beautiful, warm path. The path to her lord.
-Serve me.
'Absolutely not.'
Whatever he desired, she would achieve it. Kirhas's turquoise eyes gleamed as she stared at his broad back.
*
At dusk, the gate guards dozed against the torch posts, nodding off. It wasn't fair to call it laziness.
At the Nomad Alliance's border in the Great Wasteland, no one would dare a preemptive strike on them amid the current turf wars between factions.
That's why the guards failed to spot the approaching group until they were close enough to enter the watchfire's glow, still clutching their gleaming spear shafts in sleep.
"Hey."
"...Mm...? Huh?!"
Only when the ragged youth in the hooded cloak spoke did the two guards jolt awake, sweating coldly. The youth—Fernandez—sighed at the sight.
Discipline had utterly collapsed. They held a relatively safe zone amid the wasteland skirmishes, and as a mid-sized tribal alliance, they weren't worth the immediate hassle for the clashing powers.
How could anyone lead such people to war? The alliance was in deeper trouble than he'd thought.
"Wh-who are you!"
"A wanderer here to see Partak Blackfang. Surely Chief Charth's hospitality extends to lending a ger to warm a Ger one night?"
"From the Hundred Nations Horse Clans? You look pretty pale for that."
"Half-breed."
"Huh... Well, we can't afford to pick fights with horse folk. Come in!"
The Great Wasteland's west was Kirzat territory, the wasteland south of it held by the Nomad Alliance. Further south lay vast plains, endless grasslands claimed by the horse clans.
The so-called Hundred Nations Horse Clans. Rulers of five thousand great gers under Karadskahr, a massive nomadic empire. Their horsemanship was so seamless they seemed one with their mounts—hence "horse clans."
They called themselves the Lrwiwein Yar, land of savage warriors. Fernandez pondered the massive scar they'd carve.
Two decades from now, amid the escalating Hundred Years' War, calamity would strike. The horse clans, war-weary from the western Great Wasteland, would march on the Nomads, Kirzat Sultanate, and even the Aseas High Council, leaving devastation in their wake.
Following Erik the pitch-black's northern invasion from the south-advancing hordes, Karadskahr's five thousand great gers would raze the southern lands northward, crumbling civilization.
And at its end, the five great archdemons would descend into the material world. The foretold apocalypse. The end from his past life.
"Why's a Hundred Nations wanderer come all the way to the alliance?"
"Seeking my godfather. Partak Blackfang."
"...Your bloodline's a mess!"
The guard guffawed and clapped Fernandez's back. Fernandez shrugged. Too easy. The guards, eager to cover their slacking, treated him all the more cordially.
The guard eyed the two women trailing him.
"And them?"
"My two wives."
"Typical horse clan style. To meet old Partak, head to Pifthus's banner. He's under Pifthus's army."
"Grateful for the kindness."
The guard smirked and shoved the gate's stockade aside. Fernandez nodded to Abel and Kirhas, who blushed and bowed their heads, then stepped inside.
*
In the Nomad Alliance's camp, a tangled mess of overlapping army sites, Pifthus's banner was relatively easy to find. Stronger forces dominated the center.
To Fernandez, who'd clashed fiercely with the alliance in his past life, spotting nomad banners was child's play.
Red boar crest: Zakatus clan. Flaming tiger crest: Krikalak clan. And beside them, the tent with the roaring bear crest. That was Pifthus clan's mark.
Walking between them, Fernandez felt a pang of nostalgia. Like seeing clans that birthed heroes. That warrior from there died like this. I killed that champion from over there like that.
"Benefactor."
"Ah, yeah. Right."
Kirhas cleared her throat to snap him out of it. Fernandez led the camel through Pifthus warriors eyeing him warily.
Among them sat an elderly beastman with long, dangling earrings, drinking.
"Greetings, Partak."
"You know me?"
"Partak Blackfang. Aren't you Pifthus tribe's army chief?"
"First time I've seen you."
-Thud.
Fernandez leaped from the camel and approached. Surrounding warriors glared menacingly.
"Don't come closer, outsider. Our chief says he doesn't know you."
Fernandez smiled awkwardly at Partak. He quietly traced the holy sign. The glaring warriors flinched, and Partak's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Ah, now I remember. Lads, give us the tent."
"...Elder?"
"No worries."
Partak ambled toward his tent, jerking his chin at Fernandez.
*
"Where you from?"
As soon as they entered the tent, Partak gazed warmly at him and spoke. Despite the kind tone, Fernandez felt mana flowing as his fingers wove complex patterns.
"Disciple of Al'Persitt, Great Sorcerer."
"...Hrm. How's that woman faring?"
"Thanks to your kindness, Great Sorcerer, splendidly."
Partak slowly unknotted his fingers and smiled. He poured Fernandez tea and gestured to a seat.
"Sit, brother wanderer."
An organization smuggling beastman slaves through Gloridein's markets, the most secretive devil-worshipping cabal infiltrating the Nomad Alliance.
[De'Rakaz Swarm]
Fernandez smiled at the herbal scent from Partak's tea. Their methods hadn't changed.
Maksancho mixed in the leaves. Fernandez drank deeply without a care. Maksancho was one of the material world's strongest truth serums, but a Demonica's liver was its mightiest detox organ.
Partak bared black teeth in a grotesque grin. Fernandez felt a strange fondness at the sight.
One of the fifteen fiends who doomed the world. Partak Blackfang of De'Rakaz Swarm. My old friend.
Fernandez thought with a smile. He rarely spared friends.