Chapter 98
Chapter 98
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Warlords' Council (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
If asked to name the most influential figures who had pushed the world to the brink of apocalypse—excluding Feizashi Wildcast at the height of his power—there were at least five others who wielded that level of sway.
Among them was the one who had ignited the Great War. The mighty conqueror who had charged from the distant southeastern plains at the head of tens of thousands of cavalry: Karadaskar.
Karadaskar. Kagan of the Five Thousand Great Gears. Horse King of the White Kingdom Demons. Scar of the World. The World-Burner. Slayer of the Chariot Wheel.
Wherever he advanced in a straight line marked on a map, no village, city, or kingdom survived along that path. He burned them all, trampled them, plundered them. Those larger than a chariot wheel, he dismembered before killing; those smaller, he stuffed into sacks and crushed beneath hooves.
What he desired was one thing alone: the mad ambition to etch his name as the world's scar. He conquered, plundered, and shared the spoils generously with his brothers.
His advance had halted here in the Western Great Wastelands. And the one who stopped him was her.
Fernandez watched Kirhas Hearttaker's back as she slowly walked toward the table.
‘The Shield of the Western Great Wastelands. Kirhas Hearttaker.’
The great hero who had taught the undefeated Karadaskar the meaning of defeat. A born tactician and warrior who had rallied the shattered remnants of Kirzart's forces, the fractured tigerfolk beastman troops, and the refugee columns of destroyed minor civilizations—and won a decisive battle against Karadaskar!
There were three main reasons she had earned the unwavering support and loyalty of the tigerfolk beastman alliance.
First, her personal prowess. The perfected strength to stand toe-to-toe with a demon grand duke, and the heroic deeds she accomplished with it.
Second, her background. The awe inspired by her journey: clan destroyed and sold into slavery, she defeated her demon-worshipping buyers, escaped, and built her power from nothing in the wasteland.
And finally, the trials she endured in the Kalini clan's shrine. She had revived one of the beastman ancestors' deceased gods, the ‘God of the Hunt, Kadan.’ Baptized directly by the resurrected god, sainted as a saint, and revived the lost faith in the beastman ancestral gods.
‘Her prowess is still incomplete, and her background is actually a weakness.’
Her strength had developed to a level unmatched among beastmen her age, thanks to countless battles, systematic training, and her innate talent that was just beginning to bloom.
But ‘just beginning to bloom’ wasn’t enough to convince these finicky elders of the beastman alliance. Nor did she have the achievements to prove it.
Moreover, her background—‘rescued’ by a slave trader, devoting herself to the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods as an inquisitor’s aide—was far from appealing to beastmen. They respected the Pantheon’s authority but refused to submit to it.
Then. Fernandez watched an elder place his hand on the golden mask atop the table. With trembling fingers, he caressed Kadan’s jackal mask.
-Krunch!
“Urghaaah!!”
Lightning sparked from the elder’s fingertips, charring his right hand black. He screamed, flung the mask away, and staggered back, gasping.
“W-What happened?”
“Was it cursed?!”
“No, no!”
The elder swallowed hard, gazing at the mask with reverence. His charred right hand trembled uncontrollably.
“I am unworthy! Likely all of us are. Oh, my god. In our time... it has truly returned. The God of the Hunt has returned!”
“Kirhas.”
Fernandez quietly called her name. She didn’t turn, merely nodding slightly.
Soon, her slender hand grasped the mask’s edge and lifted it.
“Oh, ooh.”
The elders sighed in unison. Politics and personal biases aside, the sanctity of witnessing a lost faith’s revival filled the chamber.
It was no mere ancient relic or temple icon. This pressure. This holiness. The beastman elders instinctively sensed the mighty soul slumbering beneath the mask.
The revival of an ancestral god. Even before better proof, they already intuited that the mask held Kadan’s soul.
[Serve me...]
‘No.’
[Serve me...]
Kirhas grimaced at the jackal god’s voice echoing in her mind. Her faith lay not in gods, but her lord. She grumbled inwardly.
‘Be quiet for a bit. If it’s good, it’s good. You need followers? Talk to them. I’ll help.’
[They lack the stature.]
‘Me?’
[Serve me...]
Kirhas let out a deep sigh. This wasn’t a god; it was like handling a clingy child. A broken wind-up toy endlessly muttering the same words.
Suppressing the urge to look at Fernandez, she composed a dignified expression and faced the council chamber. The elders swallowed under the pressure of the golden mask in her hand.
“My name is Kirhas, Kirhas Hearttaker of the Kalini clan. Pleased to meet you, esteemed elders. As representative of the Kalini clan, or as Kadan’s anointed—do I have sufficient qualification?”
An elder groaned briefly before cautiously continuing.
“The conditions for council entry are: elder of a tribe, or tribe’s grand shaman or grand oracle. Only these two cases. Kirhas, for what purpose do you apply?”
The elder looked subdued. Fernandez admired his courage in shaking off the divine pressure and voicing caution.
For anyone else, perhaps. But for a beastman to resist Kadan’s dominion required immense resolve. Fernandez glanced at Partak, arms crossed in the chamber’s corner.
‘A dove faction member.’
Partak shook his head briefly, signaling. Imperial dove faction. The group that least wanted Kirhas’s sudden appearance.
Kirhas’s turquoise eyes sparkled as she addressed the elder.
“As clan representative. My agenda is vengeance. Vengeance for the Kalini clan, burned to ashes!”
The elder hummed thoughtfully. In principle, if a clan in the tigerfolk alliance was attacked by outsiders—no matter how minor—the obligation of vengeance fell on all alliance tribes.
But years ago, by slave hunters’ hands, for a clan already burned? The target of vengeance was vague. The elder sidelong-glanced Partak.
‘What’s the goal?’
That old fox’s purpose in rejecting emperor and sultan for independence. Bringing this beastman girl claiming a dead god’s revelation. There must be a reason for playing this unexpected wild card.
No elder acted without political motive. The elder gathered his thoughts and spoke.
“Vengeance against whom?”
“The world!”
Kirhas’s turquoise eyes blazed. She slammed Kadan’s golden mask onto the table and shouted.
“Esteemed elders. I seek vengeance against the world. After the Kalini clan’s fall, I was sold into slavery and wandered human cities. What I witnessed was only persecution, discrimination, and hatred!”
Her arm swept toward the map. The wasteland chart was scribbled with tribe locations and borders.
“Glory to the great tigerfolk alliance! We flee slave hunters as prey, huddle between great powers hoping merely to survive, praying. We swore to stand back-to-back, never turning blades on each other. But what is the reality?”
-Bam!
Her raised arm slammed the table again. The elders fell silent, meeting her gaze.
“Peace with the Empire is begging the victor. Leaning on the Sultan’s favor, too! Those civilized nations calling us barbarians want only our enslavement or service as mercenaries. Since when has our lot been this? Since when did we become prey?”
Not all elders agreed with her eloquence. They were too seasoned for passion alone to sway them. But the god’s authority commanded their silence.
Thus, Kirhas continued uninterrupted.
“This vast wasteland was our home, the high sky our roof. We have no borders. The whole world is our domain! Yet, elders, the tigerfolk’s status is lower than ever. The pride forged by countless heroes is now mere war fodder in great powers’ squabbles!”
“So what do you propose?”
An elder asked cautiously. Passionate speech, but it revealed nothing of Partak’s scheme. Turn against emperor and sultan both? What could they—or Partak—gain?
“One lord, one tribe, one purpose! Thus, with the united tigerfolk alliance’s might, secure our domain. And vengeance! Vengeance against the world!”
The elders’ brows twitched at Kirhas’s words. Dangerous! She sought to elect a high chieftain for the beastman alliance.
“Thus, elders, I declare here: the season of the hunt has returned.”
Kirhas set Kadan’s golden mask on the table and sat. Silence blanketed the chamber. Fernandez stood behind her, arms crossed.
‘Excellent.’
-Better than the script I wrote yesterday?
‘Charisma and leadership. No one her age surpasses Kirhas in those. It’s blooming from this moment.’
In the scenario Fernandez and Partak planned last night, the trickiest, most crucial role was this speech.
But Kirhas exceeded the script, delivering superior oratory. Her authenticity stemmed from truly enduring slavery and those horrific markets.
“Madness!”
One elder shot up, shouting. Overawed briefly by her burning eyes, he soon erupted in frenzied coughs.
“High chieftain? Are you worthy? You’re just a slave-born beastman—nothing more!”
“Do you question her qualification now, Jas of Kadihor?”
Partak spoke quietly; the elder flinched.
“The God of the Hunt declared the season through his proxy. How dare we mortals judge his chosen?”
“...Gods don’t shed blood for us!”
The elder cried. He had no intention of swearing loyalty to this outsider beastman girl, let alone their god absent for a millennium.
“Our tribe’s youth always bleed. Endure losses? For pride? That’s idealism! Ignoring tribal welfare for ideals is dereliction!”
“Idealism, yes. Then what of pragmatism?”
“I know what you want, Partak. Stop pretending it’s for the alliance. Prophet of Kadan, you’re being deceived!”
The elder pointed at Partak.
“She dreams no vengeance, no hunt, no ideals for our league. Her head’s filled with power and strength alone. You’re just her bait—passion and revenge!”
“Enough!”
Another elder shouted. Dove faction. Partak’s eyes narrowed.
“I declare recess! This exceeds our authority. Elders, convey this to your chieftains!”
“Agreed!”
Before Kirhas could speak, the elders fled. Escaping her—and the god in her grasp.
As they ebbed away like tide, only seven elders remained.
“Prepare for assassination or war, Partak Blackfang.”
After a pause, a remaining elder spoke. Partak scanned them.
Third faction. Neutral hawks. Seeking middle-ground gains, independent prestige. Betraying the god’s authority suited them perfectly.
Partak smiled slyly at the schemers, then glanced at the silent Fernandez.
“So it is, my lord.”
The elders’ faces twisted in shock. ‘My lord?’ Their heads snapped toward the human youth in the corner.
The young man, arms crossed, spoke in a low voice.
“Good.”
Assassination and war. Fortunately, both were his specialties. Fernandez smiled coldly. Only then did the elders realize.
Why and how demon follower Partak Blackfang, Kirzart hawk, brought Kadan’s prophet.
Not Partak behind her. She wasn’t Kadan’s or Partak’s puppet; he wasn’t merely her attendant.
The elders groaned in terror. The departed ones were mistaken. They’d think Partak propped her up to seize power, abusing high chieftain authority from the shadows!
In truth, Partak was their puppet. Fernandez slowly uncrossed his arms and turned to the map. The vast chart marking the tigerfolk alliance tribes.
“The season of the hunt has come.”