Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: A Fighting Mage's Influence on the North (3)
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The Steel Scale Tribe was thrown into panic.
It was because serious setbacks had arisen in their plundering plans that had been ongoing for decades.
The Highland Tribe's strategy was simple.
The North's knights and soldiers were strong, but there weren't enough of them to guard every place.
So the Steel Scale Tribe scattered their subordinate tribes to disperse the Northern forces, then targeted cities with plenty of loot but few defenders for plunder.
Pillaging honey pots like Kazan to haul away substantial riches was something they couldn't pass up.
But this year was different from last.
"The Black Mane Tribe's wyverns were wiped out? How in the world?"
"Kudan was killed by a single shaman? You expect me to believe that?"
"It's true... apparently?"
Starting with Daniel single-handedly annihilating one Steel Scale Tribe, dark clouds began gathering over the sweet future the barbarians had dreamed of.
Daniel didn't stop after crushing the Black Mane Tribe.
He left Kazan for the Carhu region and brought down the iron fist of retribution on the tribes that had been gleefully raiding there.
In just five weeks, eight tribes were dismantled—a catastrophe.
Half of them lost their tribal chiefs in the process.
Terrified by this, the other tribes dubbed Daniel the Black Catastrophe and decided to avoid him, turning to raid other areas instead. But that was a grave mistake.
"Concentrate forces here, here, and there!"
"Damn it!"
The Northern Archduke was no fool.
As if declaring, "I knew exactly how you'd move!", he reinforced the cities along the Highland Tribe's migration routes.
The outcome was obvious.
Though they were plunder experts, successfully raiding cities with far more troops than in previous years was impossible.
Soon, the Highland Tribes found themselves in dire straits, their haul pitiful compared to last year's.
Winter was nearly upon them, and this wouldn't do.
Tribes gripped by anxiety and impatience began demanding solutions from their supreme leaders.
Thus, the Steel Scale Tribe's emergency strategy meeting was hastily convened.
A freezing wind swept through the ruined village.
Just a few years ago, this place had been a bustling trading post dealing with merchants from other regions, but its golden days came to an abrupt end with a visit from the Black Mane Tribe.
All that remained after the berserkers' merciless pillaging were skeletal house foundations, piles of ash, and blankets of white snow.
No one had visited this ominous wasteland since its fall—until guests arrived after a long time.
The four tribal chiefs of the Steel Scale Tribe.
"Damn it all. What a ridiculous mess because of one shaman!"
The youngest chief, Bebe of the Yellow Claw Tribe, slammed his fist into a nearby wooden pillar.
The rotten roof caved in, sending snow flying.
Nero, chief of the Red Tail Tribe, spoke up.
"Calm yourself, Chief Bebe."
"But Chief Nero!"
"We're not here to whine or vent frustrations. Remember, this meeting is to devise a plan."
"Tch. Understood."
Bebe shut his mouth.
Nero was the father of his second wife, whom he'd married three years ago.
He couldn't be rude to his father-in-law.
"His name's Daniel, right? Who would've thought one rat like him could plunge the entire Highland Tribe into chaos? What do we do now?"
"Hmph."
Nico, chief of the White Fang Tribe, who had been listening silently, snorted.
"Is this even worth agonizing over? There's a simple solution, isn't there?"
"What's that?"
"Take wyverns and crush him. It's that straightforward—why overthink it? Frankly, I question why we're even gathered here yapping like cowards."
"What? You insulting me, Nico?!"
"I never said you. Bebe. Though, thieves do get twitchy about their own feet."
"You bastard!"
"Enough."
A sharp bark.
Everyone fell silent and turned to the man who had remained quiet until now.
Yanan, chief of the Silver Wing Tribe and the de facto leader who had guided the Highland Alliance for decades.
He spoke.
"Cut the pointless provocations and bravado, Nico."
"Provocation, I'll admit. Bravado? No way."
"Why, you!"
"If it's not bravado, go kill the Black Catastrophe yourself."
"...!"
"Succeed, and I'll stake my name: every tribe contributes one wyvern to the White Fangs."
"... "
"See? It's bravado. Nico."
Yanan sneered.
"You know it, I know it, everyone knows why we haven't struck Daniel yet."
"... "
"On the highlands, the weak are just prey. You felt it when the Black Mane Tribe was wiped out. Am I wrong?"
The Black Mane Tribe.
Once an ally standing shoulder-to-shoulder, untouchable outlaws and madmen.
But now, that name was a relic of the past.
In a single raid, they lost a whopping twelve wyverns, their chief, and wyvern riders.
Hearing the news, the other Steel Scale Tribes immediately sought them out.
Not with words of comfort, but with swords and violence.
Thus, the Black Mane Tribe fell.
To the hands of their fellow Steel Scale Tribe.
On the day they fairly divided the survivors' wealth, people, and wyverns, all four chiefs were present.
"What a glorious day that was. We gained heaps of loot and two wyverns without even raiding. And we learned a lesson we'll never forget: there's no eternal ally, and the weak don't qualify as one. Right?"
"... "
"That's why you—and all of us—haven't gone after the so-called Black Sorcerer, Daniel. He's a hornet. Sting it needlessly, show weakness, and you're in trouble on all fronts. Am I wrong?"
"Tch."
Nico clicked his tongue and turned away in lieu of a reply.
"But avoiding the hornet out of fear has reached its limit."
Yanan sighed.
"Winter is coming. Our storehouses for blood and hides are still empty. If we face winter like this, countless tribesmen will freeze or starve. That's unacceptable, which is why we're here. Any objections?"
Everyone shook their heads.
They were rivals and enemies by nature, but as Yanan said, the situation was dire.
Now was the time to join hands, pool heads, and focus on survival, like it or not.
"Then, Chief Yanan, do you have a good plan?"
"Yes. One idea."
Yanan said coldly.
"We band together and raid as one."
"You're serious?"
Nero asked back.
"Wouldn't that mean less prey to go around?"
"Worried about smaller shares when getting none at all is the real fear?"
"...!"
The chiefs fell silent at the blunt words.
"...We have less than two weeks till winter. Even raiding hard together, can we stockpile what we need in time?"
"Don't misunderstand, Chief Bebe. Why raid a lot of places?"
"Pardon?"
"Just smash one city. Like Kudan did before."
"...!?"
It was a radical proposal.
The Highland Tribes, including the Steel Scale Tribe, had an unwritten rule.
When plundering mud-eaters, touch only the "granaries," not the "farms."
That way, you could raid the granaries again next year.
The Black Mane Tribe had ignored this and earned the wrath of many.
Yanan was now suggesting they follow that very outrage.
"Sacrifice next year for this one?! It'll cripple our supplies next year!"
"Fail this year, and there's no next. Right?"
Nero closed his mouth at Yanan's point.
Everyone else did too.
Yanan's words rang with undeniable truth that struck at the heart.
"Anyone got a better idea? Speak now. I'll listen."
No one spoke.
Proof they inwardly agreed with Yanan.
Yanan smiled.
"...So, which city? Most won't have enough riches to satisfy us."
"Obviously, a honey pot."
"Tch!"
Nico clicked his tongue. The other chiefs reacted similarly.
Honey pot. Their slang for the North's three great cities: Kazan, Norton, and Cartago.
Faced with destroying the very cities that sweetly provided steady loot year after year, the chiefs groaned but didn't object.
As Yanan said, the priority was the present, not some distant future.
"Kazan, then? With that Daniel gone, it shouldn't be much threat."
"No. Exclude Kazan."
"What?"
The chiefs' eyes widened at Yanan's veto.
"Why?"
"Our spies report a surge in mages summoning devils like Daniel's."
"...!"
"Unlikely to match his skill, but not impossible. No gambling on uncertain odds."
Memories surfaced from the Black Mane Tribe raid.
The devils self-destructed, wyverns crashed, then burned—per the wyvern warriors' testimony.
It matched the spies' reports, so no chance of fake intel.
A city swarming with wyvern-downing devils.
Wise to avoid.
"Then where?"
"Norton."
"Hm."
This time, all nodded in agreement.
Cartago was under the Northern Archduke's direct control. Its walls and troop quality were unmatched, befitting the North's capital.
Norton, ruled by the Archduke's in-laws, was well-defended but not on Cartago's level.
"Plus, reports say its guardian shaman's a drunken fool. Not weak, but no Black Catastrophe."
"Conclusion reached, then."
"Yes."
"Norton it is."
Yanan issued the final order.
"Tell the subordinate tribes to band up and raid cities. That'll draw the mud-eaters' eyes. We strike Norton in the chaos."
Use weak tribes as bait to split attention, then hit Norton for winter supplies. Utterly selfish diversion, but no objections.
The law of the wild: the strong eat, the weak get eaten.
That was the highlands' absolute rule.
The chiefs' eyes gleamed with greed, selfishness, and war madness.
"Kieeeek!!!"
The wyverns carrying the chiefs soared high into the sky.
Their ominous roars echoed across the snowfields like trumpets heralding the apocalypse.