Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Arael Tribe 2
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-Squeak!
The arrow tore through the air and pierced the head of the soldier herding civilians from the rear with pinpoint accuracy.
“Gasp!”
Midiām fired off arrows one after another, targeting the soldiers driving people toward the front lines. Each shot felled one without fail.
“Shieldbearers!”
The soldiers, who had been casually using the civilians as shields from a distance beyond ordinary arrow range, finally panicked and raised their shields to protect their necks.
The moment the smirks vanished from the faces of those who had laughed while shoving others into danger.
“Ahahaha!”
Midiām burst into laughter, standing boldly atop the ramparts.
Yes, that man had been right.
Protecting the people was beautiful.
In Midiām’s upright figure, still untouched by the world’s filth and shining with pure integrity, Ismael saw unparalleled beauty. Pride, courage, and unadulterated passion sparkled in the morning sun.
How could he not be captivated?
But overshadowing this beauty was that man’s shadow. Knowing how profoundly Azadin had influenced Midiām, Ismael couldn’t fully savor the moment.
What’s more, felling a few soldiers wouldn’t improve their situation. If anything, this display would only worsen her and Ismael’s position.
*********
While Midiām blocked the enemy soldiers’ advance, Ismael asked the fortress guards to open the gates briefly.
“Open the gates? Are you insane?”
“Who’s this brat!”
“…Wait, hold on. This kid’s one of them.”
“One of what?”
“Heralds.”
“What?! You mean those soulless monsters?”
“…….”
“Hey, I can hear you.”
*‘Not deaf, so everyone hears. Hubris folk are all the same…’*
Under Ismael’s insistence, the soldiers reluctantly opened not the main gate but a side one. Ismael handed out a small dagger to the people.
Those who had been driven to assault the walls moments ago cut their ropes with it and slipped inside the fortress. But not everyone entered.
“Why aren’t you coming in? Use the knife I gave you to cut the ropes around your ankles and get inside!”
“Our families are being held hostage!”
“If we enter the gates now after leaving the children behind, they’ll kill our kids.”
They refused to take shelter inside but half-heartedly gnawed at the gates with their weapons. While Midiām kept the soldiers at bay with arrows, they were intentionally slacking off.
But if the soldiers threatened with spears and swords, they’d swarm back in a flash.
“No choice. Close them.”
Ismael had the gates shut again and withdrew.
*********
Like a needle bursting from a pocket, the exploits of these young boy and girl inevitably drew talk toward them.
“Heralds?”
“Yeah. Those women who escaped the bandits? They’re saying…”
“If they’re Heralds, aren’t they those soulless irreverents? But… they’re pretty.”
People gossiped freely about Ismael and Midiām, and their words reached Ismael’s ears.
*‘Damn. The women we rescued are blabbing about us.’*
The people Ismael and Midiām had saved and brought here seemed clueless about keeping quiet. If they had any sense, they’d shut their mouths. Blurting out that the kids were Heralds made his blood boil.
Of course, he knew better. They were just ordinary commoners. Untrained in combat, most illiterate from lack of education.
Expecting depth from them was absurd. They’d simply answered questions, casually revealing Midiām and Ismael’s identities without a second thought.
“Th-they’re Heralds? G-good!”
“Save us!”
The fortress guards, upon learning Ismael and Midiām were Heralds, entrusted themselves to the pair.
They were only doing so because Count Lantarik’s army loomed nearby with threats. Once the danger passed, they wouldn’t forget and would surely report it to someone.
No matter how he thought about it, Ismael couldn’t like these Hubris folk. But Midiām was different.
“Bring arrows and bows.”
Midiām secured supplies from them and unleashed a barrage, threatening the shield-bearing soldiers into retreat.
“Shooting too much will wear out your hands. You already pushed hard last night…”
Ismael let Midiām rest and took her place on the watchtower.
“Catch your breath. Sleep if you can.”
“Thanks, Ismael.”
Midiām entrusted her back to him and stepped down. A soldier-like man scooped water from a bucket with a ladle and offered it to her.
“A-are you okay, miss?”
“Of course.”
Midiām gladly accepted and drank. It might be poisoned, but by taking it, she proved her trust in them.
*********
Until noon, Count Lantarik’s soldiers probed occasionally, only to retreat under Ismael’s arrows.
Ismael rested with bow in hand, rising to shoot whenever nearby soldiers woke him. Exhausted from last night’s forced march like Midiām, he still boosted morale just by threatening them into caution with arrows.
But…
*‘They’re plotting something.’*
From their reactions, Ismael sensed another ploy.
*‘Even without siege engines, if they truly wanted this fortress, they’d ram it with people. Lingering like this… Ah?’*
Ismael felt a chill of killing intent at his back and turned. There stood a man in a Herald mask atop the watchtower.
Not Azadin. He was tall, but this man matched him in height and was enormously broad. So massive he couldn’t belt his Herald moon-horn bow at the waist but wore it strapped to his leg like greaves.
Strikingly, he carried two bows per leg—four in total.
“Hello, little one. You’re from Ara’s house, huh.”
“Wh-who are you?”
“Hmm. But you’re not Heralds—you’re attendants, right? Where’s your Herald? Who oversees you?”
“We serve the 108th Herald Azadin.”
“Azadin… The Azadin of No Mercy?”
He was startled by the name.
“Oh, impressive. Even that guy has attendants. You’re sharp for attendants—too good for Azadin.”
“Who are you?”
“Disappointing. You don’t know me? Everyone among peers knows me. I’m the 94th Rank Kahsan.”
“Kahsan…”
“Bow-Breaker Kahsan—that’s the famous moniker.”
Kahsan flexed, bulging his arm muscles. Terrifying even to look at, evoking not human flesh but the lean meat of a horse or massive hound. A form sculpted from savagery and violence.
“…….”
Strong enough to shatter moon-horn bows. The nickname meant that, but among Heralds, breaking bows wasn’t pure praise—it implied carelessness, inexperience.
“This is tricky. Count Lantarik’s our client.”
“Surely the Count isn’t a gold petitioner? But…”
The gold petition system embodied the Emperor’s wish to redress commoners’ grievances. Letting it fuel noble territorial squabbles or power struggles would mock that wish.
When Tarkhi, bastard son of Marcherlord Sarasma, became a gold petitioner, Azadin had voiced exactly that discontent.
Nobles rarely became gold petitioners. Much less one like Count Lantarik, blatantly warring for land.
“Of course not gold. But clients can come other ways, right?”
“…….”
Ismael frowned at Kahsan’s words. Meaning Kahsan wasn’t bound by gold but allied with the Count for other reasons.
“So, can you step aside? Where’s Azadin? I’d like to talk to him—Arael’s little brother, right?”
“Well…”
“Hmm. Looks like he’s not here. Hilarious guy. Leaves attendants to hold the fort while he’s absent?”
Frustrated at the impasse, Kahsan sighed.
“Well, getting blocked by Azadin’s rabble is insult enough. Shall we settle this?”
Kahsan charged in the same breath.
-Flowerbird Windmoon, Twilight!
His massive frame flickered like a ghost amid afterimages, a perfect ambush. But Ismael was ready.
*‘Given Azadin’s reputation, even I’d want to settle clashes with force.’*
Ismael leaped outside the walls to evade, grabbed Sarasma’s banner on the outer wall, swung back atop the ramparts.
“Wow! Not bad!”
Kahsan admired Ismael’s nimble dodge.
“Kahsan!”
A girl’s voice rang from behind. Midiām, roused from rest.
“Hm!”
Kahsan whirled toward the sound, but only his discarded cloak fluttered, mimicking speech—the cuckoo spell of Flowerbird Windmoon.
“Aha!”
An arrow flew at his temple. Kahsan slapped it aside. Lightning jolted through him—it was a wall-thunder arrow.
“Oh!”
Even numb from electrocution, Kahsan grinned.
“No shame in falling to me. I’m Midiām of Etar!”
Midiām aimed another at his throat as he faltered. But Kahsan sprang back as if untouched, dodging. Then…
“Etar, you say?”
Kahsan stomped, and with a roar, a rampart brick erupted upward—a man-leg-sized stone.
“Ugh!?”
As Midiām faltered, Kahsan closed in. She hastily drew and swung her sword. But he smashed it with his palm, seized her, and hurled her outside the fortress.
No Herald could simply jump from this watchtower height.