Chapter 71: Chapter 71

Just then, Bulka's gaze was fixed in that direction.

A flash shot through the air, and a crack formed in empty space. What appeared from the gap was a person.

A chilling violet light surged fiercely. Following the diagonal after-image, one of the subordinates' torsos was severed clean.

The Northlanders' characteristic sharp instincts stood on edge. A moment stretched endlessly.

The inquisitor who had pierced the Imperial City's barrier, assassinated the crown prince, and then slipped out without a trace.

Bulka had imagined it over and over.

To the eyes of a barbarian, the Imperial City was a symbol of advanced civilization and the pinnacle of human intellect. The very sight of the Empire's walls inspired awe.

How could it be possible? By what means? Who was he, really?

That person was right before his eyes.

He quickly shifted his grip on the halberd, holding it long with both hands. Blood boiled and surged backward. His pounding heartbeat rang in his ears. Like an enraged bull abandoning reason, he charged.

'Don't stop him. Evade instead.'

Ran's senses quickly stabilized. Watching Bulka charging with all his might, he made a decision right away.

Anyone could tell the opponent's strength was far above average. He could face him with Nachal, of course, but with Iel in tow the risk was too great.

The halberd blade was thrust into the ground. Dirt flew in all directions as rocks shattered.

Bulka threw his head to the side. Ran, with the girl on his back, dodged.

"I will not harm the child. Let's fight fairly."

Fairly? The awkward wording, clearly picked up somewhere, sounded ridiculous coming from this barbarian. Ran twisted his lips in a sneer.

From the violet blade he held in reverse grip, steam began to rise. Following the wavering current like a heat haze, Nachal's form appeared sharply.

"It's... it's Nachal!"

"Ah! Nachal has descended!"

Cries of astonishment erupted from all sides.

Every demon, from a young age, learns about their divine spirits through their parents. Nachal, in particular, is the holy spirit revered by demon warriors.

To their enemies, Nachal is terror and calamity; to allies, a holy guardian spirit.

A blazing demonic flame trailed long in Nachal's empty eye sockets as it moved.

Its gaze landed on Bulka.

The scythe carved through the space itself in a majestic arc.

"I am a descendant of Dakir—!"

A Northlander who had become a dog of the Empire.

Bulka knew that his fellow countrymen back home called him a traitor, pointing their fingers.

He no longer cared for nation or people. He had transcended such things long ago. History—and future generations—would remember. The only thing that mattered was that Dakir's blood flowed in his veins.

He lived only for pure strength and the pride of a warrior.

This was how a descendant of Dakir should live.

'Fulfilling the task of this life.'

He raised his halberd above his head. He faced Nachal's destructive blow head-on. Nothing was more humiliating than cowardice before another god's power.

He blocked Nachal's blow overhead. For a moment, his other side was left unguarded, but he had prepared for that.

It happened almost simultaneously. A sensation, cold and hot, tore through his abdomen.

Bulka coughed blood. His trembling head tilted back.

He could see the inquisitor's back. Ran held the girl in one hand, a sword in the other. Drops of blood dripped from the tip of the blade.

"Y-You coward! Kuh...?!"

A warrior recognizes another warrior. He had wanted to fight with all his strength. He had believed his opponent worthy. But he had never expected him to draw attention and use such a base tactic.

No matter how he pressed on, blood kept leaking out. He felt the cold touch of a blade at his neck.

"Drop all your swords and get on your knees."

Ran ordered the imperial guards.

The two, having just lost their commander, looked at each other in confusion, then eventually knelt.

Ran's gaze slid over to Bulka.

"Where's your main force?"

"Haha, I don't know."

"It's fine. There are two more besides you."

Ran set Iel down beside him, gently nudging her aside. He didn't want her to see this. Understanding, Iel buried her face in Ran's back.

Before anyone noticed, Nachal had disappeared and only silence remained.

Ran's sword tip slowly rose.

Tascar, who had rushed over belatedly, stopped Ran. He was panting hard.

Both his voice and eyes were trembling sharply. It was as if Bulka's face was contorted with disbelief at seeing the dead return to life.

"H-How...? Why are you here?"

Belief and ambition moved the man. It had already been ten years since Bulka left his homeland, braving disgrace.

Back then, tascar Hon Ortega, the youngest brother of the great chieftain and mighty warrior Mukesh, was just fourteen.

The boy had admired warriors, and Bulka was among them.

Those ten years had turned the boy into a warrior.

The warrior's sturdy shoulders shook. In this moment, the warrior recalled memories from his boyhood.

As the warriors left, turning their backs on the tribe, the boy had sobbed and wailed.

"So... did you leave only to end up ?"

A warrior must not show weakness. That's why he had swallowed his tears.

Now, tascar's pupils, having grown to match the warriors he once idolized, sank coldly.

"Kuhuhu, you've grown up, tascar."

Bulka laughed hollowly. The blood surging in his throat made his words slurred.

Their reunion ended quickly. Tascar's gaze quickly darted among those kneeling, settling on one.

It didn't take long to find. He locked eyes with Sigurd, who was hiding beneath a worn-out rag. She, too, was struggling to contain her overflowing emotions.

"Barbarian, if you stand there, you'll get blood all over you. Step aside."

Ran urged them. It was a small act of consideration to the two with shared history. Regardless, he had to finish things properly.

"Mercenary. Please, spare him."

Bulka, head bowed, flinched. He didn't wish to beg for his life. He only regretted not dying more honorably.

Ran raised a brow and answered indifferently.

Tascar knelt, then deeply bowed his head in solemn resolve.

For a moment Ran was caught off guard by the unexpected act, but didn't show it.

"That man and I were like brothers once, closer than blood. One day, I want to settle things myself and claim his head with my own hand. If you are a warrior, you'll understand."

"Well, I wouldn't know. I have neither brothers nor am I a warrior. Besides, it doesn't matter. Even if I let him go now, he won't last long. I left him just barely alive."

"Dakir will decide the fate that remains for him."

"No. If I let him go, my own tail will be caught."

Tascar clamped his mouth shut. Slowly rising, he reached for his waist.

Ran readied Nachal. This might be a good chance to deal with Tascar.

But Tascar's killing intent wasn't aimed at Ran, but at the two kneeling imperial guards behind him.

Two hand axes flew past Ran's sides like bolts of lightning. With the sound of them cutting through the air came two dull impacts.

The defenseless imperial guards fell, hand axes buried in their faces. Their bodies collapsed helplessly.

"Mercenary. Whatever your purpose, I know you're headed for Northland. I'll help you. If the Empire's men threaten you, I'll stand and fight at your side and that child's. I swear on Dakir."

Ran pursed his lips. Nachal spun half a circle in the air, then slipped neatly into its sheath.

Tascar took this as acceptance. He approached Bulka.

"Don't do anything foolish, tascar. Just kill me already."

"Don't get the wrong idea. I didn't spare you out of pity."

The faces of the two barbarians drew close. With eyes full of killing intent, tascar looked down upon the dying Bulka.

"Go and tell Muke—no, Oscar. Tell him Tascar will be waiting in Ortega."

As those words ended, terrence's scouting party arrived at the safe zone.

Everyone was horrified by the brutal scene. They scattered, each checking on companions and their belongings. Rev went first to find Ran and Iel. Terrence ran to Sigurd and, despite others' glances, embraced her tightly.

Among the chaotic crowd, only the young barbarian boy Ragna stood silently.

Ragna and Bulka faced each other for a while.

"George, megan, annabel, Peter, sandrock. Those five are dead, and Todd is badly wounded."

"This is terrible. We left for far too long."

"Terrence! This is all because of that mercenary, Ran!"

"Hey, drek! You done talking? You think this is Ran's fault? Unbelievable. Did you already forget it was thanks to Ran the bear beast's den got wiped out?"

"I know! Still, the imperial guards followed him here, didn't they? He admitted it himself. I'm just saying, he bears some responsibility."

"Responsibility? For what? Why don't you go say that to Ran's face? Are you going to blame an ally for other allies dying against the Emperor's soldiers?"

"You're always saying it yourself! The war's not over, and we're still resisting!"

Lost in thoughts, terrence intervened.

Inside Huven's hut, the officers had gathered around Terrence. They had all once served under Huven, the former centurion, or now held key posts in the safe zone.

Tascar, now freed, also had a seat. He had become an important figure to the safe zone in many ways.

A man glanced at Tascar and said,

"That's not the real issue. We shouldn't have let that barbarian go. We just broadcast our location. That's the biggest problem."

Tascar showed no reaction to these words. As if his mind was elsewhere, he only sat quietly, staring at the floor.

Just as the man tried to speak again, tascar spoke in a low voice.

"Let's go. Northland. All of you."

His once-unfocused eyes swept across the room, meeting the faces now frozen in shock.

"I won't force anyone. Anyone who wants to stay can. It doesn't matter to me."

"I know. You're angry because things went wrong while we all tried to live quietly here under Huven. If you need to blame someone, go ahead. If you're resentful, say so."

Tascar dropped his hand axe on the ground with a thud. Carrying weapons was forbidden within the safe zone, but right now no one dared challenge either Ran or Tascar. Fear widened their eyes.

Sitting on one knee, tascar's voice cooled. Thɪs chapter is updated by NoveI~Fire.net

"I know all about your talk of revenge and everything else. If you want to keep living like rats, then stay here. I'll be leaving as soon as I'm ready."

"But didn't you say the road to Northland was blocked?"

asked Terrence, folding his arms. Tascar, bound to Terrence by a strange fate, looked at him coolly.

"The bear beast's den is the shortcut. Well, we can try to find another way."

He said this, but in his mind he recalled the imperial mercenary Ran speaking Northlandic.

'You know the truth about the curse?'

According to legend, the demon's god Tarok had blocked the path between Northland and Astana Mountain for his own descendants. For Northlanders, this was nothing less than a curse.

Legend or curse, before a phenomenon wrought by divine power, humans are helpless.

Sudden natural disasters, rain in drought, bountiful harvests after famine—

All this is seen as the wrath or blessing of the gods. Humans can only pray, give thanks, and continue living. Claiming to know the truth is nonsense.

Even so, tascar couldn't get those words out of his head.

"I agree with Tascar."

Terrence spoke his conclusion after much deliberation.

"At dawn, gather everyone in the safe zone in one place. We'll decide together."

There was still turmoil. Many things had to be announced, from Huven's death to Terrence's succession as new leader, to Sigurd carrying his child.

The officers nodded. As the atmosphere gradually calmed, terrence asked Rev,

"By the way, where's Ran? I want to hear what he thinks."

"Oh, Ran? He said he'd check the surroundings a bit and went out."

His unconscious mind called him not General Oscar, but Chief Mukesh.

Only at death's door did he realize: what he sought was not the new legend of Oscar, one of the Empire's Four Swords, but the lingering shadow of Chief Mukesh—the legend now past.

Everything blurred. It wouldn't be strange for his life to end at any moment. Bulka walked on purely by will, not strength of body.

'Survived, wretchedly.'

He couldn't bring himself to ask to be killed on the spot. It wasn't that he feared death.

He recognized Ragna at a glance.

Before leaving Northland, mukesh had named his still-unborn son himself.

After seeing Tascar and Ragna, something that had lain deep in his heart suddenly flared up. He didn't yet know what it was.

He only felt a fierce urge to stay alive—and meet Oscar or Mukesh.

Then, perhaps, he would find the answer.

He stumbled and fell. Bulka sat against an old tree, trying to breathe.

A hollow laughter escaped. He felt something watching him beyond the shadowy thicket.

Bulka slowly raised his cloudy eyes.

"Dakir, forgive me. I am a hypocrite. Grant me a chance for atonement."

His confession was lost among the mountain's noises. But the god did not turn away. Somehow, the divine responded to human prayers.

A figure appeared in the bushes.

"You've come a long way on dying legs."

"Kuh. So that's how it is."

"Yes, that's it. I dislike leaving seeds of trouble behind."

The inquisitor. His true identity—a servant of the gods.

"I'll grant you an honorable death. May you be reborn in paradise in the next life."

He belonged neither to Asriel nor Dakir.

**New Names, locations, skills, and Techniques**