< 99. The Storm Clouds Gather. >
*
The hawkish elders of the Kirzat faction. A traditional faction holding a significant share of the Elder Council’s seats, they boasted formidable military power, living up to their name as the “war faction,” backed by powerful tribes.
Their tribe doesn’t rely on numbers. Having been depleted through numerous wars, they commanded a highly elite few. Yet, no one could deny that their overall military strength surpassed that of the peace-loving dove faction.
On the other hand, the dove faction. With their tribes based near the Empire’s borders, they enjoyed fertile lands and a pro-Empire peace policy, amassing a vast sphere of influence. Though the proportion of warriors and hunters in their tribe wasn’t high, their sheer numbers were undeniably a powerful weapon.
Fernandez stroked his chin as he gazed at the map densely marked with the strongholds of the Beastman Nobility. Though he hadn’t grown a beard yet, it was an old habit of his when deep in thought.
-Flutter.
The door to his tent opened. A Beastman servant bowed his head and cautiously approached him. When Fernandez glanced at him, the servant flinched and stepped back.
“What is it?”
“The Shaman is looking for you.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
The Great Wilderness he remembered was already a place where Kirhas had ended a long civil war. The war between the Emperor and the Sultan had loosened due to foreign invasions, and in that gap, the Beastman Nobility expanded their territories, leading to a fierce competition.
At the end of it all, Kirhas Hearttaker emerged, united the Federation of Nobles, rose to become the Chieftain, and finally repelled the advancing forces of Karadskar. Fernandez had only heard of this epic tale through rumors.
‘There’s not enough information.’
The Great Wilderness of this era, even more complex than in his previous life, was almost an unknown territory to him.
*
In Partak’s tent, the hawkish elders of the Kirzat faction had gathered. They were murmuring with indignant expressions.
Partak had convened a war council and dropped a bombshell without leaking any information to his faction members. This was a political ambush. The kind where assassins could storm in at any moment.
But Partak was one of the core figures of the hawkish elders, and all the hawkish elders attending the war council owed him a ‘special’ kind of debt. The kind they couldn’t refuse when Partak summoned them.
“Partak. Everyone’s here now. What are you waiting for?”
“You’ll need to explain today’s Elder Council matter well. Blackfang. If you wish to prolong your political life, even briefly.”
“Or if you wish to prolong that wretched life of yours.”
The elders bared their teeth and growled at Partak, who was just smiling silently. Despite their menacing demeanor, Partak simply gazed at the spot where the servant had left.
“Damn it. Say something!”
“Would you like some tea?”
-Drip.
Partak leisurely poured clear tea into cups. The elders’ expressions hardened instantly.
“We can’t drink tea offered by a Shaman, Partak.”
“What are you scheming?”
The elders’ words grew harsher. Offering tea, especially in such a precarious situation, was a highly aggressive gesture.
Traditionally, among the Beastman Nobility, wine symbolized peace, while tea symbolized poison. The elders looked ready to storm out at any moment.
Then, footsteps were heard outside the tent.
-Clack.
“Sit down.”
The one who appeared was a human who had assisted Kirhas, the prophet of Kadán. The Beastmen flinched and glared at him.
“How dare a lowly wanderer intrude here, young human!”
“This is getting out of hand, Partak Blackfang. We will inform the tribe of this. Your betrayal is becoming unbearable. If you want to play house with that human, go ahead.”
The elders spat on the ground, insulting Partak. Spitting inside a tent was a traditional gesture of declaring war. Despite such blatant threats, Partak just kept smiling.
-Flicker.
Then, black flames flickered behind the young man’s head. The Beastman elders panicked and grabbed their weapons. A mage?
“How dare you threaten an Elder Council member in the heart of the Federation of Nobles?!”
An elder bared his teeth and growled fiercely. Fernandez chuckled and approached the table.
“Sit down. No threats here. Just silencing the noise.”
“How rude. Why should we listen to you?”
“Because I’m the one who called you here. Didn’t you gather because you were curious about what I’m up to?”
The elders narrowed their eyes, scrutinizing Partak and Fernandez. There was a whiff of conspiracy. Between that eerie, aristocratic young man and the old Shaman, an utterly mismatched pair.
An elder slowly approached the table, glaring.
“What have you done, Partak?”
“Don’t be too harsh on him. He’s my vassal now. If you have any complaints, direct them to me.”
“…Vassal?”
The old Shaman bared his black teeth and chuckled at the young man’s words. What kind of situation was this? The elders were starting to panic.
“This Shaman has made a pact with demons, willingly drank from their cup, and sold his soul. Five elders in total.”
“…You scoundrel!”
“Did you seek immortality? Fear death? Want to prolong your wretched lives? Old beasts. Was life that sweet?”
Fernandez’s gloomy blue eyes burned. Somehow, his figure seemed to grow larger. In the campfire light illuminating the tent, amidst the flickering shadows, it almost seemed like demons were cackling.
As the clerics say, it’s an era where demons scream in every shadow. Fernandez’s dominance filled the tent.
In a hissing voice, Fernandez spoke like a slithering snake.
“Demons aren’t kind neighbors or friendly volunteers, elders. Someday, you’ll have to repay the debt you owe. And the process will be… very, very dreadful.”
-Flicker.
Fernandez’s head…
From behind, a blazing black halo erupted violently, as if in a fit. It seemed to hint at their ominous future. The elders each witnessed a vision of different, yet ultimately the same, fate.
[Hell has descended before your eyes.]
A vision unfolded before the elders’ eyes: their most beloved family members and cherished friends hanging from stakes, burning and gasping in pain, while demons watched the scene, bursting into maddened laughter.
“Huh… huh…”
Fernandez’s hand swam through the air. Partak watched in awe. It was an astonishingly precise and clean illusion magic. They wouldn’t even realize they were under a spell before being overwhelmed by Fernandez.
Even everyone present instinctively knew. From the moment they accepted the demon’s power and extended their own lives, they intuitively felt that the end would not be peaceful.
Fernandez wormed into their anxiety like a snake. As the elders sweated and staggered, Fernandez tapped the table.
“Now, let’s talk.”
“…What do you want…?”
One of the elders, groaning in pain, spoke. His tail, once menacing, now hung limp.
-Clink.
Fernandez pushed a cold, empty teacup toward them. The elders stared blankly at the cup.
For the Beastman Nobility, offering tea during a meeting signified poison. Or, a demand for their lives.
The elders trembled as they picked up the teacups, shaking at the thick implication.
“Drink.”
“Swear to me. That you can save us from the demons.”
“If you prove useful enough.”
Watching the elders slowly sip the tea, Fernandez sank deeply into his chair. Memories of the past surfaced. He chuckled.
-Not exactly a clean method. Not for a saint, at least.
‘Vaitas won’t care about our methods. He and I share the same goal, and strictly speaking…’
-Yes. We’re partners.
Even if it was an unequal treaty, he and the god were not in a hierarchical relationship. From the moment Vaitas summoned him to his domain, it was more of a cooperative request, treating him as an equal.
“What do you want from us?”
“First. Create a hero.”
“…A hero?”
Fernandez smiled darkly. Even if it means stepping into my own filth and embracing the muck with both hands.
‘I’ll keep my promise, Kirhas. I’ll make you a hero.’
Threats, seduction, corruption, assassination, schemes, strategies. The moderate and righteous ways never suited him. He preferred darker, stickier plots.
*
The Federation of Nobles’ camp was in chaos. The dove-faction elders began leading their forces away one by one, and strange rumors spread among them.
-A civil war is imminent.
Tensions and minor disputes among the Beastman Nobility were common. But drawing blades against each other was taboo.
Yet now, every Beastman in the camp felt war was imminent. Drinking with neighboring tribes yesterday, baring fangs over petty arguments today—it was becoming routine.
As the last dove-faction elder left with their forces, the camp was left with only the hawkish Beastmen, burning like a furnace.
Their unease, their fighting spirit, their ferocity—it was palpable. Fernandez sat on a hill overlooking the camp, watching the departing forces on the horizon.
“Strange rumors are circulating.”
“Abel.”
With a rustle, golden hair like a wheat field shimmered in the wind. Abel stood with her back to the wind, looking down at Fernandez.
“Rumors say elders who wield demons are gathering. And that they’re led by a human youth.”
“Soon, another rumor will spread. That the elders, who played in the hands of demons, repented with tears, and a Beastman hero, guided by divine revelation, will lead them to glory.”
Propaganda is most effective when dramatic and laced with truth.
“So you’ll play the villain?”
“I was never the hero.”
“How much of it is true?”
Sadness welled in Abel’s eyes. Fernandez felt her sorrow and closed his eyes briefly. The fragments of King Dane in his blood stirred.
This emotion is just an illusion. Fernandez took a deep breath.
“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the world. Not peace, but a sword.”
Abel’s eyes widened at Fernandez’s words. He looked at her slowly.
“It’s the age of fire. Truly. Abel. Those who must burn, will burn.”
“What will remain at the end?”
“You asked how much is true, Abel. There are those who sold their souls to demons, and I will use them. I have the plan and the ability to execute it. They chose me over the demons holding their souls. I made it so.”
Fernandez paused. In the distance, Beastmen drew swords and growled at each other.
Among them, Kirhas drew her greatsword and shouted.
“That child will burn brighter than anyone, like the sun incinerating evil. If kindling is needed, I have plenty to throw.”
“You deceived them.”
“What guilt is there in deceiving those already deceived by demons?”
“Don’t do this, Fernandez. I worry for you.”
Abel placed her cold fingers over Fernandez’s rough hand. He stiffened at the cool, delicate touch.
After a moment, a dry voice escaped his lips.
“In her past life, Kirhas’s emblem was a phoenix. Kirhas’s Immortal Legion. The shining shield of the Great Wilderness. The huntress.”
As Fernandez spoke, Abel bowed her head to him. When their eyes met, Fernandez spoke slowly, without looking away.
“You asked what remains at the end of the fire, Abel? The phoenix is born from the ashes.”
“You plan to burn even yourself.”
“My body is but a consumable.”
With that, Fernandez turned his head. Kirhas was seen stopping the fight, forcing them to their knees.
A woman who should have been a hero by history’s course. Instead, she pledged her loyalty to him. Fernandez couldn’t tell if what he felt was guilt or responsibility.
As Feijashi said, it might just be self-deception or self-consolation. Or perhaps, a scheme to use her position for his goals.
But he decided not to think that way. She deserved it. He didn’t.
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