< 108. Wildcast (1) >
*
The Great Wilderness has always been a place where rumors and superstitions come alive. Somewhere, there’s a rumor of a giant snake that devours people. Elsewhere, it’s said that a pit that swallows cities is being formed.
Occasionally, there’s even a rumor of a massive island floating in the blue sky.
Like a mirage you might easily encounter after walking through the wilderness for a long time. Formless rumors swirl around this Great Wilderness.
However, the signal fires of Mosat City, the revival of three dynasties, the retreat of Kirzat, the advance of the Eastern Kingdom Alliance, the participation of the Crusader Knights….
About three months after that. Now, this wasteland is buzzing with rumors more intense than ever, and more concrete than any other time.
-I have returned.
There’s a man who says that. Late at night, in the deep dawn, the moment everyone is asleep. From the powerful figures of the oasis cities to the ears of the scoundrels in the drug dens, a low whispering voice.
-I have returned.
Some say the protagonist of this rumor is the Emperor’s Grand Chancellor. Others say it’s the Sultan’s Caliph. There’s even talk that it might be an ancient evil spirit from the time of Ashit, lingering in the Great Wilderness for ages.
Of course, from the perspective of the Pharaohs of the Empire of Ashit who have risen from their tombs, such rumors are rather amusing. But as rumors overlap and twist, all the residents living near the borders and frontlines of the Great Wilderness no longer doubt the reality of this rumor.
Because it’s certain that someone is really out there.
*
An old man carrying two greatswords on his back and holding a worn ebony staff is crossing the wilderness. His purple robe, withered by the wind, flutters, and under the night sky painted with brilliant starlight, a green moon glimmers.
-Tap.
His bony fingers tapped the staff. Humming softly, the old man let out a low, raspy hum. Beside him, a muscular beastman bowed his head quietly.
“Elder. We’ve already come too far. We can’t afford to delay any longer here.”
“Shh, shh—. Quiet.”
The old man drove his staff deep into the sand. With eyes glowing faintly with madness, he looked up at the sky.
Astrology was one of the basic disciplines he had mastered. Reading the stars and their flow was as natural to him now as breathing.
He gazed at the stars, reading the patterns beyond the heavens. The flow of magical energy between the constellations seemed almost tangible.
“Let them think we’re weak.”
“Elder? But retreating like this is too draining. We’re going the wrong way! The Alliance’s territory lies further south. The warriors’ discontent is reaching the skies, and morale is at its lowest!”
The warrior couldn’t bring himself to say, ‘The tribal warriors want to cut off your head.’ None who had tried had succeeded, and this old man was the mage who had saved his tribe.
The old man chuckled, understanding the deep implications in his words.
“Even if I wielded a sword, could I handle all of them, huh?”
“What lies ahead if we keep going west?”
“Death.”
The old man cackled. The wasteland might seem like a vast plain with no boundaries in any direction, but that wasn’t the case. Deep valleys, sheer cliffs, and even sudden jungles and mountain ranges made it a place of bizarre landscapes.
The reason this place became a wasteland was due to ancient magic. It wasn’t a natural desertification.
The old man knew that better than anyone.
-Thud.
The staff was pulled out of the dry ground.
“There’s death, and then there’s death’s death.”
-Whoosh.
Green flames spread from the tip of the old man’s staff. The warrior flinched. Within the emerald flames, the shapes of screaming skeletons and wraiths swirled. The old man’s face, illuminated by the eerie light, twisted grotesquely.
“Let them chase us arrogantly, and we’ll weed out the useless ones among your warriors and throw them as bait.”
“Elder…”
Discontent flickered in the warrior’s eyes. Even if this Grand Magician had saved his tribe, he had no intention of becoming his puppet.
“It will take three days. Until your tribe’s escape is effective. After that, only the weaklings who can’t fight will remain. Like dogs with their tails between their legs.”
The old man laughed for a while, then added.
“And let those chasing us know. That we’ve grown weak. That we can’t run anymore.”
*
[Annoying beasts…]
Prince Neferka clicked his skull in frustration. Riding in a floating golden palanquin. They had been chasing them for dozens of days. Though it was just a small tribe, they were on a mission to eliminate dissenters under the Pharaoh’s sacred command.
His legion had wiped out every beastman tribe that got in their way. These were mere savage beastmen who wouldn’t have dared to oppose the Pharaoh’s army in the Empire’s glorious days.
The elite soldiers of the great Tutankhamun Gartep, even as their muscles withered and their bones crumbled, overwhelmed them one by one. Thus, Neferka considered this chase more of a hunt than a battle.
Hunting is a noble’s pastime. Neferka extended his golden cup. Soon, his servant poured rotten wine into it. As was his habit in life, he elegantly swirled the cup, pretending to smell it, then took a sip.
-Slurp…
The wine flowed down his empty jawbone, soaking his ribs and dripping onto the palanquin. The servants, with practiced movements, took out old linen to wipe away the spilled wine.
[Your Highness. If we continue this advance, we’ll reach the Sario Gorge. It’s terrain favorable for ambushes, so we should send scouts…]
[Stop talking nonsense, Immat. If you want to ambush, you need at least some troops. Do you really think those who’ve been running away for the past three days could prepare an ambush?]
Neferka chuckled at his attendant priest. It wasn’t arrogance—it was more like common sense. Their pursuit had been a tense game of cat and mouse, always just out of reach.
The only reason they hadn’t been caught yet was the young Beastman Warriors who’d risked their lives, baring their fangs at every critical moment.
Every time Neferka’s legion caught up with the fleeing Beastman refugees, some of them would break off and sacrifice themselves to hold the legion back. It was an impressive fight, but Neferka was getting fed up.
Given their numbers, they had no more troops to spare. Losing any more would mean the tribe couldn’t function as a tribe anymore.
So Neferka mocked their incompetent chieftain. It was a primal, instinctive flight. Like a tail on fire, they just kept moving forward.
-Whirrr…
[Look. Where else can they run?]
[That’s the Sario Gorge, Your Highness. The priests are exhausted from maintaining the legion without rest. The troops are crumbling.]
[Open the ossuary and draw strength from it.]
[That’s a last resort, Your Highness.]
[What are you so afraid of? Once we take the heads of those beasts, we can replenish the bone dust.]
Neferka grumbled in dissatisfaction. Immat bowed his head cautiously.
[We’ve lost contact with Prince Meremre’s legion. He was also tracking nearby beasts under the command of the God Pharaoh.]
[That sly fox is probably celebrating a successful hunt with a feast. Knowing him, he could keep the party going for a month.]
[The astrologers’ prophecies are ominous. It’s unwise to push forward recklessly at this time.]
[How dare you lecture me on wisdom?]
As Neferka flared up in anger, Immat immediately pressed his forehead to the ground in a deep bow. Just then, a messenger approached and knelt.
[Long live the great Prince Neferka. The beasts are passing through the gorge.]
[See, Immat. They’re just running in fear, scattering aimlessly. Forward! Order the advance! Before they all escape the gorge! Before they scatter completely!]
It’s going well, isn’t it? Instead of fleeing in all directions like bugs across the wilderness, they’re funneling into the gorge with only one way in and out. Neferka smiled contentedly and took a swig of wine.
*
“Elder! They’re sending chariots! If we’re caught, we’re all dead. Damn it. Tell me there’s a way!”
“Isn’t it amusing?”
“W-what did you say?”
The warrior frowned and looked at the old man. The elder stood tall at the edge of the gorge, gazing at the horizon. A cloud of white dust was rising in the distance. A great army.
Meanwhile, the tribe hadn’t even crossed halfway through the gorge. At this rate, the gorge would become their grave.
The elder smiled.
“Those specters have long forgotten caution, but now they don’t even think of basic defenses.”
“Of course! Our tribe’s warriors can’t stop them. We can’t even defend, let alone attack. What do we do?”
“They’re as tired as we are.”
“How can skeletons and specters be tired?!”
“How can they not be tired? They’re sustained by magic. Do you think their magic is infinite?”
The elder chuckled. He raised his staff and struck the gorge’s rock with force.
-Crack!
The strength was unbelievable for an old man. The rock shattered, revealing a glowing blue stone fragment. A magic stone.
“Magic stones are buried beneath this wasteland, young Beastman. And their priests, who maintain the legion, haven’t rested for days, just like us. Their general is as reckless as they come.”
“…”
“Your tribe’s warriors did well. Always just out of reach. Like offering their own flesh. Wagging their tails like tempting prey. That’s why the enemy has let their guard down.”
The warrior shrank as he listened to the elder. Behind the elder, black flames began to rise.
-Roar…
-Clink. Clink.
The rocks of the gorge trembled. An earthquake? No, more like… the gorge itself was howling.
-Thud. Thud.
“W-what…?”
The warrior’s eyes widened in terror and shock. The wrinkled, lifeless skin covering the elder’s face began to crack and fall away.
Beneath the fragments, smooth, vibrant skin was revealed. And beneath that, a pair of cold blue eyes…
‘I’ve heard of mages aging and dying from using magic, but getting younger…?’
A green-glowing dagger appeared from the elder’s sleeve. Slowly, he drew it across his arm. Blood gushed and splattered to the ground.
At the same time, the elder’s fingers began to trace symbols in the air. Magic enveloped him, and a black halo of flames ignited behind his head.
*
The Blood of the Saint, the perfect mantra at the perfect angle, the natural flow of the Bronze Throne’s magic circuit, and the magic stone veins rising from the gorge’s bedrock.
Everything was going according to plan. Even the blood of the Beastman Warriors, spilled to lure the spectral army.
Beneath the elder’s mask, a young man smirked.
The curse of the Dagger of the Necropolis was [Soul Destruction]. It destroyed the saint’s soul, forced a rift, and layered a new spirit over it, cleverly evading divine resistance.
Now, he had one foot in the Soul World. Far away, faintly, he felt Mumto’s gaze. The Soul Realm of this Great Wilderness belonged to Mumto.
Even as he lost his power under the seal, Mumto could still watch.
Yes, watch. Watch as I come for you.
Faijashi smiled.
*
“…Wings…”
The warrior stumbled back. Thin, wing-like arms sprouted from his back. Pale, translucent arms writhed and stretched, drawing eerie angles in the air.
One, two, three… six in total. Three pairs of arms, each pointing in different directions…
-Rumble!!
The gorge began to howl.
*
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