Dozens of men with arms as thick as a human head lifted axes the size of a human head. A camp bustling with such individuals is bound to be ominous. Especially when it’s a refugee procession, and among northerners who consider dying more honorable than fleeing.
Hatred, anger, and unresolved emotions swirled around the camp. Even more so when they couldn’t even light a campfire, teetering on the edge of disaster. The rough warriors, who had become displaced in an instant, seemed ready to hurl their axes at each other at any moment.
Yet, no loud arguments or bloodshed occurred among them. A bard might call it a miracle, but for them, it was more like natural obedience.
The towering tribal warriors had no choice but to remain as calm as possible. There was someone who held them all in check.
Yarl, the ruler of the tribe. To put it more roughly, and with some errors in translation, it’s a position close to a ‘lord,’ but in the northern society ruled by the logic of power, a Yarl holds more honor than a lord.
Unlike the southern lords, whose authority is inherited by bloodline and recognized by law, the northern Yarls are those who dominate warriors by breaking numerous challenges or having enough charisma to ignore such challenges.
One peculiar thing is that the Yarl of Hazart Palan is very young—
“Ambush.”
A husky voice, but not the rough growl of a warrior. It was closer to a melodious, pleasant voice, like a singing tune. A woman’s voice.
“Something’s off. It’s from the west.”
“Turandar. Those bastards.”
The warriors all grabbed their axes, searching for someone to vent their rage on. Everyone wrapped in cloaks stood up.
The fatigue accumulated from the long pursuit, retreat, and numerous minor skirmishes couldn’t dull their innate savagery. They raised their axes with almost the same level of determination as when they started.
“Do not pursue if the enemy flees. I have a bad feeling.”
Handling those who easily reach a state of frenzy in battle is extremely difficult. Yet, they all simultaneously expressed their obedience.
The giants stepped back. Among them, a woman sat on an old blanket. Her roughly tied blonde hair swayed like a lion’s mane, and her icy blue eyes resembled frozen glaciers.
The former Yarl’s shieldmaiden and the Yarl of Hazart Palan. Aeren Pallen-sen. A heroine called the Valkyrie who descended to earth. A warrior who defeated all challenges for the Yarl position after the former Yarl was killed by Erik in the Great Tribal Council.
She spun her axe halfway and hung it at her waist, slowly standing up. If things went wrong, she’d have to drag those fools back by their necks.
Hazart Palan had fallen. Now, she was beginning a long journey with the tribe’s fate at stake, and she couldn’t lead the warriors into a trap to die.
Fernandez and his group had been chasing the survivors of Hazart Palan for almost a day. According to that dimwitted demon, the survivors had fled about two days ago, so there was still hope.
‘Bloodstains.’
-About six hours?
Fernandez knelt by the bloodstains tangled in the bushes, rubbing the damp soil with his fingertips. Since starting the pursuit, they had killed five demons, so they couldn’t be wrong.
Tracking demons was one of the basic skills of all Inquisition Officers, and Heretica was particularly skilled in this. But excluding technical aspects, no one could sense a demon’s presence faster than Diemonica. The divine essence in the blood caused an instinctive disgust and rejection, pointing to where the demon was.
Demon worshippers and demon hunters are only a paper-thin difference apart. Whether you worship demons or hunt them. Thus, Fernandez might be the best hunter in the Material World.
With the experience of worshipping demons and the physical ability to track them, Fernandez brushed off the soil from his hand and stood up.
As he walked, the group silently followed.
The enemy’s attack was fiercer than Aeren had expected. The silhouettes of Hazart Turan warriors attacking the camp were interspersed with something more sinister.
“Monsters of the World Serpent have appeared!”
The warrior who first spotted them shouted. Monsters twice the height of an adult male, with tree-trunk-like legs, were charging through the Hazart Turan warriors.
Their red eyes glowed, clearly visible even in the dim evening. Aeren clicked her tongue and gripped her axe tightly.
“Fall back! Get into the defensive formation!”
“For glory!!”
Young warriors burning with vengeance instantly went berserk and charged. Idiots. Aeren clicked her tongue and gestured to the archers who still had their wits about them. As the archers nocked their arrows, the Hazart Turan warriors raised their shields in unison.
-Thud-thud-thud!
Accuracy isn’t crucial in a volley against a large force. A sufficient number of archers firing a rain of arrows is deadly enough on its own.
