161. Survivors of Hazart Palan (2)
*
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.
They had power. At this time, the archers’ skill was not in accuracy but in rate of fire, and the archers of Hazart Palan were not well-trained professionals.
Basically, they were just hunters. The shield wall, which had endured a couple of arrow showers, suddenly burst apart as the Northern Warriors let out a roar and charged.
The clash between the two warrior groups seemed to be dominated by Aeren’s forces, which had the numerical advantage. However, demons began to infiltrate the battlefield, acting as shock troops, and the situation started to stagnate.
Aeren clicked her tongue. A stagnant frontline meant that her forces were being depleted over time. Compared to Hazart Turan, which had secured its base, Aeren, who had lost her stronghold and was retreating, was suffering painful losses.
-Crack!
“Ughhh!”
There were only three demons, but that was enough. Since they weren’t professional demon or monster hunters, their weapons were nothing more than hand axes or longswords meant for human combat.
And the demons swung their massive glaives, harvesting the lives of the warriors. Aeren was about to order a retreat. She had to pull out before more troops were lost. She raised her hand to order the seasoned soldiers still holding the formation to join the frontline.
‘If we hold out a little longer, there might be a chance to counterattack.’
Although the capital had been taken by a sudden ambush, the Palandar Clan was a massive tribe. Except for a few of Yarl’s personal guards, the rest of the troops were naturally stationed near the tribe’s borders.
-Boooo!!
Then, the sound of a horn echoed. Aeren frowned and glared at the opposite ridge. Dozens of warriors were approaching from the direction of the rising moon.
Of course, they weren’t allies. That direction was where Hazart Palan was located, so it was the direction they had been fleeing from.
‘We prepared for a trap, but it seems we walked right into it.’
Aeren bit her lip as she thought. Naturally, the enemy would have expected her to head towards another nearby village. The sporadic skirmishes during the retreat were just a way to buy time.
To buy time to form an encirclement. Aeren looked at the Turan tribe’s warriors closing in from all sides and pushed her frightened attendant behind her.
“Stand behind me. And pick up your weapon.”
“Y-Yarl.”
“Galendil, don’t panic. Our lives are already in the hands of the gods.”
As the warriors who had charged ahead turned into rags, the remaining warriors and refugees gathered around Aeren. The seasoned warriors, who were skilled enough not to fall into a frenzy before battle, formed a shield wall around her in a circle.
Aeren looked west, where her young warriors were being slaughtered by demons and enemies, then turned her gaze east. There, too, demons were mixed in without fail.
The children of the World Serpent. They were powerful monsters that even three grown men would struggle to defeat. Disgusting undead beings that insulted the gods just by existing. Aeren spat on the ground and tightly gripped her axe.
“Fight your best and be proud before our ancestors. Better to die honorably in a moment than live a day in disgrace.”
“No one lives forever!!”
The warriors echoed Aeren’s words in unison, steeling their resolve. The encirclement was tightening beyond the shield wall. A veteran soldier by her side whispered softly.
“Yarl, take cover.”
“Light a fire.”
“Huh?”
“Our position has already been discovered. Why else would they encircle us? They fear we might rally other warriors. It also means that the other warriors are still alive.”
Contrary to the veteran’s thoughts, Aeren’s eyes still sparkled with hope and determination.
“So, you light a fire. Night is falling, and from here, the Karandal Camp will surely notice. If we hold out until those warriors arrive, we have a chance.”
“…! Understood!”
The more desperate the situation, the more contagious hope becomes. Aeren watched as a sliver of hope spread among the warriors and tribesmen, mocking herself.
She knew holding out was impossible. The Karandal Camp was at least three hours away, and even that short time would be too much for her and her warriors.
There were seven demons in sight, and the enemy warriors were not outnumbered. The difference was too great to endure on hope alone.
But Aeren encouraged her tribe and glared at the approaching forces. Being slaughtered in despair was enough for one day in Hazart Palan.
It was a moment that called for a miracle, not hope. But still, no one lives forever. Aeren let out a roar as the enemy charged towards her.
*
‘Seven Demidrakos…’
Fernandez and his party paused on the hill, looking down at the battlefield below. The warriors, frenzied by the bloodshed, didn’t notice them.
Fernandez stroked his chin as he watched the Demidrakos roughly pushing the frontline in various parts of the battlefield.
Summoning a fully grown Demidrako into the Material World required immense effort and sacrifices. Demidrakos were not demons one could easily encounter in this era.
Seven of them, plus the five Fernandez had dealt with in the two days since arriving in the north. A total of twelve on the same frontline meant the war was more serious than he had thought.
Then, Fernandez’s eyes caught a woman deep within the formation, swinging an axe and shouting.
Her wild, voluminous golden hair spread like a lion’s mane, and her blazing blue eyes. Fernandez laughed, unsure whether to call this coincidence or fate.
-A familiar face.
‘Indeed, this is what they call a “dangerous situation.”‘
The prideful angel who had once declared to him, “You were just in the end,” was there.
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