181. At the Boundary of Infiltration and Breakthrough (1)
Fernandez lowered his head, peering through the branches at the northern army’s camp below.
The northerners weren’t accustomed to organized legion formations. Historically, their battles were fought in clan-based village units or alliances of several clans. A “camp” simply meant a gathering place for warriors of the same clan.
Expecting no conflicts when gathering highly exclusive and combative warriors from different regions into one space was laughable. Yet, forming combat units solely with warriors from the same clan also posed problems.
They tended to prioritize the words of clan elders over their leaders. Thus, while rivalries between camps were possible, internal strife within a camp should have been nearly impossible.
However, Fernandez narrowed his eyes, observing the men confronting each other in the camp. This wasn’t just a petty neighborly dispute—it was a tense standoff.
“That can’t be allowed!”
“‘That can’t be allowed.’”
The leading man shouted with veins bulging in his neck, and Fernandez’s lips formed the same words. In winter, he could see the man’s mouth movements, the intensity of his breath from his nose and mouth, his gestures, and even the movement of his Adam’s apple.
Diemonica’s instantaneous cognitive abilities and vision transcend human limits. Diemonica is a functional culmination, a blade forged by the Divine Warrior, designed solely for combat—combat against beings far superior to humans.
The pinnacle of human potential and power, a symbol of human-shaped force. Enduring Diemonica’s blessing process and filling one’s spirit with the Divine Warrior’s divinity meant just that.
And with Fernandez’s thoughts layered on top, it became possible to decipher human speech with the precision of a hawk’s eye. From a distance where facial features were barely visible, he performed an astonishingly precise lip-reading.
Quickly, his gaze shifted to the old man standing beside him. The large, burly old man with a thick white beard was shouting back at the middle-aged man who had yelled at him.
“‘Then what do you suggest?’”
“Then what do you suggest! Should we all die together, is that what you’re saying?”
“Damn it, you fool. With our own hands? That can’t be allowed!”
“If not? Erik will slaughter us without batting an eye! You idiot. Children, children can be replaced, can’t they?”
“Shut your mouth!”
The man roared, grabbing the old man by the collar and lifting him. The old man gasped, choking. The warriors behind the old man immediately drew their weapons, and the warriors behind the man did the same.
In an atmosphere where blades could clash at any moment, the man gnashed his teeth and growled.
“The reason I, we, surrendered to those Kazalid bastards was for one thing. Did we surrender because we were afraid of dying in battle? No! We surrendered just to save our own flesh and blood in this chaos!”
“Not everyone, not everyone was meant to die. Ugh. You, you think I came here willingly to hear such nonsense?”
The man spat and released the old man’s collar. As the old man coughed and hunched over, the man pulled out an axe. The old man looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“If you can’t hold back now… if you act recklessly now, our entire clan will perish. Barem. Get a grip, you fool… You, you are the man who must become the next Yarl.”
“What use is becoming a Yarl over the corpses of our children? Have you no shame? All of you! You fools! Are you men who just return after being ordered to kill your own children?”
“Right there!!”
The old man shouted with bloodshot eyes.
“Right there! The clans that resisted that bastard… were made examples of. Their heads were cut off. How many… how many do you think died? Huh? Half! Half of the elders of the clans that surrendered to him died right there!”
“We should have died together! Instead of swearing to kill our own children and returning! We should have died before spilling filth on our ancestors’ faces!”
“Do you think I wanted this either!”
The old man straightened his back. Despite his apparent age, his towering frame hinted at the formidable warrior he once was. He pulled out a one-handed axe from his waist and shouted.
“I would rather have died in battle! At least it would have been honorable! Instead of struggling to survive at this old age, I could have died gloriously! But, but you fool. You thick-headed brat…”
The old man lowered his axe and whispered sadly.
“Erik… after killing the elders of the resisting clans, he said, ‘If the upper stream is dirty, the lower stream will be dirty too.’ What do you think that means…? It was a declaration to annihilate the entire clans that included those elders.”
“I’d rather die. Die fighting! Kazalid may be a powerful clan. They even command demons! But half? Do you think they can still be strong after turning half the clans against them?”
The man had a point. No matter how powerful Kazalid was, Hazart Kazal’s legion was less than half the size of Erik’s.
The remaining forces were only the nearby minor tribes that had willingly surrendered to Hazart Kazal at the start of the war. Though the war hadn’t lasted long, the legions were scattered like wildfire, making coordination between them weak. If civil wars broke out everywhere, there would be no way to maintain the long frontlines.
They had to seize that opportunity. Rumor had it that resistance forces were gathering recently. It might be better to join them. First, evacuate the women and children…
[Do you know why I like mortals?]
All the warriors in the camp froze, shuddering. The old man, the middle-aged man, and the other men surrounding them all stiffened.
Slowly, they raised their gazes to the camp’s boundary, the roughly built wooden fence…
