Chapter 50: Chapter 50: Dark Waters
Vikir furrowed his brow in concern.
"... Passed?
I have no idea what that means.
But there's no time to think about that.
Vikir sifted through his memory and speculated the identity of the savage girl before him.
Information about the Brute clan of Balak flashes through his mind before he regresses.
#Balak #Civilized savages #Live in the highlands of the Red and Dark Mountains #Population between 300 and 500 #Wolf-riding, bow-wielding hunter trackers #Relations with the Empire is very low #Warriors of both genders #Every member of the clan is highly aggressive... ... .
After assessing the various platforms, I'm starting to piece it all together.
The Balak were a savage clan with few known figures, but some of their names were known far beyond the borders of the mountain range.
The first name that comes to mind is Adonai the Archer, perhaps one of the greatest heroes the Balak have ever known.
He was one of the Empire's "Three External Disasters," and a tribal leader at the level of Balak's power.
He was so famous that he single-handedly declared war on the Empire, killing and slaying 542 Inclinations during the 100-day war.
The number of casualties among the regular warriors was uncountable.
The Empire suffered untold losses in the short span of 100 days, and from then on, the enemy and the Dark Mountains were designated as "untouchable" territory, and all-out war was avoided.
It's a much glossed-over story in the Empire's history books, but at once a glorious one nonetheless.
'... ... But this isn't the era of Adonai.'
Vikir thought for a moment.
Adonai was from a whole age ago.
A great man so long ago that even Vikir had only heard of him in history books.
The archer Adonai had disappeared from the scene when the Baskervilles had just migrated towards the Western Front and established themselves as pioneers, and he had presumably died around that time.
The current patriarch of the Baskervilles, Hugo Les Baskervilles, hadn't even been born yet.
So, who else could have been of the same era and as renowned?
'If it's relatively more recent, it's... ... the 'Night Fox' who waged a ten-day conflict against the Baskervilles and the Morgans, killing 32 people before disappearing.'
When Vikir was a child, Baskerville and Morg had joined forces to eradicate their enemies and the savages of the Dark Mountains.
One of Balak's archers, who played a prominent role in those battles, was known as the Night Fox.
Not much else was known about her, only that she was female.
In the span of ten days, she had killed sixteen Hill class fighters in Baskerville, ten fourth-class mages in Morg, and six fifth-class mages.
Vikir was too young to witness the carnage with his own eyes, but he could speculate about the aftermath, as many of his teachers at the Dog level had died.
"And it was the same in this life.
The creature that had left scars on the bridge of Sword Star Hugo's nose and on Adolf's chest in a territorial dispute not too long ago was likely the Night Fox.
'... ... but she doesn't look the right age to be a Night Fox.'
Certainly, her current age was in her mid-thirties, and most likely in her mid-thirties.
Even if she was an archery genius, she must have lived and practiced for a significantly long time to be able to wound a Swordmaster and a Class 6 mage.
The savage girl before him was probably only in her late teens.
Although her skills were impressive, she was too young to be a Night Fox.
'It's not in the history books, and I've never heard of her.
So what was this, some sort of bloodline from the Night Fox?
Not much was written about the Balak in the history books, and, surprisingly, the local Baskervilles who fought them had little to no knowledge of them.
If the Night Fox, who could now be leading the Balak, had left any offspring, it could be this girl before him.
"So much for the brute genius."
Vikir had thought a lot in such a short time.
Suddenly.
... Whoosh!
A breeze blowing in from somewhere.
Being an arrow was too delicate.
But the hunter's senses, honed through years of destruction, wouldn't allow for a gap as narrow as a hair.
Boom!
Vikir swung the hem of his bloodwind to knock it off.
It was a cactus thistle, a stinger laced with paralyzing poison.
The same ones that had injured the camel earlier.
"...what! How did you stop it!?"
A cry of horror echoes across the water.
Ahun, hiding beneath the roots of a tree, was overreacting, his mouth sealed shut.
Vikir deliberated on whether to retaliate, then, decided to withdraw his strength.
All that mattered now was getting the camel in his arms to a safe place, and likewise, erasing his large debt to the Morgas.
"Just be patient, I'll take you to your uncle soon enough... ... ?"
But Vikir didn't finish his sentence.
The camel in his arms was looking up into his face with a blank expression.
His complexion was flushed and he was breathless. His heart was beating too fast.
"Has it been poisoned with something other than paralyzing poison?"
Vikir asked the camel, sensing something amiss.
"Poisoned?"
"... I think so."
If so, this is bad news.
Vikir quickly retreated.
Aiyen drew her bow with lightning speed, but couldn't catch Vikir as he dashed backwards.
Swoosh-!
The rope traps fly again.
Balak's female warriors have been relentless in their pursuit of Vikir.
But.
Kiririk-grrrr!
Vikir, too, has unleashed his auras, slicing through the ropes.
With so many eyes on him, he was only able to display the swordsmanship and aura of a lower level Inclination, but that was enough to overpower the average warriors of Balak.
But.
Ping-ping!
Aiyen's arrows were so solid that even Vikir had to watch out.
Fortunately Aiyen's arrows are deflected by Vikir's rapid fire.
Arrows aimed precisely at Vikir's legs, and an occasional noose flying by.
Add to that the fact that Vikir is carrying a camel in his arms, and you have a recipe for trouble.
Meanwhile, the camel clutches at the hem of Vikir's robe in an act of understanding.
"... Ugh, I never thought I'd be a humiliating heroine who only gets ankles."
"Champion, you're so reluctant."
Vikir scoops up the camel and proceeds to fall backwards.
Suddenly.
... Quack, quack, quack!
A loud blast puts a giant mass of ice
between Balak's warriors and Vikir.
Suddenly, a massive wall of ice surrounded them, trapping them all.
Morg Adolf.
Morg is a representative to the Mage Board, leading the special party known as the Ming Party.
One of the highest-ranking members of the Royal Magisterium.
His power, looking beyond the 6th class to the 7th, was unrivaled.
"Stand down, nephew."
He formed a numerical barrier in the air, working out complex equations.
The volume of ice, the specific gravity of ice, the latent heat of melting ice, how much mana remained, and the weakness of magic instruments are multiplied and divided.
And the results are terrifying.
Boom, boom, boom!
The entire sea of water began to freeze.
As if an ice age had come, hail and snowflakes dispersed through the air, and the ankles of those fleeing were stuck to the ground.
Balak's savage warriors and their wolves were tough, so their frozen legs wouldn't be severed.
But, there was nothing left to be done about being stuck to the ground.
"Bite them all to death."
Baskerville's hounds' teeth sank into the helpless Balak warriors.
Morg's wizards joined in, and screams began to erupt from everywhere.
At that point, Adolf had taken the camel from Vikir.
"My nephew, are you okay?"
Adolf called out anxiously to the camel, who was still covered in Vikir's blood.
At the same time, detoxification magic appeared.
... Pow!
Cure Poison.
It was a highly sophisticated magic, and not just anyone could use it.
Adolf succeeded in removing some of the paralyzing poison from the camel's body.
"That's a lot of paralyzing poison, and it will be difficult to get it all out. You'll need to rest for a few months, and when we get back, we'll start by visiting the Blessed Place of Quavadis."
Even Adolph's strength couldn't remove the poison.
Afterward, the camel recovered from the paralyzing poison and leapt to his feet.
And then?
... boom!
He rushed to his less paralyzed leg and hugged Vikir around the neck.
"You saved me again!"
Adolf's expression behind him turned to one of disappointment and melancholy.
"Nephew, here's your uncle."
"Why is my uncle here now, I will tell my mother everything!"
"...."
At this, Adolf grew even more grim.
Then, Vikir led the camel away from him and addressed Adolf.
"My lord. It seems that the camel is tainted with other toxins as well. From what I heard before... ... ."
"Hmm? I recall no other toxin other than the paralyzing one?"
"...?"
What? I thought it was clear before... ... .
But not if it's not Adolf.
Vikir was about to go check the camel out.
Swish!
Another rope snare flew in.
This one wasn't like the last one.
It was much more refined, with a peculiar, writhing motion. It was like watching a live serpent.
"...!"
Vikir scowled, knocking the noose with the back of his blade.
Aiyen. Holding the end of the noose, she scowled at him with a determined expression.
Not at Vikir, to be exact, but at the camel.
"You better be captured quietly, we're running out of time."
Slurred Royal, Vikir thought, confused.
"No time?
What does that mean? Did he misspell because he was not fluent in Royal?
Even now, the Morgs and the Baskervilles are overwhelming Balak. It's only a matter of time for Balak.
Lofty sounds, bright lights, and piercing shouts echoed from all around.
Sssssssss... ...
The water reacts to the tumultuous disturbance.
Leaves slowly stirred.
And suddenly,
"... ... it came!
It's finally here!"
Ahun, who was wielding the longsword, yelled in a frenzy.
All the Balak warriors who heard it stopped moving for a moment.
"...?"
Vikir scratched his head.
Even the keen senses of a seasoned hunter of destruction can't pick up on anything.
Yet.
A buzzing.
Satan, lurking within the veins of his wrist, was warning him furiously.
"It's coming!"
"Madame Eight-Legged!"
"She's coming, she's coming!"
Balak's brutish warriors, whose faces never change despite the most extreme torment.
To see them so terrified now was indeed a grave sign.
....
...And now.
Something emerges from the darkness.
A heavier, darker shadow, casting its shaded veil across the water.
At this moment,
drawn by the light and turmoil of battle.
An unknown horror was approaching.
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