Chapter 16 : Chapter 16
༺ 𓆩 Chapter 16 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃
“Based on our patrol reports, the Forestmen are primarily active in the northern mountain ranges beyond the village. They seem to move in rotating patrols, traveling in groups of three or four.”
Jambaga, a burly lieutenant with a massive axe slung over his back, stood in the central hall, delivering a detailed debrief to Tamir.
At first, Tamir had found the process unfamiliar, but with the help of the experienced Jambaga, he was gradually adapting to receiving and analyzing military reports.
“Our casualties are lighter than expected,” Tamir noted.
“We’ve maintained numerical superiority in most skirmishes thanks to deploying full decuries. And the Forestmen, individualistic and fiercely straightforward as they are, don’t seem particularly difficult to deal with.”
Tamir glanced down at a large map compiled from all the patrol intel, tracing the clustered encounters with his finger.
“Their base must be here.”
He moved a black marker to the northern edge of the Tavanbogd range, the area where most of the engagements had occurred.
“We estimate their numbers are significant. If this escalates into full-scale warfare, it won’t be an easy battle.”
Despite Jambaga’s warning, Tamir didn’t find the Forestmen particularly threatening.
Their first encounter had caught them off guard, leading to a few injuries among the soldiers, but ever since then, the worst the warriors of Olus had sustained were superficial scratches.
Rumors had begun to spread among the younger warriors, claims that the older veterans were exaggerating the threat of the Forestmen based on outdated experience.
“They’ve been here for some time now, and yet they haven’t attacked us directly. Doesn’t that suggest they’re wary of our forces too?”
“Well… perhaps.”
“And with winter closing in, holding out in the mountains won’t be easy for them. Yet they remain inactive…”
Tamir’s brow furrowed in thought.
Why had they come in the dead of winter? What was their true goal?
“Are we certain the Forestmen are actually after this village?”
It was the stated assumption, one made the moment the Lord had confirmed their presence.
But after observing their behavior over the past few days, Tamir found himself increasingly uncertain. And there was no one who could provide a definitive answer.
Jambaga, too, had found no concrete basis to explain their movements.
“It hasn’t been confirmed. But the Lord has declared it, and we’re acting accordingly.”
An answer he didn’t want to hear.
Jambaga’s blind deference to the Lord’s judgment unsettled Tamir.
He was still young, and he believed in the necessity of flexible thinking, of questioning assumptions to widen the scope of understanding. And Jambaga’s rigid approach was difficult for him to accept.
Still, Tamir couldn’t disregard him. The man’s competence was unquestionable.
Tamir suppressed the irritation bubbling inside him and moved on to the next topic.
“Has the decury sent to Hopsgul Lake returned yet?”
“According to the message delivered by the carrier pigeon, they should be arriving shortly.”
The message had contained only a brief phrase, that they were returning with someone.
But such a vague line left too many questions unanswered.
It wasn’t enough.
The wording had been far too simple to convey any meaningful context. True, the parchment a carrier pigeon could carry was limited in size, but more than that, most of the scouting party lacked the literacy to compose a proper report in the first place.
“What kind of report is that, just a few words strung together…”
“We’ll know more once they return.”
Knock—!!! Knock—!!!
Just then, a knock came at the door, followed by a voice.
“The Lord summons you to the council chamber. The unit that went to Hopsgul Lake has returned.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Tamir and Jambaga exited the room together to greet the returning soldiers.
As they approached the council chamber, a loud commotion spilled out into the hallway.
Most of the decurions had already gathered inside, and at the center of the room stood the weary-looking decurion who had led the mission to Hopsgul Lake, fielding a flurry of questions from the others.
Javug, a newly appointed decurion who had been lingering near the back, spotted Tamir entering and made his way over.
“You’re late, Tamir.”
“Word only just reached me. Has my father arrived yet?”
“He’s on his way. Said he was dropping the survivor off at the infirmary first.”
Tamir glanced around the room.
Despite the crowd and the chaos, only Javug had noticed his arrival.
He still hadn’t made much of a name for himself.
Hmph—!!!
Overshadowed by his father for now, he nevertheless vowed to one day earn the recognition of everyone in this room.
“Has everyone arrived?”
The booming voice of Lord Borjigin cut through the noise as he entered the chamber.
And at once, the room fell silent.
“All present save for a few squads still in the field,” someone responded.
“Then let’s begin. Make sure the absent decurions are briefed.”
Lord Borjigin strode to the center of the room, where the exhausted decurion from Hopsgul Lake stood waiting.
“Speak. Tell us everything you saw and heard on your journey to Hopsgul Lake.”
Clearing his throat, the decurion began to speak.
“On our way to Hopsgul Lake, we came across the aftermath of a massacre. The corpses of a nomadic unit, slaughtered, one-sidedly. Counting the three decuries and their families who’d been herding livestock, the number of dead was staggering.”
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the chamber.
“We found a few animal carcasses as well, but most of the livestock had scattered in a panic and couldn’t be tracked. Amidst the wreckage, we found a survivor and brought him back as quickly as possible.”
“What did the survivor say?”
The Lord listened quietly, then asked his next question.
“Well…,” the decurion hesitated.
“Speak freely. Say everything.”
When the decurion faltered under the weight of the room, Lord Borjigin urged him forward with a firmer tone.
“…The warriors of Olus remained composed during the initial ambush by the Forestmen. But everything changed when a beast, something like a wolf, appeared on the battlefield.”
“A beast like a wolf? Explain in detail.”
“It was a massive creature with the head of a wolf. It walked on two legs, spoke human language, and its body was incredibly fast and tough, neither sword nor arrow could pierce it. And when it leapt… it always took someone’s head off.”
No one in Olus had ever heard of such a creature before.
The people were used to skirmishes with the Forestmen, but not this.
And yet, if what they’d heard was true, if an entire nomadic unit, considered elite, had been so effortlessly butchered, then the threat this beast posed was undeniable.
“If that account is accurate, then we’re facing a considerable threat.”
“Indeed. And according to the survivor, the attackers were searching for something they called ‘the Dragon’s Spring.’”
At that, Lord Borjigin swept his gaze across the assembly, searching for anyone who might know something about this "Dragon’s Spring."
Those in the room who considered themselves old enough to remember began wracking their brains for distant recollections.
“…There’s an old tale about a dragon said to sleep within the Tavanbogd Range. I’m not sure it’s related, but that might be what they’re looking for,” said Tabudai, the eldest of the decurions, sharing a faint childhood memory.
It wasn’t much.
But even that sliver of a story opened the floodgates.
The chamber quickly erupted in speculation.
Dozens of voices chimed in, offering their own theories, about dragons, the Dragon’s Spring, and the wolf-beast — the room descended into cacophony.
As the atmosphere overheated, Lord Borjigin raised his voice to restore order.
“Enough! This will get us nowhere. Each decurion is to investigate thoroughly before tomorrow’s meeting. And the scribe, search every archive in the territory for any mention of dragons or related myths, and report your findings.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Though the scribe looked as though he might burst into tears at the magnitude of the task, his reply was dutiful and unwavering.
“This concludes today’s meeting. You are all dismissed.”
Deeming further discussion fruitless without clearer facts, Lord Borjigin brought the council to a close.
𓇗
In front of the hunter’s cabin—
Hunbish was taken aback by the sight of his father like he had never seen him before.
Uhule, kneeling before Davitte without the slightest concern for appearances, continued to apologize again and again for the past.
“…Due to my incompetence, I caused the young master unspeakable harm.”
“Please, don’t say that. I’m just glad to see you alive, Uncle Batar.”
Bowing slightly, Davitte gently lifted Uhule from his knees.
“And you don’t need to call me ‘young master’ anymore. I’m just a wanderer now, nothing more than a drifter with no destination.”
“No, this is all my fault — for failing to deliver you to safety when it mattered most.”
“That’s enough. Please, stand. Still… I truly am relieved you survived.”
Reluctantly rising to his feet, Uhule followed Davitte as he was led into the cabin.
“There’s someone else inside who’ll be glad to see you. Let’s talk the rest through indoors.”
As Uhule and Davitte stepped inside, Hunbish remained standing alone, caught in a sudden swirl of conflicting emotions.
The goddess and those who followed her… were enemies of mankind. That much was common knowledge.
And his father, Uhule, was among them.
It was something Hunbish had always known in the back of his mind.
But still, father was father; the goddess was the goddess.
He had always kept those two ideas separate.
But now, seeing them merge before his eyes, the tangled truth unsettled him deeply.
“So… Father really was one of them.”
Eventually, Hunbish stepped inside the cabin as well and found himself stunned once more.
Inside, Norman was displaying a side of himself that he had hidden all day.
“…I offer my respects to Lord Batar!”
This was the same Norman who had cleaved through Forestmen with his greatsword like a machine, and now he stood trembling, voice quaking with tension.
“I don’t know if you remember me, Lord Batar. I’m Norman Dyke, son of Lord Dyke.”
“Lord Dyke’s son…? Yes, I remember now.”
In Uhule’s memory, Norman Dyke had been a shy boy of about ten, always peeking timidly out from behind his father.
And now, that same boy had grown into a muscular giant; the years had truly flown by.
“You’ve grown a great deal.”
“From the first moment we met, I’ve always admired you, Lord Batar!”
“Well, I’m honored to hear that.”
Uhule invited Norman to sit, but Norman fervently refused, insisting that he could not accept such an honor. The two ended up in a minor standoff before Uhule finally gave up.
Norman remained at attention behind Davitte, upright like a loyal guard dog. One could almost hear him swallowing his nerves.
The three others gathered around the table and began to speak.
“You may already know this,” Davitte began, “but we came here in search of Vincent.”
“I see. And… were you able to find him?”
Davitte nodded slowly.
“Yes, but it was already too late. When we found him, he’d already been killed.”
“Dear heavens… No… Who could have done such a thing?”
“It was a lycanthrope aligned with the Forestmen. He goes by the name Kalak.”
Uhule let out a brief sigh, bowing his head in mourning for the fallen man.
Watching his father, Hunbish felt something strange stir within him.
“Father! Don’t tell me — you knew him?”
Uhule turned toward his son and nodded.
“I met him once, long ago, while out hunting. It was by chance. He spoke of young master Davitte then as well, but I was bound to this village, I couldn’t offer him any help.”
“Then… you’ve been meeting with him in secret all this time, without anyone in the village knowing?”
“No. That was the only time. We had no personal bond, nor any cause to need each other.”
Relieved by his father's answer, Hunbish let out a silent breath.
If what his father said was true, then the rumors Tamir had so carelessly flung about, accusing Uhule of colluding with outside forces, were still nothing more than baseless speculation.
A small knot of unease in his chest began to unravel.
“Then tell me, have you ever seen that wolf before?” Davitte asked
“Around the time of Hunbish’s coming-of-age? It should have been with Vincent then.”
Uhule glanced at the sleeping wolf curled in the corner of the room.
“No. When I met Vincent, he was alone. That was around ten years ago, when Hunbish was about eight.”
“..................?”
His father’s voice was calm, but Hunbish understood the weight of those words immediately.
Eight years old.
That had been when Uhule’s special training began.
Before then, his father had been a recluse, shut off from the world. Then, all of a sudden, he had emerged, as if possessed, and thrown Hunbish into rigorous training without warning. The memory was still vivid and bewildering.
For Hunbish, it was an unsettling coincidence.
Yet neither Davitte nor Norman noticed the discomfort flickering across his face. They were too focused on the conversation.
Davitte laced his fingers together atop the table and continued.
“Then… have you heard of the Dragon’s Spring? It was Vincent’s duty to guard it. That’s what brought us all the way here.”
The wolf might have known something about the Dragon’s Spring — but it had yet to wake, and putting faith in its memory alone was far too uncertain.
Davitte needed a solid answer.
A brief silence fell.
And then, carefully, Uhule replied.
“I’ve heard of it.”
A glimmer of satisfaction passed over Davitte’s face.
єη∂ σƒ ¢нαρƭєя