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A man was running toward Atila. He wore fur pelts and fur boots.

“Final King. Our half-homeland is under attack.”

“How ironic. Who dares to attack? Those who hinder us will be made to taste hell.”

“It is Duke Louis of House Pontina.”

“Duke Louis…”

It was unusual for Atila to draw out his words like this. Around him stood about a hundred Huns. Atila’s course of action had been absolute. He had shown not a sliver of hesitation in attacking the Kingdom of Gaimer—and had proven it. Yet now, Atila was hesitating. And it was not hard to understand why. The opponent was Pontina. No matter how barbaric they were, they were not blind and deaf enough to be unaware of Louis’s rise. In fact, by Atila’s command, they had been tracking the surrounding kingdoms’ information and political situation more thoroughly than ever before.

They had already crossed a stage that could be called mere barbarians. They were a state. If Louis had not existed, Atila’s march would have turned not toward Gaimer, but toward the Duchy of Eron. But judging it difficult to defeat Louis, he had instead shifted his direction to Gaimer.

“My brother will handle it well. We take Gaimer, plunder it, enslave them, and occupy this land.”

The first to loudly agree, cackling along with Atila, was a bald man with huge tattoos over his eyes and face. He stopped laughing and stepped forward.

“If the Final King and the Punishment of God says so, then we brothers will follow.”

Not to be outdone, a man with a bushy beard added another line. He wore a necklace made of bones.

“Aye. The Giant Slayer is trustworthy. If he is defending within the half-homeland, then no matter how much of a lion you are, you won’t be able to bite your way in.”

When the two greatest chieftains after Atila agreed without conflict, the rest fell into an air of “there’s nothing to argue.” As a hundred men laughed and talked, the faces of the impaled lords went pale blue.

Even amid this apparent ease, Atila could not help but tense inside. Gaimer’s capital was right ahead. If he turned the army back here, the plan would be ruined. Atila intended to break out of the half-homeland and build his own country in the wider world. The first root of that foundation would be planted here. Still, he had to account for the unforeseen.

‘It seems likely this is revenge for when we raided his supplies back then. If there is any opening, I should form an alliance with him.’

Atila’s thought was startling. He had never forged an alliance with anyone until now. Yet for the first time, he wanted to ally with someone. If his sworn brothers had known, they would have fainted in shock.

The barbarian looked so tense he seemed half out of his mind. Five barbarians in total had come to visit Louis’s formation. The man who was meant to ask Louis’s intentions had hair braided into four sections, twisting in a strange, serpentine way. But with only 30 mana to his name, it was difficult for him to remain sane before Louis—and before the warlords who held even more mana than Louis did.

As a warrior with his own sense of honor, he had, in truth, looked down on Louis until now. So the moment he heard Atila was seeking volunteers to go to Louis, he had stepped forward. Now he regretted it. Cold sweat covered his brow. Even so, having come this far, he had to speak.

“…This is the message Atila, the Punishment of God and the Final King, sends to Duke Louis. He has felt remorse over what happened in the past. Therefore, he wishes to apologize for that time, and he promises to give five times the food that was plundered then, along with one thousand able-bodied slaves. Atila asks only one thing. Stop attacking our half-homeland.”

The moment he finished, a message was delivered to Louis.

Dding.

Louis was startled at this unexpected encounter with information. This kind of registration was a first. Even when he met the Prince-King, nothing like this appeared. That meant the Prince-King’s rank was so low the System could not even bother to issue a warning. In any case, Atila’s two traits implied terrifying war-making capacity. The city-attack bonus, in particular, was enough to make one shudder.

‘If I leave him alone, he will spread without end.’

It was the first time Louis had seen warlord traits like these, but not just anyone would receive a city-attack bonus. The second trait made that even clearer.

Louis spoke in a low voice.

“What does he mean by this?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Atila wishes to form an alliance with Duke Louis.”

More than five hundred people turned their eyes to Louis at once. Depending on his answer, the direction of the future would be decided. And Atila was offering more than this alone. Only now did they understand: he was out on campaign. He was battering Gaimer.

“Hang them.”

Louis said it. The barbarians shouted in agitation. They drew their weapons, but once Louis had decided, they were already dead. One, thinking something had gone wrong, reached into his clothes, pulled a dagger, and charged. He took precisely three steps before his head flew off. Mihoff had cut him down. It took less than a minute for the remaining four to be bound.

The face of the man tied up turned black with deathly fear. He clung to Louis.

“Re… reconsider! Duke Louis! Atila is great! If he turns his blade on you, a dreadful storm of blood will blow!! He is a great warrior, a legendary figure supported by every ancient prophet!”

“I do not believe in prophecy. Publicly execute them in thirty minutes. After the execution, we will erase from Pantalist the barbarians who tormented our family in the past.”

Louis chose war with Atila. Strictly speaking, he was robbing an empty house, but even that alone would surely provoke Atila.

‘Judging by those traits, he is a monster who will grow beyond control if left alone. If I am to remove him, it is better to do it quickly.’

Louis did not bother watching the execution. They were not worth his eyes. The sky was clear—good weather for an advance. The unexpected rains had extended the horn-bow archers’ training to two full weeks, but it also revealed that horn bows made from monster materials resisted dampness well. From far beyond Louis’s barracks, there were three rounds of scream-choked cries, and soon after, Jodan entered to report.

“We executed three, and one has had his life extended in exchange for providing us information.”

“Is that so? Bring him.”

Soon, Jodan dragged in the one surviving barbarian. He was a boy not yet fully grown. But Louis had no intention of sparing him out of softness. At that age, Louis had been running a city. It seemed the bold ones had all been executed; the one who remained had been standing farthest back.

Blood spatter on his face and body—fresh from the recent heat of events—gave off a sweet, metallic scent. Louis inhaled deeply and smacked his lips. War. Louis, who enjoyed it as much as Atila and understood it more instinctively than anyone, was indeed of Pontina blood.

“What is your name?”

“P-please call me An.”

A single-syllable name: An. It was not common, but for a barbarian it seemed plausible. Louis had heard, in passing, that they often called each other by bizarre epithets rather than formal names.

“I am Pontina Louis, head of House Pontina. I can decide whether you live or die in this very moment. Your name is An Bertereu. You are of the Yan Tribe. You are seventeen, are you not?”

“H-how did you…”

Louis had merely skimmed his status window. But the precision went beyond mere guesswork, and the boy trembled in terror.

“…A man blessed by Mars. An agent of the gods. A young lion.”

He was babbling. He truly believed that for higher-ranked humans, some divine power must be at work. Louis asked him.

“If the Final King and I clash, who do you think wins?”

“T-that…”

Just the fact that he hesitated told Louis that his reputation had spread even among the barbarians. This could be used.

Louis offered him terms.

“Will you cooperate with me? I will not only guarantee your life—if the war proceeds smoothly, I will give you a house, land, a wife, and slaves.”

His face looked as if he had spent a lifetime’s worth of worry in two minutes. Louis placed a hand on his sword hilt, implying he would take the boy’s head immediately depending on the answer. His eyes looked like they were crying—though no tears fell. Louis spoke.

“Answer. An.”

“I… I will. Please spare me. Ruler.”

He bowed to Louis until his chest touched the ground.

“What kind of man is he?”

“Terror… destruction… I will cooperate, but I cannot swear who will win between you and him.”

“Where is he?”

“Right before Gaimer’s capital.”

Jodan spoke with a disbelieving expression.

“How long has he been attacking, for him to already be at the capital?”

“He has been granted power by an ancient god. He is the incarnation of terror and the Final King. He swore to the gods he would burn every city. He declared he would enslave all life that had ever scorned the Huns. The tangled civil war that had never once been unified was unified with ease under him. Bone Lord. Giant Slayer. Gorgon Butcher. Thunder Fist. Half-Homeland Warhammer… the greatest chieftains swore loyalty to him.”

“Hah… Duke. Atila does not seem as easy an opponent as we thought.”

“True. But the place I am taking is not where he is. Who rules Pantalist right now?”

“The Giant Slayer. Gijik.”

“The Giant Slayer? Good. Then we will play with this one first. What comes after will depend on what Atila does in Gaimer.”

“Jodan, move the army.”

“All preparations are complete. We will advance.”

A massive temporary gate made of wood opened to either side. Leaving behind only the minimum force needed to move supplies, the army formed ranks and began marching forward to wage full-scale war.

Atila’s formation. He had not advanced yet. Given his prior momentum, it was strange how long he was remaining in one place. There was only one reason. Pontina Louis. Atila had not yet received news of what happened to the messengers. But a shaman who had gathered information indirectly through swift birds came running to him in a panic and spoke.

“Everyone you sent has been killed. The lion’s army is moving.”

“Hng. This has become troublesome.”

It was a line unlike Atila. Why? Atila was a man who absolutely worshiped shamanism. He never doubted that, as the ancient prophecies foretold, the ancient gods had granted him power. And he had not forgotten the warning they had given him.

‘Beware the lion.’

There were no lions in Pantalist. Which meant they were warning him to fear a single house. Atila had long feared House Pontina. That was why he had attacked one of Remitri’s least promising children—because he did not think that one would inherit. Yet cruelly, Pontina Louis, the third son, had won the succession war, and everything he did afterward was exactly as the prophecy’s warning had said.