Arael Tribe (2)

-Swish!

The arrow flew through the air, piercing the head of a soldier who was driving the civilians from behind.

“Gasp!”

Mediam fired arrows in quick succession, targeting the soldiers forcing the civilians to the front lines, and each arrow found its mark, dropping them one by one.

“Shield-bearers!”

The soldiers, who had previously been using civilians as human shields with no concern at the distance, scrambled to raise their shields and protect their necks.

The laughter vanished from the faces of those who had been driving others into danger and watching from behind with amusement.

“Hahaha!”

Mediam burst into laughter as she stood tall atop the fortress wall.

Indeed, that man had not been wrong.

The sight of someone protecting others was beautiful.

In Mediam, with her untainted innocence and steadfast resolve, Ismail saw unparalleled beauty. Pride, courage, and pure passion shone under the morning sunlight, captivating anyone who saw her.

Yet, that beauty was shadowed by the influence of that man. Ismail couldn’t fully embrace the moment, knowing how deeply Azadine had shaped Mediam.

More than that, this act of taking down a few soldiers wouldn’t improve the situation. On the contrary, it would likely worsen the positions of both Mediam and Ismail.

While Mediam held off the enemy soldiers, Ismail persuaded the soldiers inside the fortress to briefly open the gates.

“Open the gates? Are you crazy?”

“Who does this kid think he is?”

“…Wait. That kid, they say he’s….”

“What is he?”

“A Messenger.”

“What? A Messenger? You mean one of those soulless monsters?”

“……”

“Hey, I can hear you.”

‘Unless you’re deaf, anyone could hear that. Hubris folks, I swear….’

Under Ismail’s insistence, the soldiers reluctantly opened the side gate instead of the main one. Ismail handed small daggers to the people outside.

The civilians, who had been forced to attack the fortress with tools, cut their ropes with the daggers and entered the fortress. However, not all of them came inside.

“Why aren’t they coming in? Cut the ropes on your ankles and come inside!”

“Our families are being held hostage!”

“We left our children behind. If we come in now, they’ll kill them!”

These civilians refused to seek refuge inside the gates. Instead, they half-heartedly continued to chip away at the gate as Mediam’s arrows held off the soldiers.

However, the moment the soldiers began threatening them with spears and swords, they would resume their attack on the gate in earnest.

“Nothing we can do. Close the gate.”

Ismail ordered the gates closed again and withdrew.

Like a needle poking out of a pocket, the extraordinary actions of these young boys and girls naturally drew attention to them.

“A Messenger Clan member?”

“Yes. Those women who escaped from the bandits said so….”

“Messenger Clan? Aren’t they soulless heretics? But… they’re pretty good-looking.”

The civilians spoke freely about Ismail and Mediam, and their words inevitably reached Ismail’s ears.

“Damn it. The women we saved are gossiping about us.”

The people Ismail and Mediam had rescued and brought here clearly had no concept of discretion. Instead of staying silent, they casually revealed that the two were members of the Messenger Clan, infuriating Ismail.

Logically, Ismail understood. These women were just ordinary peasants, untrained in battle and largely uneducated—many of them illiterate.

Expecting them to be cautious in their speech was asking too much. They likely exposed Mediam and Ismail’s identities without thinking.

“A Messenger Clan member? Well, that’s great!”

“Save us!”

The soldiers defending the fortress, upon learning of Ismail and Mediam’s identities, placed their hopes in them.

For now, the imminent threat of Count Garnahaer’s forces at their doorstep led them to rely on Ismail and Mediam. But once the threat subsided, they would surely remember that the two were part of the Messenger Clan and reveal this to someone.

No matter how Ismail tried, he couldn’t bring himself to like the people of Hubris. Mediam, however, was different.

“Bring me more arrows and a bow.”

Mediam accepted their supplies and fired arrow after arrow, forcing the soldiers with shields to retreat.

“If you shoot too much, your hands will be damaged. We’ve already been pushing ourselves since last night….”

Ismail urged Mediam to rest and took her place on the watchtower.

“Take a breather. If possible, you should try to get some sleep.”

“Alright, thank you, Ismail.”

Mediam handed over her position to Ismail and stepped away. A soldier, holding a ladle, offered her water from a flask.

“Are you alright, miss?”

“Of course.”

Mediam gratefully accepted the water and drank it. Even if it were drugged, she drank it willingly, demonstrating her trust in them.

By noon, Count Lantarique’s soldiers repeatedly approached the fortress, testing their luck, only to retreat under a barrage of arrows from Ismail.

Ismail alternated between resting with his bow in hand and firing arrows when the nearby soldiers woke him. Though both he and Mediam were exhausted from the forced march the previous night, the psychological impact of his arrows keeping the enemy at bay boosted the morale of their side significantly.

However…

‘They’re up to something.’

Ismail observed their movements and deduced that the enemy had another plan.

‘Even if they didn’t bring siege weapons, if they truly intended to capture this fortress, they would have thrown more people at it to break through. If they’re waiting like this, it means… Ah?’

Suddenly, Ismail felt a cold killing intent behind him and turned around. As he expected, a man wearing the mask of the Messenger Clan stood atop the watchtower.

It wasn’t Azadine. While Azadine was tall, this man was equally tall but far broader and more massive. He was so large that instead of carrying the Messenger Clan’s Moon Horn Bow at his waist, he wore it strapped to his leg like a greave.

What stood out most was the fact that he carried two bows on each leg—a total of four.

“Hello, kid. You’re one of us, an Aragasa.”

“Wh-who are you?”

“Hmm. But you’re not a Messenger; you’re a servant, aren’t you? Where’s your Messenger? Who’s managing you?”

“We serve Azadine of the 108 Messengers.”

“Azadine… the infamous Azadine of Disgrace?”

The man was surprised upon hearing Azadine’s name.

“Impressive. That guy has servants, huh? You seem pretty sharp for servants. A waste to serve someone like Azadine.”

“Who are you?”

“Disappointing. Don’t you know me? No one among our peers doesn’t know me. I’m Kahsan the 94th Messenger.”

“Kahsan…”

“Surely you’ve heard of ‘Kahsan the Bowbreaker.’”

Kahsan flexed his muscles, making them bulge menacingly. His physique was monstrous, more akin to that of a horse or a massive hunting dog than a human. His form embodied raw savagery and violence, sculpted into the shape of a man.

“…”

Kahsan earned his nickname for his habit of breaking Moonhorn Bows—a reputation that carried a double meaning. While it highlighted his strength, it also implied recklessness and a lack of skill among the Messenger Clan, for breaking a bow often symbolized carelessness or incompetence.

“This is tricky. You see, Count Lantarique is one of our clients.”

“Are you saying the count is a petitioner? But…”

The Golden Petition system was a means for commoners to seek justice, reflecting the Emperor’s aspirations for fairness. Allowing it to resolve disputes among nobles, especially territorial or power struggles, would undermine that ideal.

Azadine had once voiced his disapproval when Tarki, Count Casel of Salasma’s illegitimate child, became a petitioner under the system. It was rare for a noble to use the Golden Petition, and it was inconceivable for someone like Count Lantarique, who openly waged war for territory, to be one.

“Of course, he’s not a petitioner of the Golden Petition. But there are other ways to become a client, aren’t there?”

“…”

Ismail frowned at Kahsan’s words. Kahsan’s statement revealed that his alliance with Count Lantarique wasn’t based on the Golden Petition but on some other agreement.

“Anyway, could you step aside? Where’s Azadine? I’d like to talk to him. He’s Arael’s brother, isn’t he?”

“Well…”

“Hmm. Judging by your reaction, he’s not here. Ridiculous. He leaves his servants to defend a fortress and doesn’t even show up?”

Frustrated by the lack of response, Kahsan grew impatient.

“In that case, dealing with servants like you before Azadine interferes might actually be an insult to me. Let’s settle this.”

Kahsan suddenly charged forward.

-Flowers, Birds, Wind, and Moon: Twilight Step!

The enormous man rushed forward, his silhouette flickering like a phantom, leaving afterimages behind. It was a flawless ambush. But Ismail was ready.

‘Considering Azadine’s reputation, anyone in my position would expect to resolve conflicts with brute force if our goals clashed.’

Ismail leapt off the wall to evade Kahsan’s approach, grabbing Salasma’s flag hanging on the fortress wall. Using it as a swing, he returned to the top of the wall.

“Wow! Impressive.”

Kahsan admired Ismail’s agility in dodging his charge.

“Kahsan!”

A girl’s voice rang out from behind. Mediam, who had been resting, was now awake.

“Hm!”

Kahsan turned toward the source of the voice, only to see a coat left trembling as if it had been speaking. It was an illusion spell of Flowers, Birds, Wind, and Moon: Cuckoo.

“Ah-ha!”

An arrow flew toward Kahsan’s temple. He deflected it with his hand, but as soon as he made contact, an electric shock coursed through his body. The arrow had been imbued with Thunderbolt.

“Oh!”

Despite being stunned by the electric shock, Kahsan laughed, his limbs momentarily limp.

“Even if you defeat me, don’t feel too proud. I’m Mediam of the Ethar Clan!”

Mediam fired another arrow, this time aiming for Kahsan’s neck. However, Kahsan moved as if unaffected by the shock, dodging the arrow and charging forward.

“Ethar, you say?”

With a powerful stomp, Kahsan shattered the bricks beneath his feet, sending massive chunks—each the size of a person’s leg—flying into the air.

“Ugh!”

While Mediam was momentarily stunned, Kahsan closed the distance. In desperation, Mediam drew her sword and swung it, but Kahsan casually struck it with his hand, breaking it in two. He grabbed Mediam and threw her over the fortress wall.

The watchtower’s height was far too great for even a member of the Messenger Clan to survive such a fall.