Chapter 30

Encounter with the Baitur Tribe

Underground.

A dark, damp room where not even a sliver of light could enter.
Isaac was alone.

He always had been—and always would be.

A life of self-imposed imprisonment.
If only there had been another prisoner.
If only he could have felt another human presence.
If mana rampage had been a common condition everyone suffered from—

Then perhaps Isaac wouldn’t have read so many books.

Suffering alone is a hell far worse than suffering shared.

So Isaac sought out misfortune.

Plays, epics, novels, fairy tales—
and among them, what he read most were history books.

History was filled with misfortune—
from the downfall of a single family to the collapse of entire nations.

He read and reread them until the pages fell apart.
Until fragments of history unfolded vividly before his eyes.
Until he could decipher every implication and possibility hidden between the lines of incomplete records.

Isaac devoured them.

Only then could he endure.

The silence that sounded like screams.
The tragedies that echoed like wailing.
The suffocating loneliness, silent like a corpse.

Only then could he avoid drowning in those whispers that filled his ears and mind.

I never thought it would be this useful.

Isaac let out a bitter smile.

“A new Wolf King appeared in the Black Forest.
The hell wolves gathered into an army and ravaged Vinfelt’s camp and villages.
Nothing grew there anymore, and no one lived there.
The count abandoned Vinfeltro—there wasn’t enough blood or gold to reclaim the wasteland.”

That was the final record of Vinfeltro in the history books.

Because the land wasn’t considered important, historians had left only sparse details.
So Isaac had to experience Vinfeltrofirsthand, eliminating the dozens of possibilities he had imagined one by one.

This inspection was meant to uncover clues.

***

“Not working at all.”

Hans grumbled.

They had visited two different tribal villages, yet neither welcomed them.
The crude huts had their coverings drawn, refusing any contact.

At one point, a spear had even flown toward them.

“They all seemed to say the same thing. What did they mean?”
“…They told us to get lost.”

The tribal-born soldier answered Carlson.

“They all look starved. Mostly elders and women.”
“There’s nothing to eat around here. The land’s cursed—nothing grows. And the Black Forest is crawling with magical beasts. None of the young men who went hunting ever came back. Most villages survive only on the goodwill of tribal soldiers stationed here.”

There was resentment in the soldier’s voice.

“That almost sounds like you’re blaming Goethe.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”

The soldier replied bluntly.

“Goethe offered peace. But the tribes of Vinfeltro chose to fight. Now they’re paying the price.”
“They didn’t choose to fight—they were trying to protect their land.”

Isaac stared at him.

The soldier didn’t avert his gaze.

His eyes trembled, but his will was firm.

“What’s your name, soldier?”
“…Gunter.”

Only then did Gunter notice Carlson’s hand resting on his sword hilt.

Isaac continued to stare at him.

The eldest son of Goethe, who had defeated Besimer.
A cursed noble.
Rumored to be insane.

Gunter regretted speaking out.
Not just for himself—but because his reckless words might endanger his people.

“F-forgive me. I’ve always been told I have a bad temper.”

Click.

Gunter swallowed nervously.

Even if Isaac killed him here, nothing would happen.
That was the fate of a tribe that had lost its land.

“Gunter.”

“….”

“You might be right.”

“…What?”

“Aren’t you going to guide us?”

“…Y-yes.”

Gunter raised his head again.

There was no anger or discomfort on Isaac’s face.
Only that same cold gaze he had shown when facing Besimer.

There was nothing childlike about him.
Nothing that could be read.

At least, it didn’t seem like he intended to harm Gunter.
Carlson had taken his hand off his sword.

“Phew…”

Gunter let out a quiet sigh of relief.

***

The last village.

A settlement primarily of the Baitur tribe, located at the edge of the Black Forest.

“Young—”

“He’s the lord.”

“…My apologies. My lord.”

Gunter corrected himself at Carlson’s remark.

“What is it?”
“Do we really have to go to the last village?”

“As you know, it’s practically a Baitur settlement. They’re all as temperamental as Besimer…”

“And?”
“…Forgive my boldness, but they harbor the strongest resentment toward Goethe. And the village is inside the Black Forest…”

“So we might encounter hell wolves.”
“Exactly. And there are even stronger beasts than hell wolves in there.”

“All the more reason to go.”

“…What?”

“If you’re afraid, you can turn back.”

“I’m not afraid—I was just trying to warn—”

Before Gunter could finish, the two horses had already entered the forest path.

“….”

He looked back and forth between the dark forest ahead and the barren plains behind.

“Damn it.”

With no choice, Gunter followed Isaac—and soon regretted it.

***

“We’re surrounded.”
“Surrounded, indeed.”

“Carlson, can you deal with them without killing them all?”
“Killing them all would be difficult. If it’s just escaping alone, that I can do.”
“That’s cowardly.”

While Hans and Gunter turned pale, Isaac and Carlson spoke calmly.

Among the dense grass, trees, and vines, glints of arrowheads and axe blades flashed.

But more chilling were the eyes of the tribesmen.

Like Besimer, their faces were painted, marked with blood patterns.

They were unmistakably Baitur.

And fully prepared for battle.

“Let’s see… two, four, six, eight… at least twenty men.”

“Is this really the time for counting? We’re about to be turned into meat!”

Hans snapped at Isaac.

“Doesn’t it seem strange?”
“Yes, very strange. That you’re counting heads right now. Do you even understand the situation?”
“The other villages didn’t have men like these. Only elders and women. And this is the Black Forest—yet they all look perfectly fine.”
“They said this is the strongest warrior tribe! That’s not the point—do something! You came with a plan, didn’t you!?”

Hans looked around nervously.

“Bring out the axe.”
“The axe? Ah, that.”

Hans opened the bundle tied to the saddle with trembling hands.

Isaac raised Besimer’s axe high into the air.

“The warrior who defeated Besimer has come to meet the prophet!”

But the tribesmen only blinked in response.

“Do you think any of them even understand you?”
“Shut it. The warrior who defeated Besimer has come to meet the prophet!”

Isaac repeated himself several times, and whispers began to ripple through the hidden tribesmen in the bushes.

Then, a large, muscular tribesman stepped forward.
He looked like a Baitur warrior.

“Besimer… even when sleeping… even with women… keeps his axe… Besimer… dead?”

“He’s alive. We fought a duel according to Baitur tradition.”

The murmurs grew louder—then suddenly stopped.

“Young… warrior. Only you… may come.”

The Baitur warrior pointed at Isaac.

“You can’t go alone. Who knows what they’ll do!”

Despite Hans’s concern, Isaac was busy trying to dismount.
Being small, it wasn’t easy for him to get down from a large horse on his own.

“Can someone help me down?”
“No.”
“Who are you to decide that? Carlson.”
“Yes.”

Carlson stepped in and helped Isaac down instead of Hans.

“You’re really going alone?” Hans asked anxiously.

“I need to confirm something. Hans, if something happens to me, you should run—”

“Don’t say such unlucky things! Run? If that happens, I’ll—yeah? I’ll take this sword—ugh—and cut them all down!”

Hans struggled with his scabbard for a moment before finally pulling out his sword.
His face was resolute, but he didn’t look very reliable.

“Who told you to run? I said fight until you die.”
“…Huh?”
“You said you’d die with me, didn’t you?”
“Well… yes, but…”

Hans looked dumbfounded.

“And Carlson.”
“…I haven’t even taught him swordsmanship yet.”

Carlson answered preemptively, as if he already knew what Isaac was going to say.

“Then while we’re waiting, at least teach him how to draw a sword properly. At this rate, he’s going to cut off his own fingers.”
“Understood.”

Isaac followed the tribesmen with a relaxed expression, as if he were out for a stroll.

The forest path was well-trodden, making it easy to walk,
but the tribesmen constantly shoved him or brushed him with their blades under the pretense of accidents.

Hostile, aren’t they.

After walking for a while—

“Welcome, young warrior.”

An elderly man with fluent command of the common tongue stood waiting.

Though his back was bent, he was still taller than Isaac.
In his youth, he must have been as formidable as Besimer.
The scars across his face told the story.

“That necklace—hell wolf?”

The old man wore multiple necklaces made of fangs and claws.

“That’s right.”

His cloudy eyes fixed on Isaac—not kindly.

“You knew I was coming?”
“The goddess delivered a revelation.”
“Then you must know why I came.”
“I do. Greed—to seize this land.”
“That part from the revelation too?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief. I can still keep some faith in your goddess.”

As Isaac spoke casually, he carefully observed the village—
the structure of the huts, the totems and symbols, the clothing, the weapons.

Everything was a clue.

…They’re using items from other tribes as if they’re their own. I’ve seen enough.

Isaac’s deductions solidified.

Only two possibilities remained regarding Vinfelt’s fate.

Two hypotheses left. Both equally terrible.

“Enough small talk. Young warrior, speak your purpose.”

The old man’s milky eyes seemed to pierce through Isaac.

“Or perhaps I’ll speak first.”

Shing—

At that moment, cold metallic sounds rang out.
Weapons were drawn and pointed at Isaac.

“Little Goethe. Blood of the northern demon.
Give me one reason not to kill you.”

“There is one.”

Isaac smirked.

Because everything was unfolding exactly as expected.

“What is it?”

“Because I’m going to save all of you.”

“…The little Goethe has gone mad.”

The old man spoke, and the tribesmen burst into laughter—
loud, wild, and unrestrained like Besimer’s.

But the laughter didn’t last.

Though Vinfeltro was cold, spring here was relatively mild due to the nearby sea.
Yet now, with every breath they took, white vapor formed.

Frost spread rapidly over the dark green foliage.

Time to find the final clue.

Isaac released cold mana from his fingertips, drawn from the Frost Rune Stone.

Mana without a target dispersed, freezing the air.

Cooling. Cooling. Cooling.
Again and again.

His five circuits surged violently.
Mana overflowed beyond control.

“A… curse!”

The old man’s face twisted in shock.

The tribesmen, who worshipped many gods, turned pale with fear.

But Isaac wasn’t doing this to intimidate them—
nor to trigger an explosion.

Awooooo—!

A massive wolf’s howl echoed nearby.

At the same time, the heavy tremor of something large approaching shook the ground.

“They’re here.”

Drawn to the dense mana Isaac had released,
beasts began to gather.

More precisely—hell wolves.

Whoosh—

A massive shadow passed overhead.

The creature that landed made almost no sound despite its size.

“…Wait.”

Isaac blinked, slightly surprised.

Dense mana attracts magical beasts—
he had deliberately amplified it to lure the hell wolves.

He only needed them to encounter the Baitur tribe to confirm his final clue.

But he had hooked something far bigger than expected.

The wolf was enormous—larger than any tent in the camp—
with a long scar across one eye.

Unlike the others, its fur wasn’t black, but silver.

Even among the arriving hell wolves, its size was overwhelming.

There was no mistaking it.

The Wolf King had come.

The very creature that, in history, had destroyed Vinfeltro and turned it into a land of beasts.

Found it… the final clue.