Chapter 37

Ra Tu Balaka (2)

“Waaaah!”

The soldiers who witnessed the Wolf King’s death erupted in cheers.

The battle wasn’t over yet—many Hell Wolves still remained.
But that no longer mattered to them.

Their morale surged, and the soldiers charged the Hell Wolves without hesitation.
With the Wolf King dead, the chain of command collapsed. The Hell Wolves were thrown into confusion, unable to decide what to do.
Just moments ago, they had moved like a disciplined army—
now, they were nothing more than scattered beasts.

Pierced by spears and blades, the Hell Wolves no longer bared their fangs.
They broke away from the camp, scattering in all directions and fleeing.

“Besimer!”
“Besimer!”
“Besimer!”

The surviving soldiers shouted his name.

It was victory.

No one could deny it—Besimer had led them to it.

But the joy of victory didn’t last long.

The camp’s tents had burned and collapsed, leaving it nearly in ruins.
The bodies of Hell Wolves and soldiers lay strewn everywhere.

The soldiers’ corpses, in particular, were in horrific condition—
limbs torn apart, heads ripped off, bodies split open with entrails spilling out.

Just looking at them was painful.

“Move the bodies! Celebrate after everything is taken care of!”

Carlson shouted, urging the soldiers on.

If the corpses were left too long, disease would inevitably spread.
Insects, foul odors, and other beasts drawn by the stench of decay—
preventing that and restoring the camp was the top priority.

“They burn well.”
“Yeah.”

Isaac replied to Carlson.

Outside the barricade, a pit had been dug where the Hell Wolves’ bodies were gathered and burned separately.
Unlike when burning the soldiers’ corpses, the flames consuming the mana-infused wolves burned with a blue hue—
fiercer, more intense.

Night had passed, and dawn was breaking.
Black smoke rose into the sky.

Several soldiers carrying bodies suddenly stopped, staring blankly at the blue flames.

“Keep mov—”

Carlson was about to shout at them, but Isaac grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“They need time to mourn.”

Carlson didn’t like it, but he complied.

In Winterband, even if the man sleeping beside you died the next day, no one mourned.
It wasn’t because they didn’t feel sadness or pain, or because they hadn’t grown attached—
it was because they had to fight again the next day.

But for these soldiers, this was the first time they had suffered casualties on this scale.

“Everyone has a first time.”

Isaac spoke calmly.

For someone barely past puberty, his tone sounded far too old.

“…Doesn’t it bother you?”
“How could it not? But what else can you do? You get used to it.”

Leaning against a longsword that nearly reached his chest, Isaac looked oddly out of place.
If not for the previous battle, one might have thought he was just a child playing at war.

But Carlson had seen him fight—
had seen how he commanded the battlefield.

That will, rising fiercely amidst exhaustion and despair.

So that’s what Goethe looked like…

The thought crossed Carlson’s mind.

“Come to think of it… where’s Besimer?”
“Now that you mention it… I saw him kill the Wolf King, but after that…”

Both Isaac and Carlson had been too busy restoring the camp to notice.

“…The Wolf King’s body is gone.”
“You’re right.”

Only then did Isaac realize it.

“Besimer? When we were chasing off the remaining wolves, he went somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure.”

Asking around, Isaac traced Besimer’s whereabouts.

“They say he left the camp carrying the Wolf King’s body on his shoulder. Hard to believe he still had that kind of strength… Well, a leader’s a leader. Ah—uh, don’t mind that. No matter what, the commander here is you, Young—no, my lord.”

According to the soldiers, Besimer had carried the Wolf King—many times heavier than himself—out of the camp.

“These look like his footprints.”
“Yeah.”

Sharp-eyed Carlson found the trail.

Deep footprints pressed into the dry, hardened wasteland soil—
as if bearing an immense weight.

They continued endlessly along the hills.

“Carlson, take care of the camp.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing special. Just… getting some air.”
“If you’re going, take a horse. I’ll call Hans.”
“No. I think it’s better if I go alone. I need time to think.”

Isaac grabbed a relatively intact shovel from the camp and set off alone, following Besimer’s trail.

There wasn’t any grand reason.

Just… memories resurfacing.

When Goethe fell, and he could do nothing.
When he carried Jonas’s body—light as a feather—to the surface.
When he survived day by day through winter in the ruins of Goethe.

Those memories came back.

Maybe Besimer was the same.

Hadn’t he struggled for over a decade in a swamp of helplessness he couldn’t escape?

That thought lingered.

The giant’s footprints, carrying the massive wolf, guided Isaac clearly.
No matter how far he walked, Besimer remained out of sight.

The sun rose high, then sank to the west.
Before he knew it, Isaac had entered deep into the Black Forest.

Even so, the path remained obvious—
trees broken, vegetation crushed where the giant had passed.

Isaac simply followed it.

Cool forest air.
The cries of birds.
The chirping of insects.

And something else—

An indistinct presence.

After staying awake all night and walking all day, Isaac was so exhausted he could have fallen asleep standing.
Still, he forced his feet forward.

Eventually, he stopped.

In the depths of the Black Forest stood an enormous ancient tree.

Thud—

Under the fading red glow of sunset filtering through the foliage,
Besimer was repeatedly driving his axe into the ground.

Beside the tree lay the Wolf King’s body.

Though he saw Isaac, Besimer said nothing.

Isaac didn’t speak either.

He simply gripped the shovel he had brought and began clearing out the soil Besimer had dug.

In silence, the giant and the boy dug a deeper, wider pit.

To bury loss—
to bury pain—
to bury longing—

They needed something deeper. Larger.

The sun set, and darkness filled the forest.

Besimer lit a fire.

The two of them simply stared at the flickering flames.

The pit was still not deep enough to bury the Wolf King.

It had to be deeper.

Wider.

Still not enough to bury the emotions that had built up over so many years.

The giant and the boy said nothing.

But they both knew what they were doing.

They were saying goodbye to the past.

Thud—

When Isaac, who had been nodding off, opened his eyes,
Besimer had already begun wrestling with the pile of dirt again.

Dried black blood clung around Besimer’s mouth.
He had eaten the Wolf King’s flesh.

In their belief, spirit resides within the body—
and by consuming the flesh, one takes in that spirit.

It was the faith of the Baitur tribe.

Though the Wolf King was dead, a part of his spirit would remain with Besimer for the rest of his life.

Isaac gripped his shovel.

His head throbbed, and his body felt completely drained.
He hadn’t eaten anything after a life-and-death battle.

Even so, he pushed himself upright, leaning on the shovel.

One scoop.
Then another.

He shoveled dirt.

From Besimer’s perspective, it wasn’t much help—
but Isaac didn’t stop.

It was respect.

Respect for Besimer, who had helped protect Vinfelt.
Respect, as someone whose blood was half Goethe, but also carried the blood of a great chieftain.
Respect for the Baitur leader who died protecting his tribe.
Respect for a great warrior.

Blisters formed on his hands, his palms tore and split—
still, Isaac kept going.

He couldn’t undo the bloodstained history between Goethe and the tribes of Vinfelt.
But he could try.

He could reach out a hand.

Birds cried.

Insects chirped.
A Hell Wolf howled.

The sun rose.

It tilted westward—
then set.

Fwoosh—

Besimer drove the axe deep into the mound of freshly piled earth.

At last, the burial of the Wolf King—something that had seemed endless—was complete.

Isaac quietly stared at the massive tree.

The Wolf King’s body would decay in this land,
become food for insects,
break down, and nourish the tree.

How tall would that tree grow?

As darkness fell, Besimer lit another fire.

Silence continued.

Deep into the night.

Crack—

Pop!

The fire crackled as sap burst within the burning wood.
Through the branches of the great tree, the night sky stretched above.

The stars seemed especially bright.

“A star must have fallen.”

At Isaac’s sudden words, Besimer shifted his gaze from the fire.

“In the kingdom, they say that when a great person dies, a star falls.”
“…?”
“Your father gave everything to protect his tribe. He was a great warrior. Among all those countless stars… one of them must have fallen.”

“…!”

Besimer’s gaze returned to the fire.

Silence followed again.

Isaac didn’t rush him.
He simply stayed.

When dawn approached and only embers remained—

“…I never imagined it.”

Isaac, who had been dozing, opened his eyes at Besimer’s voice.

His tone was cracked, yet calm and dry.

“I never thought… I could kill my own father with my own hands.”

Isaac didn’t respond.
He simply watched the faint light of dawn spreading.

“I never thought… I’d still be alive after killing him.”

The deep blue sky slowly began to pale.

“From now on… my life is an extra one. A life I wasn’t meant to have.”

“….”

“Young master. From now on, I’ll call you elder brother.”

“…What? Suddenly?”

Isaac let out a startled sound.

“I call the count my first elder brother, and the steward my second. There’s no reason you can’t be my third elder brother, Young master.”
“I’m way younger than you.”

“That kind of trivial thing doesn’t matter.”

Besimer’s firm answer made Isaac blink.

In truth, Isaac was much older—
he had lived more than three times Besimer’s age.

But hearing it like this still felt absurd.

“From now on, I’ll follow you, elder brother.”
“That’s creepy. I refuse.”
“That’s not an option you get.”

Besimer grinned.

Isaac, dumbfounded, ended up laughing as well.

And he thought—

The new history of Vinfelt would begin now.

With its new lord—

Isaac von Goethe.