Chapter 84

Chapter 84 — Blue Leaves

The rain had stopped. The droplets that had drummed against the battlefield vanished without a trace, and a thin mist shimmered above the afternoon river.

There, the Antelopes stood.

"Charging ahead without even giving us a chance to follow. Made us look completely useless."

Dwarf Basim grumbled, mixing in a dry cough. When the Vice-captain had rushed forward, the rest had been pinned down shaking off the remnants of the Imperial forces.

At that, Marik let out an awkward laugh.

"And yet, you all came to help in the end, didn't you."

That was the truth. The moment things were settled, without a word from anyone, they turned their horses and came running. They had simply failed to arrive in time.

"Hmph! Late — and then some!"

Basim crossed his arms and grinned.

Without saying it aloud, they all knew. There had been only one thing any of them wanted — the survival of a comrade. Because that was how Calix would have acted.

And so, they had done the same.

"I was just as late myself. Thanks to all of you, I managed to survive what nearly killed me."

"Nearly dying doesn't matter! What matters is that you survived!"

At the blunt reply, laughter erupted from those around them. The words carried equal parts jest and admiration. He kept scoffing, and yet, there was a strange undercurrent of respect woven into the dwarf's voice.

If Commander Royce took responsibility for matters outside, the Vice-captain had always quietly watched over things within. True to his nature as the one who had sustained the heart of the Antelopes, he had been the first to notice Calix's absence and the first to run.

"I was going to go too, you know?"

Volga added, his expression utterly shameless. As his mentor, there was no holding back a response.

"Easier said than done."

"I mean it. I was just a little late, that's all."

"Oh? And you think you could have sent that Master packing? You'd need your arms and legs lopped clean off before you'd come to your senses."

"No, I just…… I'm saying that was my intention."

He shrugged with perfect nonchalance, and laughter rippled through the group again. A brief peace arrived at the end of a grueling battle. Within it, a fleeting warmth — something unmistakably human — seeped through.

Soon, gazes drifted toward the distant riverbank. The vessel carrying the wanderers was drifting away along the current. The haze yielded to sunlight. The expressions of those who had survived were heavy with something unspoken — as though the very fact of being alive stirred feelings too complex to name.

Suddenly, Volga turned his head and looked back. There, at the edge of the undergrowth, his eyes found a young man laid carefully upon a blanket.

It was Calix.

His friend had confirmed the newborn was safe — and then fallen into a deep sleep.

Priestess Ella had not ceased her prayers at his bedside. Hoping that the young man who had survived as if by miracle would rise again, she continued to murmur recovery incantations without pause. Right beside her, Gregor wore an expression brimming with excitement.

"To already be catching up to my level! My cook comrade truly knows how to handle a kitchen knife!"

Then, out of nowhere, he pressed a finger to the wound on his side. Something on his finger stretched away in a sticky strand.

"……And what on earth might this be?"

Even without a fully sound mind, he sensed something — a faint, transparent remnant of mana. It was neither blood nor pus. He felt instinctively that something was off, but he wiped it casually against his waistband and forgot about it entirely. No one had witnessed the moment.

Volga was no different. He was staring intently at the face of his closest friend.

Caked in mud and blood, and yet— Devastatingly handsome.

But there was something that shone even brighter than that.

‘A little while ago, I thought I'd closed the gap — and yet here you are, pulling ahead once more.’

The words he murmured in his heart carried a strange warmth. They held not jealousy, but respect. Because they were close, he could express it plainly — and receive it the same way.

That walking behind a friend who pulled ahead, watching his back — wasn't such a bad thing.

They were still friends, and nothing between them would change going forward, yet he had come to respect Calix as a person, as a human being.

"Attention!"

Just then, Royce stirred the group.

"There is still a road ahead of us! Regroup within half a day!"

At the Captain's calm call, the members nodded in unison. Only one chapter had closed — the story was far from over. A single duty remained upon their shoulders.

To deliver the Elvra Holy Empire's correspondence to the Viale Mountain Alliance.

At that moment, the resistance brought welcome news.

"There is no pursuit, it seems. The Imperial forces have begun a rapid withdrawal after colliding with the monster."

"And the Master?"

"It appears protecting the main force has become their priority."

"Hmm……. Then there will be no crossing blades with them again."

As relief settled across faces still worn with exhaustion, Hadiya added with playful mischief,

"Those lot have learned their lesson. That the Antelopes cannot be stopped — not even by a Master."

In turn, the mid-ranking mercenaries Romance and Wheatley murmured among themselves.

"The people of Astria ought to know about this."

"I wonder. Noble lords have a way of knowing and pretending otherwise, don't they."

"Even so…… Isn't this just too — too significant to ignore?"

Quiet laughter spread. A man who faced a Master and survived. A spirit so fierce it broke even the Emperor's command. That such a story had its origins in a mere mercenary — this was something that, in any age, had never been common.

At that, someone observing from a distance murmured to himself.

"They could not possibly be unaware. And even if they were…… They will find out soon enough."

Luma Critang. The nephew of Count Critang who led the resistance, and the man who had overseen their cooperation with the Antelopes, wore a bitter smile.

In half a year of their activities, the Antelopes had achieved results in a single month that could not compare.

Above all, the outcomes were different.

He looked back toward the river. The outline of the vessel had already grown small. The wanderers were drifting away downstream. Some would point fingers and say there was nothing gained — that it had been a foolish endeavor.

But Luma Critang knew.

In staking his life, Calix had obtained a powerful voice.

Those who walked as living proof, those who put their lives forward instead of a flag — the movements of those who survived would themselves become the Antelopes' message.

Even the Emperor of the Niboria Empire did not possess so many messengers. Three thousand carrier pigeons were sailing southward along the river.

***

The news spread outward from the western frontier and across the whole of the Astria Kingdom. At first, it was nothing more than a rumor. That the Antelopes had saved thousands of wanderers — that a young mercenary had faced a Master and survived. The knights scoffed.

"How long have they even been fighting in the mountains? And now they've crossed over west and stirred all this up? Nonsense!"

"Indeed — to face a Master and live. Do they even understand what that means?"

"Surely they're just boasters. Have I not said so from the start? The part about shattering Blutspheer made no sense to begin with."

They dismissed it as the fantasies of a foolish populace.

In a sense, it was understandable. Having met a Master as an enemy and survived — put another way, it meant having been granted leave by that exalted swordsman of his own choosing.

Yet the rumor did not stop. No — it could not stop.

There were no fewer than three thousand eyewitnesses.

The Antelopes' tales of valor were set to the verses of traveling bards. They became the finest subject of conversation in city taverns. Through the children of the streets, they were reborn as games of make-believe.

Before they knew it, they had become legend — and at the tail end of every telling, the name 'Calix' was always attached.

"What is a Master? In our Astria Kingdom, they are a superhuman you could search high and low and never find. Across the entire continent, there are only nine. And yet, this man didn't merely fight such a person — the young hero fought fiercely with a newborn strapped to his back!"

"And what about arranging ships for thousands of wanderers?"

"He charged through the heart of enemy lines with a banner bearing the Antelope's mark!"

"Royce! Marik! Calix and Volga!"

The people mixed fiction and truth in equal halves. Someone claimed Calix had caught the Master's blade with his bare hands. Another said that from his back had grown pure white wings.

Among the countless stories, they called his name countless times. Over song and fable, or the cups raised late at night in marketplace inns, the names of the mercenaries passed from lip to lip.

And so, the Antelopes became a symbol of hope and victory.

Those who could not hide their dismay at this turn of events were Astria's nobles.

"Do they not fear the Emperor's wrath?! That someone of low birth should receive the acknowledgment of a Master — how dare they spread such vile lies!"

"They're even going about insulting Sir Imran Akran. Just when the atmosphere had finally ripened for negotiation……. Tch."

Their deep fury was plain to see. They feared crossing the Niboria Emperor's mood far more than their own kingdom's royal household. At the same time, they read it as a sign that the order of things was beginning to break.

"A nameless entity, without a knighthood or a house, is being spoken of on the lips of commoners."

"What's next — will they demand a title?"

"Absolutely not! That must never, ever be allowed!"

But not every noble reacted the same.

Marquis Hoover, the great noble of the west, received it as a positive signal. In a gathering of nobles under his banner, he openly and publicly defended the Antelopes.

"The kingdom needs young blood. We have always been rotting in the same place, in the same way."

"……."

Though few among those gathered agreed with his words, they were not entirely absent.

Tap, tap.

That night, the Marquis wordlessly tapped his quill clean. He placed the letter into an envelope and sealed it firmly with a red stamp. Across the surface, the words 'To Yoman, Great Chief of Kalahim' were written clearly.

The hope for change had been stirring for a long time — and now, that ember was beginning to rise from the ground up.

Yet the reaction from the opposing side was far more deep-rooted, and proceeded through deliberate discussion.

Duke Saitz. The true power of the kingdom, the one who had once judged the Antelopes as nothing more than a tool — held an entirely different view.

"They have grown far too large."

The old duke issued a cold verdict. A tool has value when it is a tool. To him, the Antelopes were not heroes. They were an uncontrollable variable — a threat to the order of things.

And he had reached his current position by eliminating precisely such 'uncertainties' time and time again.

"When a hero is born outside the system, the inside begins to shake. An ember must be put out in due time. When they return to the kingdom…… See to it quietly, without a trace."

"Yes."

But he did not know.

That when the name Calix was carried on the wind, ill intent would have no choice but to crumble. That a single leaf would become a dense and towering forest—

He had not yet come to realize it.

***

The first to receive the news was the Kalahim Kingdom, situated in the far west of the continent. A desert court built upon an oasis. When Blutspheer had suffered losses bordering on annihilation, there had already been a stir — but this time, the nature of it was entirely different.

"To face a Master as an enemy and still survive……. This is……."

One who had stood before a Master and lived — and a nameless young mercenary at that. The elders gathered inside could not hide their shock. This did not simply mean a miraculous return from the brink. It meant that a swordsman capable of carrying the next generation had appeared.

"Masters are fickle creatures. They are beings who live consumed by the sword."

At that, Great Chief Yoman spoke from the high seat, his tone unhurried.

"It is precisely because of that, that when someone worthy of being a rival appears, they can send them on their way — even in defiance of the Emperor's command."

No surprise. The sharing of emotion was the role of those beneath him. As a sovereign, he was required to see beyond.

"The name was…… Calix, was it. His origins? Has he ever belonged to a family or a specific house?"

"Nothing has been confirmed. It appears he has erased his past."

"Erased his past — how interesting."

Naturally, his gaze drifted to the desk. Upon it lay a letter with a broken seal. It was a secret missive sent by Marquis Hoover of Astria.

The Great Chief recalled the letter's final line.

'The time is drawing near.'

The direction of the wind was changing. The great gale that had swept in from the north of the continent was settling — and now, it was the west that demanded movement.

"……Did Astria have a Master?"

"It did not. Duke Saitz does have formidable warriors under his command, but none have reached that supreme level. Should one emerge, it would be that man Calix who would be the first."

He delivered his words in a flat and expressionless tone.

"Or, he could take root and grow in our lands. A leaf can plant itself anywhere, after all."

At the remark clearly aimed at drawing Calix in, exclamations broke out among the elders. Their sovereign was wise — and masterful.

Until not long ago, Kalahim had been scattered under eleven Great Chiefs. Each tribe had fought independently, checking one another and wasting their strength. But now, they had gathered beneath a single banner. Ten Great Chiefs had bent the knee — and only one stood at the center.

The 'only' Yoman.

And he, suddenly, let slip a remark heavy with meaning.

"The Emperor of Niboria has made a grave mistake. He invaded Astria while the Holy Empire was locked in battle against the wicked entity of the east. A sovereign behaving like a common man — he grew intoxicated by the desire before his eyes and made a foolish decision."

"……."

"The Great Chief's son 'Varga' sends grave tidings as he ventures eastward alongside the mage. In response, the sovereigns of each nation are preparing to face the Shadow Army…… The righteous cause is ours."

The gazes of those gathered converged upon him.

"The wind stirs. A man called Calix has set fire to the desert. The brave and ferocious warriors of the desert hunger for blood. Now is the time to make them pay. But a single flame is not enough. The forces of the Niboria Empire are truly vast."

The eyes of the elders widened. They exchanged sidelong glances, and one by one, without exception, their faces flushed with rising excitement.

Their great sovereign had spoken the word 'war'.

At that, one of those beneath him stepped forward.

"As it happens, I have heard that the Antelopes are making their way toward the Viale Mountain Range. They would be going as envoys."

"Then…… A signal may come before long."

"That is so."

"Good."

Yoman rose slowly from his seat. Beneath the chair crafted from the hide of a great beast, a thick cloud of dust billowed up. Those around him bowed their heads in turn.

"The age of chaos and division has ended. The tribes stand as one — and now, the time to prove our valor draws near! Warriors — are you ready to warm yourselves beneath the sun!"

"Uwaaa!"

War cries erupted across the assembly. Beneath the desert stars, the scattered nomads had gathered as one before the name of their Great Chief.

Kalahim would intervene in the war between the Niboria Empire and the Astria Kingdom. By turning their strength against a formidable enemy, they intended to close the wounds of long-held grievances and inner unrest.

But they would not stand alone.

The moment the Viale Mountain Alliance moved, the desert horde would rise as well. Thousands of spears and blades, the thundering hooves of beasts — all would be set in motion.

Yoman's will.

That was the direction in which the sandstorm would blow.