Chapter 370
“I’ve been to Astana myself,” Timothy broke the silence first.
It was a natural way to start a conversation, using his status as a diplomat. Hasha chuckled as he poked the campfire with a stick.
“For sightseeing?” Hasha asked.
Astana did have a king, but his position was unlike that of other nations. The internal strife among the tribes had thrown the government into chaos, and the king had lost both trust and prestige. With only a hollow title left, no one bowed to him out of respect. It was more accurate to see him as simply one of the few survivors clinging to power over time, rather than a true monarch.
“Something like that,” Timothy replied lightly, not denying it.
The heirs of the minority tribes had joined foreign wars for their own reasons. Though the details varied, their primary goal was to strengthen their tribes, unify their lands, and bring stability. In that sense, Burgos treated them like foreign nobles. After all, what’s an investment for the future? If Burgos could gain their support and they, in turn, grew stronger, that would be the true “Hill of Burgos.”
‘The problem is that those who don’t think that way hold the decision-making power,’ Timothy thought bitterly.
He had dismissed the rumor that an officer had struck Hasha as nonsense. Even the roughest warriors wouldn’t behave so uncivilly—especially those who controlled the war beasts at the heart of the conflict, allied troops fighting alongside foreign armies.
But seeing the faintly glowing scar on Hasha’s cheek in the firelight, he began to suspect the story might be true.
“…Then that’s fortunate. Astana’s scenery is truly beautiful. The cliffs carved by the gods stretch to the sky, and the land is covered in lush moss and leaves. It’s less sightseeing and more like a journey,” Timothy said.
“I agree,” Hasha replied.
Timothy smiled faintly and glanced at Hasha. Aside from the wound on his cheek, there were no other visible injuries. The existence, number, and location of the necromancers were the most sought-after information by the enemy. How could he have no other wounds?
‘One of two things,’ Timothy thought.
Either the deal was struck easily, or the other side hadn’t dared to touch Hasha.
‘This is different from Mei’s case.’
Mei’s safety had been protected to preserve the value of bringing the necromancer along. But what was Hasha’s safety for?
Timothy’s eyes narrowed without him realizing it. Hasha noticed the subtle change but wasn’t sure if Timothy truly understood. It was like a word on the tip of the tongue—an ambiguous look that suggested he was close to grasping something.
Hasha quickly stirred the fire and asked, “Why are you sitting here?”
“Hm?”
“Everyone calls you ‘Sir Timothy’ or ‘Lord Timothy.’ Why are you here instead of inside the tent?”
Hasha recalled Ian’s advice and pressed deeper.
‘Timothy isn’t officially military, yet he’s not only participating in the war but leading the charge. According to the intelligence on the Clifford Palace, he holds a position almost like a general.’
Ian had hesitated when he said that, then chuckled quietly, reflecting on King Damon’s intentions. Hasha didn’t understand the meaning behind that smile.
‘Of course, he’s quite high-ranking. But that’s the problem. Nothing makes an authority’s job harder than being in an unsuitable position—whether above or below. Clearly, Timothy is struggling with the current situation. So try to provoke him. The colder his reaction, the better for us. It means he’s been dwelling on it for a long time.’
Like Timothy, Hasha stole a glance at him. Timothy’s face was stern as he stared into the dying fire, then replied with a noticeably cold tone.
“That’s an internal matter. Outsiders don’t need to know.”
“Outsiders? Burgos must be a harsh land if everyone’s words and actions are so dry. I’m sitting here with you now—who’s the outsider and who’s the insider?”
Hasha dropped the stick with a look that said he was done with the conversation. Then he scanned the area, waiting for the soldiers to arrive.
It was both a gesture to show he had no lingering interest in talking and a way to check how much time was left.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Timothy said, apologizing readily. He didn’t want to end the conversation. He had learned nothing, only raised suspicions, and couldn’t just walk away.
“How is it inside Clifford?”
“Hm. Better than here. The walls were made of brick.”
“So they treated you somewhat humanely?”
“Do you want the honest truth?”
“Of course. If you’re not honest, it’s strange you’re even sitting here, dressed and armed for Burgos.”
Hasha hesitated for a long moment. As a soldier approached to move him, Timothy raised a hand behind his back to stop him.
“No, that won’t do. We’ve said enough.”
“Wait. You know your attitude is irritating me. If you leave without a word, you’ll be sent back to that tent.”
He meant the generals and officers would interrogate him.
Hasha put on a shamelessly embarrassed expression, eyes darting aimlessly as he swallowed dryly.
“I was given a prophecy.”
“A prophecy?”
“Yes. Well, calling it a prophecy is grandiose—it’s more accurate to say I had my fortune told. My grandfather was from a tribe of diviners, so I picked up a few things. They flattered me with stories, and honestly, it was better than here.”
Hasha had claimed to have necromancer blood, but there was no way to prove it here. The other necromancers came from different places, and even if they didn’t, what difference would it make? In a world where even street fortune-tellers exist, what’s the big deal about a prominent Astana heir reading a single fortune?
The real problem was that he had flattered the enemy.
“You said you flattered them? Did I hear that right?”
“Hmm. Yes. You heard correctly. Oh, and just so you know, I haven’t told the generals. They didn’t ask.”
The fire died out completely. Hasha stomped on the last embers. Worried he might be overstepping, he decided it was better to disappear into the darkness.
“Don’t the people of Astana have any pride?”
“No. They’re full of pride—more than anyone. That’s why they fought so hard not to die. If I die, Astana dies with me.”
“Flattering the enemy with lies and groveling is your pride? I’ve never heard such nonsense. Amazing. If I ever go to Astana again, I’ll be going for sightseeing.”
Timothy’s insulting words made Hasha scowl. He had meant to provoke, but hearing it firsthand was worse. He almost wished he hadn’t snuffed out the fire.
“If it’s not nonsense?”
“What?”
“I said it’s not nonsense. I saw the fortune clearly—Clifford’s victory. The enemy and my own side wanted me to say that, and I did. So what? What’s the problem?”
“This won’t do. Hasha, you’re out. I’ll tell the general to send you back to Astana immediately. All the support promised by Burgos will be null and void. And more than that, you won’t see your descendants in the north anymore. I swear it on the name of Burgos and my own.”
“You have a son, don’t you? About five years old.”
Hasha whispered coldly.
“Before you send me back to Astana, you should return yourself. There’s nothing sadder than a man wasting time far away while his wife and child are dying.”
Clang!
“Y-”
“Sir Timothy!”
Timothy drew his sword, and a nearby soldier rushed over in surprise. His mission was to escort the necromancer and move the composite war beasts, so Timothy’s sudden action shocked him.
“W-what are you doing? This man is a necromancer. Is there a problem? If you intend to execute him, you need the general’s permission…”
His voice trembled, but it was enough to stop Timothy. He was a man of reason over emotion. This was wartime, and they were on the enemy’s doorstep. Executing a necromancer without the general’s order could cause serious trouble.
“What’s going on?”
“Officer!”
“Sir Timothy? What are you doing?”
An officer, sensing something was wrong, shouted and ran over. Timothy stood there, sword drawn and furious, while the necromancer who had left earlier was nearby. The officer looked confused, unable to understand the situation.
“Sir Timothy?”
“…My apologies. Take the necromancer away.”
“Yes, sir! Understood!”
The soldier quickly motioned for Hasha to follow. Hasha dusted off his coat and muttered,
“A mother cannot just watch while her child dies.”
His words were low enough for only the soldier closest to Timothy to hear. Timothy’s eyes flashed again, his grip tightening on the sword. The officer took a cautious step forward.
“Sir Timothy! What’s wrong? Have you been drinking?”
“Well then, I’ll be going.”
Hasha bowed his head and hurriedly followed the soldiers. Though he tried to appear composed, inside his legs were trembling uncontrollably. How could he stay calm when a bear-sized man was charging at him with murderous intent?
A flood of thoughts raced through his mind. Had Ian miscalculated? Was it really right to follow Ian’s plan? Ian, what do we do now? If this goes wrong, let this be the debt I owe you, and so on.
At least, he was relieved that he didn’t have to resort to his last option. Hasha glanced briefly toward the Clifford Barrier, then quickened his pace.
“Sir Timothy, what on earth is all this commotion about?”
The officer’s report had reached the general’s ears directly.
It wasn’t just any soldier—they were dealing with a precious Command Mage. To think someone would try to kill a prisoner they’d paid a high price for! Timothy knew he had to explain himself.
But instead, he let out a weary sigh and asked, “What exactly did you interrogate the prisoner about?”
“Pardon?”
“This is strange. Suspicious, even. I want to know why you allowed the prisoner to join us without any special measures. What was questioned in the tent earlier?”
“Sir Timothy, your tone is excessive. I find this very unpleasant.”
“…My apologies, but I will be returning to Burgos.”
“What?”
“First, I accept full responsibility for attempting to harm the Command Mage without the general’s permission. Second, frankly, the general and I handle matters very differently. This is no place for me, and even if I stayed, I wouldn’t be of any help.”
“You’re just making excuses!”
“Excuses for transporting the envoy? Now that the situation has escalated this far, it no longer matters. Officially notifying the border is enough. I’m going back.”
Timothy’s voice was firm, his long-simmering frustrations finally igniting. His family was dying—damn those sorcerers.
He stood there with a clearly displeased expression, but the general facing him looked troubled.
‘The king ordered me to keep this man close…’
“General.”
“…That’s impossible.”
At that moment, a chill ran down Timothy’s spine.
There was nothing wrong with Timothy leaving. He could serve as both punishment and messenger—how efficient would that be?
Yet the general insisted on keeping him nearby.
Why? Why?
Why keep someone who’s just standing there like a scarecrow?
“……”
Wasn’t this an attempt to trap him outside Burgos?
He realized something was going terribly wrong. The flicker of doubt had turned into full-blown suspicion.