Episode 40

All those who called themselves warriors of Cheollyeo were charging across the Great Desert. Leading the vanguard was Kakantir, stirring up fierce sandstorms in his wake. Ian, hood pulled low, was close behind him.

As for Beric…

“Ugh… ugh…”

“Shut up already. Keep your mouth closed.”

Beric was clinging tightly behind one of Ian’s bodyguards, chuckling incessantly. He seemed pleased that no one had left him behind. Though he was wrapped up like cargo in cloth and tied securely with ropes.

“Sir Ian, are you sure we should be bringing him along?”

“What choice do we have? If we leave him, he’ll cause trouble.”

“That lunatic. Told him to rest, but he refused.”

“Rest? That’s just being sidelined!”

Miraculously, Beric could lift his upper body, but walking was still a struggle. Everyone was leaning toward leaving him behind when he dropped a bombshell.

If left behind, he swore he’d bite his own tongue and die.

It was ridiculous, but knowing Beric, he probably meant it. There was no arguing.

“So, you’re joining the fight? Just hanging onto Kusile’s back the whole time, right? Well, if arrows come flying, you can at least use your shield.”

“Nope. I don’t want to. I think I’ll be healed in two days.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m serious. I can feel it.”

Ian shook his head at Beric’s banter with the warrior. Surely, Beric had some hidden secret beyond being a magic swordsman. Even the Cheollyeo tribe, born with the power of nature, didn’t show that kind of recovery.

Ian kept glancing sideways at Beric, who caught his eye and grinned. He was in surprisingly good spirits.

“Clack clack!”

“Kakan! I see Bariel!”

“Let’s move!”

One of the warriors ahead shouted. The small shrine where the peace treaty had been signed came into view. At Kakan’s call, everyone spurred Kusile forward.

Whoosh!

They passed the shrine in an instant, then crossed two rocks marking the border. Beric chewed on some mulberry leaves, cheering loudly.

“We’re back!”

“Feeling good, Beric?”

“Yeah! I’m on top of the world!”

The warriors laughed together. Even Kakantir, glancing back, smiled faintly. He slowly pulled Kusile’s reins, slowing their pace. This was the agreed meeting point with Su.

“Everyone! Over here!”

“Su!”

At Su’s arrival, everyone greeted her warmly. After brief embraces, she quickly reported on the battle.

“The Bratz mercenaries are decent fighters. Even though they’re on the defensive, they used the terrain well to hold their ground. But aside from that, they’re no match, so the tide has turned against us. If they’d just given up reclaiming the mansion and retreated into the forest, it would’ve been over. Instead, they fought fiercely—beyond brutal.”

“And Derga?”

The most important question for the Cheollyeo. Kakantir’s voice was laced with anger. Su smiled faintly.

“He’s still alive. The central army hasn’t stopped pursuing. No sign they’ve entered the mansion yet.”

“Good. Su, have them join us. We’re moving deeper into Bratz.”

At Kakantir’s command, everyone nodded in unison. They pressed further into the heart of Bratz. The river cutting through the land was stained red with blood, and unrecognizable corpses littered the area.

That wasn’t all.

Fields ready for autumn harvest were wrecked with debris from destroyed homes. Screams and cries blended into the most horrifying sounds a human could make, piercing the ears. It was impossible to tell where they came from.

“Ahhh!”

“Someone help! Please!”

“Wait, wait! Thief! Thief!”

“Are you crazy? Give me back my bread!”

Smack! Thud!

Where swords had sliced, the very essence of humanity spilled out. To survive, people trampled over each other without hesitation—weak crushing weak, again and again in a vicious cycle.

“This is worse than I expected.”

“Is it? I think it’s exactly as terrible as I imagined.”

Ian answered Kakantir’s remark. Having endured countless wars, he was used to it, but it still unsettled him. Even if it was just an inevitable part of history’s flow.

Nersarn muttered, watching smoke rising in the distance.

“This looks like a mutual death blow.”

“Exactly. Perfect.”

For Ian and the Cheollyeo, the best outcome was for the central army and Derga’s mercenaries to be utterly shattered, teetering on the brink of collapse. Only then would the Cheollyeo’s presence grow stronger, empowering Ian.

“Look! Look over there!”

Suddenly, villagers cleaning up the streets pointed and shouted. They had spotted the Cheollyeo procession.

“Barbarians! The barbarians have invaded!”

“Oh, gods! Why? Why?”

“Everyone run! Run!”

“Waaah!”

People grabbed their children and fled. Some, utterly terrified, dropped to their knees in prayer.

It was understandable. The land was already ravaged by battles with the central army. To make matters worse, now barbarians had joined the fray. All that remained for them was despair.

“Heartless monsters! They chose this moment to attack? You beasts! Get lost! Get lost!”

“Honey, please don’t say that!”

“Yeah, kill them! Kill them all! Let’s see if they can stand judgment before the gods! Kill them!”

“The Cheollyeo have come! The Cheollyeo!”

“They’ll even rob the banks! Run, run as fast as you can!”

Chaos reigned. Kakantir’s expression was calm, but the warriors couldn’t hide their displeasure. They hadn’t come to help, but neither had they come to raid. They were slowly guiding Kusile toward the mansion.

“Waaah!”

Thud!

Among the fleeing villagers, a child fell. The parent who had been holding their hand was nowhere to be seen. Kakantir stopped Kusile and looked down at the child.

“Sniff…”

Tears welled in the child’s wide eyes. The child trembled silently, lips pressed tight, while Kakantir said nothing, just stared. The fleeing villagers kept their distance, watching the scene unfold.

“There’s a child ahead. Drive Kusile carefully.”

“Yes, Kakan.”

Clack clack.

No one offered to help the child up or asked about their condition. Instead, the group parted like rocks to let the small child pass through. The child only lifted their head, frozen in shock.

“Here. Get up. The ground’s cold.”

Ian reached out slowly as he passed by. Beneath his hood was not a Cheollyeo face, but familiar blond hair and green eyes. The child, with grimy hands, instinctively grabbed Ian’s.

“You’re kind.”

Ian held the child and gently guided Kusile forward. From afar, he gestured to a villager standing helplessly.

“Come take the child. Are the parents nearby?”

“Y-yes! I’m the father!”

“A father who just stands there is no father at all.”

At Ian’s call, a man snapped to attention and ran over. He flinched as he took the child. The face beneath the slightly lifted hood was familiar.

“…Ian-nim?”

“You know me?”

“I’m the stable master. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, right. It’s you.”

Ian didn’t recall the name, but the face was familiar. Covered in dust and minor wounds, it was hard to recognize him at first. Ian patted the stable master’s shoulder and smiled.

“Long time no see. Glad you’re alive.”

“…What happened?”

“Later. I’m busy now. Just know the Cheollyeo came to help Bratz. Don’t be afraid, and tell the others. Take care of yourself.”

Turning back, Ian saw the Cheollyeo waiting ahead—including Beric, still tied up and hanging. As if returning to where he belonged, Ian guided Kusile naturally back on course.

“Hey, what did he say?”

“Is that someone you know?”

Once the Cheollyeo disappeared, the villagers swarmed the stable master with questions. They were desperate to know what would become of their fate, their home.

“That’s Ian… right?”

“Ian? The count’s illegitimate son?”

“The one sold to the Cheollyeo… huh? So he really crossed the desert!”

“What did the bastard say? Hmm? He said a lot.”

Realizing the existence of the illegitimate son, long forgotten, they gasped. The stable master clutched his child tightly, eyes following Ian’s retreating figure. Before crossing the Great Desert, Ian had told Hayna to quit the mansion work, as if he foresaw the future.

‘Not entirely because of that…’

In any case, most who left the mansion escaped harm, while those who stayed were killed by the investigation team.

With the countess and Yeongsik’s fates unknown, the servants’ fragile lives were barely worth a glance, scattered on the ground.

“They said the Cheollyeo would help…”

“The Cheollyeo would help?”

“What…?”

The villagers scoffed in disbelief. Yet no one openly contradicted the idea—the reality was just that bleak.

Amid the chaos of Bariel, the homeland lord, clashing with Derga, the family head, was there any force left to intervene and stop them?

“Step aside. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Charge! Keep moving forward!”

“They’re barbarians! The barbarians are attacking!”

“Ugh, they keep calling them barbarians. Can’t we just kill those bastards and be done with it?”

“Ahhh! Beastmen! Please, spare us!”

“Shut up, Mugurun. Don’t get distracted.”

“The mansion’s right ahead!”

Meanwhile, the Cheollyeo tribe, cutting through the village without pause, finally reached the Bratz estate. Instead of the family’s banner, the charred flag of the survey team fluttered in the wind—a clear sign of who had won the battle.

Whoooosh!

Kakantir yanked on Kusile’s leash, bringing them to a complete stop. The soldiers guarding the mansion hurriedly thrust their spears forward. Their helmets and armor were stained with blood, and none of them looked unscathed.

“W-who are you?”

“Barbarians from the borderlands? How did you get this far?”

Clack!

One wounded warrior limped forward, shouting pitifully. As he drew his sword, Ian stepped in front of him, eyes apologetic, and took the lead.

“I am Ian, the illegitimate son of Count Bratz. These are the great desert warriors, the Cheollyeo tribe. We have not come to fight. Inform your lord of our presence.”

The soldiers hesitated, eyes flicking to Ian’s blond hair and green eyes. That unmistakably marked him as one of Bariel’s people. Their gazes then shifted to the warriors standing firmly behind him.

They embodied the spirit of the wild itself—an aura of untamed predators radiating raw power. The soldiers faltered, murmuring among themselves.

“P-please, w-wait a moment.”

They looked as if they’d sooner crush their own heads than retreat. Stammering, one soldier backed away, then hurried inside to report.

The remaining soldiers gripped their swords awkwardly, uncertain.

Whoooosh!

Though Kusile’s cries made them flinch and sweat coldly, they held their ground.