Chapter – 114
“Is it true that Dekan’s unit was completely annihilated?”
“Yes, Chieftain.”
“How could that be? Dekan was an excellent hundred-man commander, and the warriors under him were fierce fighters, were they not?”
The chieftain of the Predator Tribe, Asnatal, furrowed his brow in disbelief at the unexpected report of defeat.
To his mind, it made no sense that Dekan — and every one of his warriors — had perished without a single survivor.
“What was the reason? Did the enemy have some extraordinary warrior?”
“It doesn’t appear so, Chieftain.”
“Then what?”
“It seems that Dekan and his men were in poor condition even before they departed.”
“Hm?”
“Upon investigation, it was found that Dekan and all of his warriors had been suffering from high fevers and stomach pains for two days prior.”
“High fever and stomach pain…?”
Asnatal’s expression darkened.
“That’s absurd! You’re telling me that my mighty Predator warriors were slaughtered because of a fever and stomachache?”
“C–Chieftain!”
“Utterly disgraceful! Our proud people, brought low by a mere illness!”
Asnatal’s outrage was only natural.
The barbarians were a people who worshipped strength and held battle as sacred.
To them, losing a fight because of a trivial illness was unthinkable.
They wouldn’t even flinch from serious wounds — losing a limb was considered an honor, not a tragedy.
“I misjudged Dekan. I didn’t realize he was such a weakling.”
“I agree, Chieftain.”
“He won’t be going to Valhalla, that coward. Pah!”
Asnatal spat a glob of phlegm onto the ground in disgust.
To say that a fallen warrior would not go to Valhalla was one of the gravest insults imaginable, yet Asnatal didn’t bat an eye.
For him, losing a battle over a mere illness was unforgivable.
“Perhaps it’s for the best. Weaklings like that are better off dead. The Predator Tribe has no need for such feeble men. Understood?”
“Yes, Chieftain!”
The warriors gathered in the tent shouted in unison.
“Truly pathetic. Such pitiful fools.”
Asnatal clicked his tongue, muttering to himself in disbelief.
Among the barbarians, whining over a little sickness — or letting it affect battle — was a deep disgrace.
Meanwhile, Carlile and his team quickly realized their plan had succeeded far better than expected.
They didn’t even have to check directly — the sheer amount of waste pouring through the ventilation shaft had increased threefold in just two days.
That could only mean one thing:
the barbarians were using the latrines three times as often — clear evidence that the operation to spread disease had been a massive success.
There was simply no other explanation for such an explosion in waste output.
Of course, while the plan had gone well, life for Carlile’s team had become miserable.
“Ugh.”
Carlile could hardly stand it — he wanted to run out of the research facility immediately.
As the amount of waste increased, the stench inside the facility had grown unbearable.
Even with the baby dragon and the reconnaissance troops working tirelessly to dispose of it, the smell only worsened with each passing hour.
Not that Carlile was helping — he hadn’t lifted a finger himself.
“How long do we have to stay like this?”
“You’ve got some nerve asking that, when all you do is stand around watching!”
Begman’s face twisted in disgust. His uniform was smeared with filth, enough to make anyone cringe.
“Please, stay over there when you talk. You stink.”
“What?”
“You’re filthy. Ugh.”
“You little bastard—!”
Begman trembled with rage, fighting the urge to smack Carlile.
“So when do we leave?”
“We need to wait at least another day or two.”
“Sigh.”
“Quit complaining when you’re not doing any work. I’ve already kept you off cleanup duty.”
“The smell keeps getting worse, that’s why!”
“I’ve already reported to Lady Helen. We’ll get a response soon. Just hold on. You’re not the only one suffering.”
“Tch.”
Carlile pouted, but there was nothing else to do.
All they could do was wait until the Predator Tribe above them was completely ravaged by dysentery.
“Just endure it a little longer. Once we have solid proof that their fighting strength is crippled, command will have no choice but to send reinforcements.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Carlile sighed deeply.
If reinforcements didn’t come, they’d have no choice but to find their own way out — somehow.
Meanwhile, Chieftain Asnatal still had no idea that a plague was sweeping through his tribe.
And for good reason — among the barbarians, admitting to illness was taboo. No one dared report it.
But that only worked for the first few days — when it was just a handful of warriors.
“You’re saying a plague has struck the tribe?”
“Yes, Chieftain.”
“How many?”
“It seems that most of our warriors are afflicted.”
“What nonsense…!”
Asnatal could hardly believe it.
How could his strong warriors suddenly be struck down by disease?
If it were just one or two, he could dismiss them as weaklings. But the report said nearly a thousand were sick.
Even Asnatal himself had been suffering since morning — fever, diarrhea, and stomach cramps — so it was hard to pretend this was a minor illness.
“Are you saying some contagious disease is spreading?”
“W–We don’t know, Chieftain.”
The tribe’s advisors looked blank and confused.
The barbarians knew little of medicine; what little they practiced was crude battlefield treatment of wounds.
So when faced with something like this, they could only gape helplessly.
“You fools! The tribe’s warriors are dropping from illness and all you can do is stand there!?”
“……”
The advisors hung their heads low.
In truth, many of them were also suffering from the same sickness, but they dared not show weakness before their chieftain.
“Damn it all! A plague, during the season of war! When we should be fighting and conquering!”
To the barbarians, the season of war — autumn — was sacred.
It was when they were most active, both for battle and for securing positions to mine magic stones before winter came.
If they had to retreat now, it would mean losing precious ground and resources — an unbearable loss.
“Bring the Great Mother here! Now!”
“Yes, Chieftain!”
At his command, the warriors brought forth an elderly barbarian woman — Erolga, the tribe’s Great Mother.
“Brave warrior,” Erolga said knowingly, “I already sense why you’ve called for me.”
“As expected of your wisdom, Great Mother.”
“The spirits of the ancestors have spoken to me — how could I not know?”
Her sharp eyes gleamed.
“Wise one, please grant us your counsel.”
Asnatal knelt and bowed without hesitation.
For in barbarian society, the shaman was revered — healer, priest, and seer all in one.
And among the Predator Tribe’s shamans, none surpassed Erolga in power or reputation.
“First, I must chastise you.”
“What…?”
“You’ve neglected offerings to the ancestors of late, have you not?”
“T–That is…”
“No matter how sacred battle is, you must never grow lax in honoring the ancestors!”
“I deeply repent and will make amends. When autumn ends, I will hold a grand ceremony to appease their spirits.”
“Good. Then I shall share my wisdom.”
Erolga’s expression softened.
“The reason our warriors are ill is because this land is steeped in restless spirits.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a land drenched in blood — countless lives perished here. By settling upon such cursed ground, our warriors have invited calamity.”
“T–That can’t be!”
“Follow me.”
Erolga led Asnatal to the tribe’s food storage area.
“There are many evil spirits gathered here.”
“Evil spirits?”
“Just as I said.”
Closing her eyes, Erolga focused her senses.
“Beneath the earth dwell foul spirits that spread pestilence. They are the ones afflicting our warriors.”
“……!”
“Vile things… and they will soon bring an even deadlier plague that will kill us all.”
“Great Mother! Tell me — how can we drive them out?”
“It will not be easy. They are powerful spirits, and banishing them may be impossible.”
“There must be some way!”
“There is,” she said, her eyes gleaming with meaning.
Meanwhile, Carlile’s team — still enduring the unbearable stench — suddenly noticed something strange.
“What are they doing?”
Carlile peered into the magic mirror, puzzled.
“D–Don’t tell me… they’ve found us?”
Begman broke out in a cold sweat.
The barbarians were suddenly gathering right above the hidden entrance to the research facility — a terrible sign.
“Damn it! Guess our tail got caught after all!”
“So this is how we die, huh.”
“Are we… are we dead men now?”
The scouts’ faces grew pale.
There was no other reason for the barbarians to crowd around the entrance — unless they had been discovered.
“We should’ve escaped while we had the chance. Damn.”
Carlile sighed heavily and drew Glimungand, his weapon.
He had no idea how they’d been found, but it seemed their luck had finally run out.
Vrrrrrmm…!
Sensing danger, Glimungand began to hum violently.
“It’s been fun, you bastards,” Begman said, gripping his weapon tight.
Trembling, the rookies — Adrian and Lieutenant Melvin — could barely stay on their feet.
“We all die someday. Relax,” Kudo said with a pale smile, trying to steady them.
Of course, no words could truly ease the dread of impending death.
Thunk. Thunk.
And then, the barbarians began digging.
They had gathered above the hidden entrance — and now, shovels in hand, they were tearing into the earth.
