Kas's "Prayer"

"Aowu~"

Seeing Kas return, Seneya stopped teasing the sparrow, wagged her tail, and bounded over to his side, sniffing repeatedly as she searched for the scent of meat.

But this time, Kas brought back no meat; instead, a fresh, unscarred wound marred his shoulder down to his chest.

The smell of blood flooded her nostrils, and she grew frantic, her claws scratching aimlessly at Kas as a crimson, blood-like glow stained her eyes, her throat emitting impatient whimpers.

"Woo~ woo-woo-woo~"

Kas gave Seneya a clear-eyed slap, causing the girl—who thought he had failed the hunt—to stand still and behave:

"Ran into a bit of trouble. We'll eat roast meat next time; the meat here tastes like iron filings, it isn't healthy."

"Ao~"

He pulled the cloak resting on Seneya's shoulders up to cover her large head.

She disliked this cloak, always pulling the hood down like a naive little girl.

"Time to set off, Miss Seneya. We've stayed here long enough. Remember not to take off your cloak on the road. Where is the Ancestor?"

Morse Ironbone, the old thing who hadn't appeared in a long while, drifted out of the house, swaying. Watching the heartwarming scene between his descendant and his wife, he spoke with a sour, mocking tone:

"Some people, who at first opposed certain decisions, thinking it was bringing a huge burden upon him... yet now that the Ancestor has been missing for days, he only just thinks to ask. It truly chills one's heart."

"..." Kas was silent for a moment:

"Blackheart's daughter, Tina, initiated an honor killing against me. This wound is what she left behind."

"I know... her courage earns my admiration. Not everyone has the resolve to follow the gods' will, willing to rush toward eternal suffering."

"But perhaps we can do something. They should not have to suffer such a fate."

Ironbone let out an ambiguous laugh; this time, he did not mock or lecture his descendant on what to do:

"Then take an offering and pray to the Lady of Death. If she is willing to bestow mercy for Tina's courage, Blackheart's punishment shall also be lifted.

And what of Keck Bloodfire? Still dreaming his delusions of conquering the world?"

Kas drew the battle-axe "Luna" from behind his back, struggling to swing it a few times with one hand:

"He wasn't satisfied that Luna was forged in such an ordinary way. He hoped I would stay so the wizard blacksmith could remodel it and carve it full of powerful runes.

But I refused. After all, you are still here; he dared not risk offending the Her Tribe by doing anything unsightly."

"Only the trash of the Black Ember Tribe would preen themselves, thinking that carving runes with the blood of slaves makes them powerful."

The Ancestor drifted to Kas's side, carefully examining the masterpiece that had consumed so much of the shaman's effort, nodding in constant admiration.

"Quenched in dragon blood, forged with oaths—only the shamans of Iron Peak Mountain know how to perfectly utilize meteor iron and Adamantine... wait, you named her Luna?"

"Mm. Baize suggested carving the counterweight in your name. I would prefer it if you stayed thoroughly dead; this axe should be swung for those who need it more."

Kas glanced at the werewolf girl. She was still standing there foolishly, her eyes filled with worry and curiosity.

One moment she was touching the wound on his body, the next she was scratching her fingers against the Golden-Branch Giant Antlered Deer patterns on the battle-axe, and then she was squatting on the ground, staring into her own pink eyes through the light refracted by a Moonstone.

The Ancestor saw it at a glance: in the days he was gone, Kas's state of mind had changed, and he had begun to try to accept Seneya.

"Mm, I like that sentiment. If you two have a daughter, you should give her that name..."

Kas clamped his large hand over the chattering Ancestor's mouth, strapped the battle-axe to the harness slung across his shoulder, and called to Isidore, who was still pretending to work inside:

"Isidore, I give you two choices.

One, go serve Shaman Baize and stay in the Black Ember Tribe.

Two, go to Ferode Canyon, but I cannot guarantee you will arrive alive."

Clever as he was, Isidore thought for a few seconds before making his decision.

He still held some value to Kas. This barbarian, who was very interested in the southern world, possessed a strong thirst for knowledge; as long as he could demonstrate a unique use for himself in the Her Tribe, he could survive.

"I will go with you to Ferode Canyon."

Kas nodded. With "Luna," his confidence in returning to the tribe had increased significantly. As long as he didn't run into anything "terrible," taking a burden along to Ferode Canyon shouldn't be difficult.

"Pack your things, I'm going to buy..." Kas frowned and pondered for a moment. His body was as sturdy as an ox; even if the autumn wind was biting, he could endure it by the campfire.

Seneya naturally needed no consideration; the werewolf's fur was thick and dense.

But Isidore—looking at his thin, frail frame, he reckoned the boy would freeze to death on the very first night camping in the wilderness.

A tent? That was too much trouble. He wasn't Isidore's nanny; he didn't have the energy to carry a heavy tent and find a flat spot to camp every night.

If he couldn't even withstand the autumn frost, he wouldn't survive the long, fierce winter of the Sorrow Mountains. Winter was the true torture...

"Prepare more thick clothing, and blankets. The Sorrow Mountains are never short of the bones of a southerner; you must learn to adapt to the cruelty here yourself."

"Understood, understood. I'll prepare it now." Isidore paused, lowered his head, and said:

"My lord, do you need me to prepare luggage for you and Lady Seneya?"

"I have only one requirement for you: don't die on the road."

Dismissing the deep-thinking Isidore, Kas knew the boy desperately wanted to live. The Black Ember Tribe's cold indifference toward life made anyone who might be shoved into the Blood-Ash Furnace feel uneasy.

Even while staying in the White House prepared for guests, the wailing from the furnace could pierce through the heavy runic barriers and strike directly at the soul.

Carrying thirteen pairs of various animal eyeballs, Kas headed toward Ferode Canyon once more, returning to the ravine where he had first encountered the warriors of the Black Ember Tribe.

The head of Blackheart was pinned to the rock face by two spears, still wearing the same ferocious expression from before his death despite being weathered by wind and sun; no crows or vultures would peck at his body, leaving him to wander the mortal realm for eternity.

It was the hour between dusk and nightfall, the sun having hidden away while the moonlight had yet to rise.

The world was stained with a layer of gray dust, and a few ravens stood perched upon the protruding rocks of the mountain, their bewitching, icy eyes watching the mortals praying below.

Kas raised the sacrificial prayer beads, strung together like a cluster of grapes, and "prayed" aloud to the messenger of the Lady of Death:

"I am Kas of the Zagwell Clan, and I have come for the two daughters of Xipel Blackheart—Tina and Delin.

I have no way of knowing where their courage came from, but I know it has to do with you—Lady of Death.

It's laughable, isn't it? I always believed that discussing death while alive was just as absurd and boring as discussing the afterlife.

Yet this time, I must stare directly into this absurd and boring question: was it a sense of honor that drove them, the nightmares of witnessing their kin suffer, or were they merely following your ethereal, elusive oracle?!

Tina and Delin committed suicide, but that dagger was driven into my own throat.

Whatever fresh tricks you have prepared for them, bring them all on me; if I let out a single whimper, then I am no man of Reshman!"