The diplomatic mission

Horace Loux left the central tent, his boots coated in mud from the rain, yet his steps were steadier than when he had arrived.

With Marika as their "golden banner" and his elder brother's approval, the system of Great Runes that his brother had once deemed "painful shackles" and strictly forbidden finally had a chance to spread.

He understood it clearly: he had not been withholding his knowledge before. His elder brother had simply rejected the Great Runes for no apparent reason.

His brother's reasoning was practical enough: most tribespeople had limited "capacity." Bearing Great Runes was like walking with a mountain on their backs. The constant pressure and mental "burden" left them anxious and irritable, and the increase in strength came with enduring pain.

If that had been all, the tribespeople would still have found it quite acceptable. Even his brother's immense prestige could not stop their pursuit of strength.

But the trouble with Great Runes was that they could not remove them themselves.

Although Horace Loux could remove Great Runes, removing his own was easy, while removing someone else's involved a cumbersome process.

Following his brother's lead, the older warriors were particularly scornful of them, regarding them as a crooked path only the weak needed to rely on, one that compromised a warrior's purity of spirit and honor.

Of course, none of these were the main problem. Horace Loux had always felt that his elder brother was simply too strong and had protected them too well.

Now, circumstances had changed.

With war imminent, any method that could quickly improve their overall fighting strength deserved reconsideration.

Hoarah Loux's approval was the greatest authorization of all.

Horace Loux did not delay. First, he summoned several young warriors who had always been close to him.

Without offering much explanation, he emphasized only that these were "trials" and "sacrifices" approved by the chieftain and the Empyrean, necessary for their future-a new way to prove their loyalty and courage.

The vows he selected were carefully targeted as well: [Hold the Line] in exchange for greater defensive resilience, and [Never Flee] in exchange for explosive power when charging.

These vows aligned with a warrior's instincts, had a high success rate, and yielded noticeable gains in strength early on.

But the pain was real.

The moment the vows were made, the young warriors' faces twisted, cold sweat pouring down as though an invisible weight pressed upon their souls.

What followed, however, was a tangible change: muscles drawn taut as iron, longer, deeper breaths, and what seemed to be a slight dulling of their sensitivity to injury and pain.

Under Horace Loux's guidance, they attributed both the pain and the strength they gained to "Lady Marika's Order" and "the chieftain's conquest."

Their sense of honor and purpose began the difficult work of reconciling them to their physical discomfort.

Soon, with Hoarah Loux's tacit approval and even encouragement, the implementation of Great Runes shifted from voluntary trials to something approaching compulsion.

Horace Loux skillfully established a subtle link between Great Runes and selection for the expeditionary force.

Warriors who longed to follow the chieftain and win glory, yet feared they were not strong enough, began accepting Great Runes, willingly or otherwise.

Pain and complaints festered in private, but in public, no one dared question the chieftain's decision, much less direct their accusations at the "golden future" Horace Loux had deliberately bound to the Great Runes.

Imperceptibly, their resentment flowed toward that distant, abstract target-Marika and the war she had brought.

Meanwhile, Horace Loux quietly began packing and taking stock of those willing to leave with him.

The elderly, the frail, mothers with young children, and a handful of warriors weary of endless campaigns or doubtful of "gold"...

More importantly, there were the "noncombatants" responsible for passing down the tribe's stories, herbal knowledge, and simple crafts.

His elder brother deliberately focused his attention on the strongest warriors. Though he felt some sadness at the departure of these "burdens," he did little to prevent it.

That suited Horace Loux perfectly.

As expected, almost all the tribe's most stubborn old warriors, who considered all noncombat knowledge and skills useless, chose to follow Hoarah Loux east on campaign.

Naturally, they intended to witness the chieftain's conquest.

Their departure removed the heaviest stone weighing down Horace Loux's educational plans.

His eyes brightened slightly as he stroked several bark-stripped planks on which he had secretly drawn simple symbols and shapes with charcoal.

The road to Liurnia would not be smooth, but at least, in that potential new homeland, he would have a chance to ensure that the children who followed him knew more than how to brandish wooden spears and charge with a roar.

They would learn letters, understand numbers, discover the patterns governing the movement of stars and the changing seasons, and realize that the world offered more than two choices: "fight" or "flee."

Several days later, Horace Loux stood outside his tent, watching several young warriors stagger away-they had just received the now-mandatory Great Runes and were enduring crushing pressure upon their souls, cold sweat beading on their foreheads, their steps heavy.

The pain would last several days, until their bodies and souls gradually adjusted to these "shackles."

"My lord." A low voice interrupted his thoughts.

It was Uriel, one of the oldest warriors in the tribe. The scars crisscrossing his face recorded dozens of battles fought on the edge of death.

Unlike most of the older warriors, he had not chosen to follow Hoarah Loux, instead volunteering to join the group migrating west.

"Uncle Uriel." Horace Loux nodded in greeting. "Did you need something?"

Uriel's clouded yet still keen eyes swept over the retreating backs of the young warriors, and he lowered his voice. "These 'Great Runes' of yours-can they really keep them alive longer on the battlefield?"

"They can," Horace Loux answered succinctly.

"But they may also make their deaths more brutal-never backing down means fighting to the death."

Uriel fell silent for a moment, his rough fingers rubbing the bone handle of the hatchet at his waist. "Still better than taking an arrow in the back while running away. It's just... those boys have been complaining in private. They say the pain feels like a dull knife stuck in their heads, slowly twisting."

"That's why they need guidance." Horace Loux turned his gaze toward the central tent.

"Make them believe this pain serves a greater cause. Resentment needs somewhere to go, but it cannot be directed at the ritual that gives them strength, much less at the tribe."

Uriel understood what he meant and gave Horace Loux a long look. "You seem to understand people better, Lord Horace."

"I merely understand survival." Horace Loux turned toward the storehouse.

"Uncle Uriel, have you finished taking stock of the supplies for the westward migration?"

"We're still short on some herbs and leather. The cave bear the hunting party brought back yesterday had a fine hide. It's already being tanned."

"Pick up the pace. I have a feeling... we don't have much time left."

Just then, the flap of the central tent was flung open, and Hoarah Loux's towering figure emerged, a rare look of irritation on his face.

Spotting his younger brother, he strode over, his hide boots leaving deep impressions in the mud.

"Hesa! I was just looking for you!" His voice was low, yet rumbled like muffled thunder. "Marika says we need to send envoys to the Hornsent."

Horace Loux frowned. "Now? We just clashed with their patrol."

"All the more reason to talk!" Hoarah Loux clenched his fists.

"Those mad 'potentates' started the conflict. Marika says there are reasonable Hornsent. The priests who hold power in Belurat may be willing to hear us out."

Horace Loux quickly weighed the matter.

Hornsent society had distinct class divisions: those at the bottom were fanatical and extreme, the warriors in the middle were relatively pragmatic, and those at the top held knowledge and power and were the true interpreters of the Scadutree faith.

If they could make direct contact with those at the top, perhaps...

"We can try," he said slowly.

"But choosing the right envoys is crucial. They must know how to negotiate, have patience, and be capable enough to protect themselves."

Hoarah Loux's expression grew uglier. "That's the problem. Not one of the tribe's old envoys is willing to go. They say the Hornsent's Belurat is a 'land of blasphemy,' and anyone who enters will have their soul swept away by the Scadutree."

Most of those old envoys were also staunch defenders of tribal traditions, harboring deeply rooted suspicion toward every foreign civilization.

They would rather follow Hoarah Loux onto the battlefield and risk their lives than set foot in another people's political center.

"Then train new ones," Horace Loux said decisively.

"Choose from the young people. I'll lead them."

Hoarah Loux's head jerked up. "You? No! It's too dangerous!"

"That's precisely why I have to go," Horace Loux interrupted.

"Brother, you need to understand. This mission isn't just for Marika's plan. It's also to scout the way for our people. We need to understand how the Hornsent's forces are distributed, their weaknesses, and their internal divisions. That information cannot be bought with warriors' blood. It can only be seen with our eyes and heard with our ears."

The brothers stared at each other for a long time before Hoarah Loux finally yielded with a heavy sigh. "How many people?"

"A few good ones. Five, including me. They need to be clever and have good memories."

"Five? There could be thousands of lunatics in the Hornsent's Belurat-"

"The more people we bring, the more conspicuous we'll be, and the easier it will be to spark a conflict." Horace Loux had already turned toward the eastern side of the camp.

"I'll choose them now. Uncle Uge, prepare our five fastest horses, a few days' dry rations, and... bring along the finest 'gifts' in the tribe."

Given that jar-making is a defining feature of Hornsent civilization as a whole, the author reasonably assumes that other Hornsent settlements also practiced it.

Since the game map inevitably differs from the actual map, and taking the effects of time into account, the author's descriptions of buildings, maps, and so on may differ.

If something seems wrong, just treat it as an original setting detail...

According to the Hornsent dialogue and the cinematic text, Marika must have betrayed the Hornsent.

We cannot determine whether the two sides had an alliance, or whether the Hornsent simply regarded rebellion by shamans they considered their inferiors as betrayal.

But given descriptions of the crusade as a "war without honor" and similar text, it seems more likely that the Hornsent were once allies.

This book will avoid addressing that. If there is no conclusive material, it will not be written; once the protagonist leaves, whether Marika forms an alliance or takes revenge will have nothing to do with the main storyline.