Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 54

54.

As Seren's lament continued, Kite cut in.

"Let's stop this conversation here."

"Didn't you need my counsel?"

"I did—but the person in question is here."

With that, Kite turned.

"Ibelin."

Even when called, she didn't come out—hiding. Perhaps he was just testing.

"Ibelin—behind the tree."

No such luck. She stepped out awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"What were you doing?"

"I was taking a walk—this tree was so beautiful."

"The tree?"

"Yes, the tree."

Whatever—she'd brazen it out. Her grandfather said lying was bad, but when your life was at stake, it was acceptable.

"I see—then let's walk together."

He didn't press. He offered his hand—surprising her.

"A walk in the garden, then dinner—you haven't eaten all day."

"...That's true."

She awkwardly placed her hand on his.

Behind them, Seren smiled warmly—but Kite didn't notice.

Thus, Ibelin began a peaceful afternoon, carrying a sliver of unease.

---

The northern land was always arid and cold. When snow fell, it melted and moistened the earth—but even that was uneven. It wasn't a place for life to thrive, yet people still lived there.

In areas where farming was possible, the Empire's people settled—half of them soldiers stationed to guard against the barbarians, keeping the territory intact. Beyond that lay desolate wastelands, where the barbarians lived.

Barbarians.

No one knew who first called them that. But they lacked human decency—violent, bloodthirsty, and unreasonable. That was the common view.

"Not entirely wrong."

They lived in tents made of stitched beast hides, clustered in groups of dozens—the largest central tent belonging to the leader. Inside sat a young man, easily one and a half times the size of others, with fierce eyes, a high nose, and thick lips pressed tight—as if embodying his resolve.

"That's just the weak grumbling!"

Someone protested, but the man shook his head.

"Lord Kahn!"

"Silence. Just grumbling? Our reputation is ruinous. To outsiders, we're no different from beasts to be slaughtered."

"Beasts?!"

"Aren't we? We plunder and kill others when hungry. We hang heads on poles and dance. In the past, it didn't matter—we survived. But times have changed."

Kite had pushed them from the better lands, driving them closer to the Deadlands—cursed since the age of magic, where humans couldn't thrive. Its beasts were monsters; eating them drove you mad. Merely nearing it eroded humanity.

Long ago, when barbarians had another name, some tribes entered the Deadlands to explore—and returned mad, earning the name "barbarian" before being exterminated.

Since then, they'd lived in hatred and half-madness. Divided by tribe, bound by blood, they sought vengeance against the Empire—though they'd been badly beaten.

"We can't live like this anymore."

As a child, Kahn had seen his tribe and realized—how long would they live scattered on this barren land, offering their necks to the Empire?

"Now is the time for change."

"Lord Kahn!"

First, unite the tribes and grow large enough that the Empire couldn't easily oppose them. Only then could they negotiate. But those still trapped in the past wouldn't understand.

No matter.

If words didn't work, action would. Kahn was confident he could absorb the foolish tribes. Those shouting his name, recalling the past, were unnecessary. His gaze fell on the quiet ones who looked up at him—the young ones who could imagine a future yet to come. At least they had brains.

"Those who don't follow will die."

The shouting ones fell silent.

"Those who follow will be given glory."

The quiet ones' eyes began to gleam. So change began among the barbarians.

And someone watched it all from close by.

---

A man had been hiding, dug into the ground.

"Ooh—hmm—I see."

He hummed and folded his telescope—a magical one from the age of magic, allowing him to see distant events as if before his eyes.

"Seems the barbarians are changing."

Kahn was a bold one. He knew that if things continued, the barbarians would vanish—so he sought another way to survive. He decided to become their king.

Not bad—Kahn seemed more reasonable than other barbarians. But the path wouldn't be easy. Uniting all the tribes was one thing; ruling afterward was another.

He didn't think the Teyrin Empire wouldn't notice—their Intelligence was as good as Pabeln's. They'd catch on, even if later than he did, and try to use it.

As always.

"Heave-ho!"

Time to move. The man crawled out and ran—so fast the scenery blurred.

He ran for a long while until he reached the Empire's border, then stopped.

"Phew—getting old, running's harder."

He patted his back. At the village entrance, the guards waved.

"Grandpa Kai! Where've you been?"

"Hunting~!"

A rabbit hung from his hand.

"Rabbit stew for dinner?"

"Course—I make good stew. I'll share if there's extra."

"Thanks."

The guards chuckled and opened the gate.

"Ah—my granddaughter loved rabbit stew too."

"The cute, lovable, pretty one?"

"Right!"

"But she's not here, is she?"

"No—she's not."

Kai walked inside with a sullen face. Another guard asked quietly.

"Does he really have a granddaughter?"

"Must—he carries a portrait in his necklace pocket."

"Oh? Why don't they live together?"

"Circumstances—he wouldn't say. Plenty of folks here have stories."

"True."

"Anyway—looking forward to that stew."

"Good?"

"Not amazing—but somehow you look forward to it."

Just then, another person approached the guard post—the conversation ended, and they resumed their duties.

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