Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 62

62.

On the road north, Grux briefed them on the current situation.

"It's a delicate situation."

As year-end approached, the North grew colder—meaning the barbarians felt the same chill. Unlike the Empire's people, who received food support and farmed on decent land, the barbarians mostly raised sheep and horses; farming was impossible.

"The land near the Deadlands isn't suitable for crops—whatever you plant dies quickly. Even finding fodder for livestock is difficult."

That was why the barbarians encroached on Imperial land.

"Couldn't we offer food and join hands?"

At Ibelin's question, Grux nodded.

"We tried that before—but the barbarians are a cursed people, and they're hostile to the Empire, believing we stole their land."

Grux admitted he didn't know the full history—this had been Imperial land for ages, and before that, the age of magic.

"It was chaos back then—wars spread everywhere. You'd need a historian for details, and even they'd have limits."

That era had begun the conflict between the Empire and the barbarians.

"The last war started that way—when a united barbarian chieftain killed Imperial citizens. We drove them back, but never relaxed our watch."

Kite nodded silently.

"True—so what do you mean by 'delicate'?"

"The barbarians have split into two."

"Hmm?"

He'd heard of Kahn uniting tribes—now there was a complication?

"Chief Kahn and Chief Vallak are opposed."

"Why?"

"Differences of opinion—but we haven't learned the details."

"Intelligence mentioned nothing?"

"They sent infiltrators, but no word yet."

"It's gotten complicated."

"Still, for us, them fighting each other is good."

Either way, damage would be done—the more they fought, the better for the Empire.

"Still, I'd like to know why."

"Same here—information is power."

They fell silent.

Could I find out?

Watching them, she recalled the Emperor's birthday banquet—she'd collapsed but gained a vision. Perhaps she could again.

"I'll get up now."

"To rest?"

"Yes."

She climbed into the wagon—Kite lifted her up.

Once inside with the door closed, she shed a layer.

"So stuffy!"

This much was enough. She didn't know why Kite worried so much.

But that wasn't the point.

She clasped her hands and prayed.

Please—show me the future. If you're a god who grants visions, hear me.

She prayed with all her heart.

Ibelin blinked.

Before her was an unfamiliar place—a tent of animal hides, walls hung with embroidered cloth in various colors, floor covered with carefully woven rugs.

She understood: the barbarians lived in moveable tents called gers. Though called tents, they were substantial, with wooden frames and a small stove in the corner—something bubbled in a kettle atop it.

"Things aren't going smoothly."

A man at the center clicked his tongue. Massive, half-bare torso covered in strange markings, skin darker than Imperial people, yellow-tinged eyes—but otherwise human.

"Chief Kahn."

Beside him sat a woman in thick leather, wearing beaded headdress and large jeweled earrings and necklace.

"Shaman—is what I'm doing right?"

"If you wish it, it can't be wrong."

"Is that so."

"Yes—because what you desire is our peace."

"True. Each year-end, the cold grows harsher—likely the Deadlands' influence. We've survived by raising livestock and raiding, but it's no longer enough."

"Staying that way wasn't normal."

She smiled bitterly.

"Yes—though many oppose it, it's time to change. We can't go on like this. We must join hands with the Empire."

He spoke his vision: settle on proper land, farm, learn—that was the only way to survive.

I see. Kahn wanted to overturn the barbarians' way of life.

"Vallak won't accept it—I understand, but it's foolish."

The world was changing—they had to adapt to survive.

Kahn wanted to compromise with the Empire to save his people.

Ibelin slowly opened her eyes. Her body was tired, but her mind was clear.

Kahn, who believed in change; Vallak, who clung to ancestral ways. What she needed to do was clear: tell Kite, meet Kahn, hear his wishes directly, and bring him over—perhaps another war could be averted.

With Kahn's faction removed and the Empire's borders strengthened, Vallak might reconsider. Ancestral traditions mattered—but what use were they if people died? At least she thought lives were more important.

She leaned back and caught her breath. Her prophetic ability was evolving—before, she only saw uncertain futures in dreams, sometimes important, sometimes not. Now she could see what she wanted. Though it exhausted her, it was a great leap.

Does Unknown see the future like this?

She wondered.

---

Slender, long fingers picked up a dagger.

"Let's see."

He'd recently cut his arm to see the future—it was covered with scars. Adding more was foolish; even with good medicine, you couldn't keep reopening wounds.

Unknown looked down at his legs—also scarred, old and new mingled. But they were better than his arms, so he pressed the blade there.

If Ibelin saw the future in dreams, Unknown's method was different.

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