Magus Reborn

73. Yafgar

Yafgar tightened his hand around the rope that kept the bulldrake beneath him moving with speed as he felt the sting of the mountain air on his face.

Hundred strong men in his tribe rode their bulldrakes down the treacherous slopes, the massive creatures sure-footing on the rocky path.

He groaned loudly, signalling his bulldrake to move faster as he knew his destination was nearby. The creature soon fell into a rhythm, fasting its feet and moving forward as if everything else in the surroundings was dust.

These weren’t ordinary bulls; these were a result of generations of selective breeding and perfect mana manipulation to fuse their ancestors with mountain goats; something Yafgar hadn’t seen but only heard through the local population, that had resulted in beasts with the strength of bulls, the agility of horses and a disposition as wild as the wind.

They were perfect for navigating through the forest or quickly implementing an escape plan.

They had taken time and effort into taming the local bulldrake population not long after settling in these mountains, a move that had solidified their stay in the region.

After all, who were they to not take advantage of what was offered to them in the local settlement itself?

Now, the cadenced snorting of the magnificent beasts echoed through the valley.

They were reaching slowly to the place where the scouts had brought word of plump merchant carriages heading— easy pickings for their tribe who hunted on nobles quite often.

Yafgar looked around him and noticed his son wasn’t with them. Brugnar, a man with his head shaved and missing an ear, looked up at Yafgar.

"Where’s Ragnar?" Yafgar finally let his thoughts out. "Haven’t seen the oaf in a fortnight."

Brugnar grunted, spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the rocky path. "Took a smaller raiding party to the plains a while back. Said something about expanding our territory. Brought back a good haul last time, so I let him be."

Yafgar’s brow furrowed. Ragnar, his eldest son, was a firebrand, always itching for a fight. He valued glory and spoils over strategy, a trait that often landed him in trouble. And mostly at those times, Yafgar or his right-hand Brugnar had to save him more often than not.

Still, Yafgar couldn’t deny the boy’s skills— he was a natural leader amongst the younger Barbarians. It was evident since day one when they were put into practice, at the young age of twelve. After all, the skills ran in the blood, no wonder.

"Irresponsible whelp," he grumbled, more to himself than Brugnar. But the chieftains’ annoyance was quickly forgotten as they rounded a bend in the path.

The sight that greeted them brought a jolt of surprise to Yafgar.

What in the elements is this?!

It was the merchant carriages they came searching for.

Not the scattered collection of rickety wagons they were expecting, but a dreadful line of well-mannered carriages, guarded by disciplined-looking men, with their tough armour. Not a single piece of leather or piece of clothing seemed to be out of place in the guards.

Yafgar clenched his jaw as he saw a lone figure among the train of carriages. It was impossibly small from the distance, riding at the front and sighing next to the driver’s seat.

But what made his gut wrench was the person on top of the carriage.

Strapped with ropes and visible enough to figure out who it was, in familiar leathers, but all bloody was Ragnar.

Behind him, more of the men from his tribes were strapped similarly on carriages. A few had only one man, but other bigger ones had more than two or three of them congested together.

NO! It can’t be! Is he playing a joke with these men?!

Yafgar’s knuckles whitened as his clutch tightened.

He was shocked, in fury and concern at the same time. His eyes widened and squinting, taking turns. He looked around his troupe to see if what he was seeing was true— maybe he was seeing things. Maybe—

Unfortunately, it was true.

Since every Lombards’ fighter saw the same thing that he did and mirrored his expressions, he couldn’t deny a thing on display.

Ragnar was bound and humiliated. His hands were tightly bound by some sort of ropes as his eldest son looked up in despair. But it wasn’t just the sight of his son and his men in captivity and display that sent a surge of rage through Yafgar. It was the flagrant audacity of it all.

"Argh!" Yafgar yelled from his throat. "They mock us!" His voice echoed through the valley.

His men grunted from behind. Hundreds of noises, agreeing with his anger.

"They parade our own flesh and blood like a trophy! This is a challenge! A declaration of war! Blood— I want all of their blood in this land! Their bodies in the damn trees! We are going to kill and skin each one of them alive!"

The men from behind shouted different nothings, agreeing with their chieftain.

Axes were raised, spears brandished and bulldrakes thundered forward, hooves pounding on the earth.

Yafgar couldn’t hear anything else apart from his raging heartbeat in his ears. He couldn’t hear his men yelling that they’d kill and break every bone that belonged to the people in the carriages, or even the radiating anger that reeked from his right-hand man, who cursed every God known to mankind.

As they charged closer, however, everything seemed to slow beneath them.

Someone from one of the carriages seemed oblivious to the approaching storm. Hundreds of men were no joke, but he stood casually at the front of the carriage.

"Huh?!" Yafgar shouted.

The man held his hand up in a placating gesture.

Brugnar grunted loudly, signalling their men to be prepared to jump on them considering they already had their weapons out.

Soon they were barely five feet away from the carriages.

Men from behind made animalistic noises as they were about to jump on the well-dressed man.

Just then, the man in the front opened his mouth.

"I’d like to make a deal with you!" His loud voice halted everyone in their actions.

Yafgar squinted his eyes and raised a hand, signalling his men to hold.

This wasn’t right. Something about the whole situation felt… off.

***

Kai’s hand was placed on his carriage as he leaned forward with his eyes darted towards far in the distance where a bunch of men were raging towards them— at least a hundred, or even more.

The situation should have scared or physically blown another regular person away, but Kai had an aim. His eyes momentarily shifted towards Killian, who was already prepared to face anything that came from their way heads-on, with his hand on his sword hilt.

Well, this will turn out—

His thoughts were interrupted by the bound man on top of the carriage, grumbling like a caged bear; Ragnar.

"They’re here!" Ragnar practically growled. Despite being tied and beaten down already, his voice still seemed to have a fire in it. "My father… He’s going to kill you all."

Kai chuckled at his words. "For someone who lost a battle. You wouldn’t happen to know a thing or two about staying silent when captured, would you?"

He took a few steps behind so he could properly look at the look on Ragnar’s face. The smile on his face grew with the sound of the hooves.

He really seemed to have faith in his father and his tribe. Though Kai knew he was going to be disappointed once they got here and even if they managed to free him, he doubted Ragnar would be welcomed well.

Just by his words, the tribe put honour at the top and they would certainly not be happy with him humiliating himself. Either way, the man was up for a tough time.

He shook his head mentally as the hooves of the animals they were on got closer. They looked to be a blend of horses and bulls, and that somehow was the last thing Kai needed to focus on right now.

Malden and a few guards in the carriages behind put on a nervous front as he glanced back. Even the two Mages who were in an adjacent carriage were eyeing each other, probably wondering if they should run away.

Ignoring their anxiousness, Kai smiled.

Without any hesitation, he walked forward and waved his hand at the men in the front.

Two men led the hundreds of them. One was a tall, broad-shouldered but old man, probably Ragnar’s father— Yafgar; and from the way he swirled his tongue on his upper teeth just like Ragnar had, his thoughts were confirmed. Must be running in the blood.

Next to him was a rather bulky stout man with a bald head and— a missing ear. A rather strong aura came from him and Kai guessed that he was the most dangerous warrior in the tribe.

"I’d like to make a deal with you!" Kai’s voice seemed to halt some of the men who were about to throw a fight.

Yafgar quickly raised an arm.

"We have no deals to make!" Yafgar replied, loudly. "You return my son, my warriors, and face the consequences of your actions! I don’t know who you are, a warrior or a noble, but if you come forward right now, I will make sure your death is easy." He pointed at Kai. "Put on a fight, harder your death will be, either way, your bodies will be left to rot on the mountain slopes as a warning to all who dare trespass on our land!"

Although the number of men he brought could easily fill all the empty chambers back in the castle, the silence that descended upon them was eerie. No one dared to talk after the threatening words.

Kai didn’t want to show fear. Therefore he gave an amiable smile, which obviously didn’t go unnoticed by Yafgar.

"You dare mock me?" he sneered. "Who are you to display my son like a trophy? Release him and face the consequences!"

"Chieftain Yafgar, isn’t it?" Kai replied, his voice carrying a calmness that shouldn’t be there. A part of his mind spiralled with what-ifs in a situation like this, but he knew he was in control till he had the captives.

Yafgar grunted in confirmation, his eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of Kai’s guards and his men who were bound on top of their carriage.

"My name is Arzan Kellius, a noble and this whole entourage is mine," Kai continued, his gaze settling on Ragnar. "Your son here decided to engage in a rather dishonourable act. Raiding our camp under the cover of night? Not exactly a testament to the Lombards tribe’s honour and integrity, is it? So, I thought of teaching him a small lesson— manners, you see."

Yafgar’s jaw was visibly clenched. A few men from behind protested with noises.

From the looks of it, they were angry, yet they were listening. Kai took it as a sign to continue.

"A few of your men got killed in the battle," Kai said, "The others, well, they’re currently enjoying the hospitality of my carriage."

Yafgar’s nostrils flared. "You speak of honour while your kind drove us from our ancestral lands! How was that honourable?!"

Kai raised an eyebrow.

"Ancestral lands, you say? I’m afraid I’m just a humble noble. Not associated with the grand politics that displaced your tribe. Besides, war isn’t what I seek. All I desire is safe passage through these parts."

Yafgar got down from the monstrous creature with a thud, signalling his men to stay right where they were. "Safe passage earned through the humiliation of my son? You say words of peace, but what you have shown me is a cause of war. This is going to be a war!"

Hearing the words, Kai’s gut feeling yelled that these men would attack sooner than he had expected. He had one chance, to explain about the deal, and prepare for what was about to come. Therefore, he wrapped both his hands behind him and started drawing the spell structure for [Flame arrow].

Without passing a heartbeat, he started to speak.

"Now, chieftain, let’s not be hasty. This," he gestured towards Ragnar, "was merely a… tactic. You see, your son wasn’t exactly cooperative when I asked him. And I have a very specific herb I need, one that only grows in these parts. So, unfortunately, this was the only way. I’m willing to exchange your son in return for that herb, and we’ve to move safely at that–"

Kai’s words were cut short by a few men who got off the creatures from behind, almost sprinting forward.

Yafgar scoffed at his words.

"That’d be the deal," Kai finished what he was about to say. Hearing that, Malden whimpered from behind.

One hundred angry barbarians were not funny, clearly.

"Trading my son’s life for passage? Clever, but not enough. We settle our debts in blood!" Yafgar roared.

He raised his hand once again, as his thumb and middle finger flickered. It seemed like a signal for his men as they unisonly shouted something unknown and took a step forward.

But before Yafgar could take another, Kai used the spell structure he was creating and pushed a considerable amount of mana to create arrows.

They conjured from his hand and went to the thin air almost immediately.

Yafgar, who saw the arrows with widened eyes, pulled up his sword to block them, but Kai had a different plan. He shifted his aim at the prisoners’ necks. One at Ragnar, one at the single-braided man, and the others at the rest of the bound men.

Kai raised both his eyebrows challengingly, his hands waving a motion as the arrows got closer to their necks.

He looked up and saw one of the men draw a small amount of blood from his neck. Kai’s lips curled up to a smile.

This should do.

"Take one more step, Chieftain, and I’ll give you plenty more reasons for war."