Chapter 473

“Should we call this the return of Tangya?”

The chieftain greeted Rem warmly.

He knew what Rem was capable of.

In a time like this, for a warrior worthy of being called a hero to return—what greater joy?

Still, it wasn’t a situation to relax over.

Even with Rem, it wasn’t enough to speak of hope. That was the reality.

‘Even Rem would struggle to fight both of those monsters at once.’

The chieftain thought of the two giants threatening his tribe. The brightness in his face faded, then returned again.

No matter what, good news was still good news.

Even if blood stained the cliffs of Amrak River, right now—wasn’t it better to enjoy the present while they still could?

“Welcome back.”

The interior of the tent was spacious enough to hold a bonfire in the center beneath a dome-shaped roof made from stitched, thick fabric.

The bonfire wasn’t large, but the fact that they kept feeding it with wood meant the chieftain lived with some level of comfort.

Flat cuts of meat were skewered and roasting over the fire.

The hide had been stripped away, the intestines and skin removed, then the meat was pressed flat and grilled.

The innards were poisonous, so this method was the safest.

A rare roast meal—the first in a while.

The chieftain, sitting in a fur-covered chair, welcomed Rem, then his expression grew serious again… and then softened once more.

He glanced at Owl and cleared his throat awkwardly.

He hadn’t become chieftain because of strength.

He was respected, not feared. A man of goodwill, not of war.

That made the current crisis all the more difficult for him.

Still, the fact that he was holding on at all was worth some respect.

The West was in a chaotic state.

“I came to receive your blessing,”

Rem got straight to the point.

The chieftain blinked several times, deep in thought.

He’d known this kid was never going to follow expectations.

That’s probably why he had abandoned the tribe and run off in the first place.

“Not possible right now.”

The chieftain shook his head.

“Why not?”

“The sacred ground’s been taken by another tribe.”

“…What do you mean, taken?”

The sacred ground was land protected by all the tribes gathered here.

On a small scale, it was where they performed rituals and communed with guardian spirits.

On a larger scale, it was land imbued with the soul and tradition of their people.

Westerners wanted to be buried there when they died.

In that sense, the sacred ground also functioned as a cemetery.

To put it simply—it was the one place they’d stake their lives to defend.

And now it was lost?

Actually, thinking about it, something did feel strange.

It started with giants taking over a village—and escalated to this.

Western nomads typically wandered in search of pastures.

So why had they gathered here?

Large-scale gatherings were rare—maybe twice a year.

Once in autumn, when food was plentiful, to share the bounty.

And once before spring, when food was scarce, to pool what little remained.

So now? It wasn’t the time for either.

Which meant something was very wrong.

“Nothing’s gone right since you left.”

Owl, who had followed him in, threw a sharp verbal dagger in at [N O V E L I G H T] just the right moment.

Rem didn’t bother to respond. There was no point saying anything now—if she decided to swing her axe again, so be it.

‘It’s my fault.’

It really was.

Enkrid and Lua Gharne hadn’t been wrong.

And Dunbakel… well, she probably didn’t even know what she was talking about.

“That’s how things stand.”

The chieftain’s expression darkened once more.

He was a gentle man, too soft to fix anything with brute force.

The weight pressing on him now might not kill him with a sword, but it would crush him in time.

Where should he start explaining?

After a moment’s thought, he spoke.

“You know about the cannibals, right?”

Everyone in the West knew about those scumbags.

Man-eating freaks—no matter how many you killed, another would pop up, chewing on some poor soul’s leg.

They were a warrior race. Fierce fighters.

Before Rem left, he had sent the tribe the head of the strongest of those cannibals.

They had lost their leader. He’d thought that would be the end of them.

Apparently not.

The chieftain cut straight to the point.

“One day, a giant cannibal appeared.”

Westerners valued trust over prayer.

That value had given rise to many precise words to describe vague situations.

Words like our logic and inferior were common expressions.

In their dialect, it meant a group or force that should function, but currently wasn’t.

And that tendency still showed through now.

A giant cannibal?

“How are they connected?”

“Some suspected the people you sent from the continent were behind it.”

Rem ignored Owl’s snide remark and looked to the chieftain, who continued.

“Where the cannibal tribes used to be—those people vanished. Then giants showed up.”

Was there no connection? Or had something happened over there too?

It was impossible to know for now.

“Two tribes were wiped out in the attacks.”

The chieftain grabbed a thin piece of firewood and slapped it against his palm.

“And no one knows where those bastards came from?”

“No idea.”

So all they had to do was kill the giant cannibals?

While Rem was thinking, the chieftain continued.

“And as if that wasn’t enough, something snapped in the Seer Tribe.”

The Seer Tribe—a group made up entirely of shamans.

Individually, they weren’t much.

But gathered together? A huge problem.

They specialized in group rituals.

“You’re not serious…”

Rem tilted his head in disbelief.

“Some say you passed through and filled them with hot air, made them go crazy.”

Owl’s stab went ignored again.

“Yes.”

The chieftain also ignored her and nodded.

He was saying a group ritual had taken place.

“A prayer or a rite?”

Both were collective rituals, but different in scale.

Prayer was small-scale; rites were large-scale rituals.

If it had been a full-blown rite used for attack, things would’ve been disastrous.

No—already disastrous.

“Over a hundred people died from a blood-altering curse. Even more are still collapsed, barely clinging to life.”

What the hell? What a goddamn mess.

Rem blinked slowly.

So, to get the full picture—

The giants and the Seer Tribe had joined forces?

Why?

Did they even get along?

Rem had seen the giants on the way in.

He’d also noticed that those who should’ve been stationed in key areas weren’t there.

The area protected by the Narae Tribe had a massive ox pen and some smashed palisades in its place.

“Did the Mura Tribe get hit too?”

“Yes. Some survived and took refuge with us.”

Good. That was the right move.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“And now they say outsiders have been spotted. Pixies, some strange magicians—rumors are flying.”

“Some think you lured them here.”

Rem kept throwing Owl’s words out one ear and into the void.

The chieftain wasn’t even listening anymore.

Rem wondered—had a gold mine popped up in the West while he was gone?

What did this place even have that drew all these outsiders?

What was important to these tribes wasn’t necessarily valuable to others.

Even if the sacred ground was important—since it was used to seal away weapons and magical mediums—it didn’t mean outsiders had any reason to care.

So why the hell were they all here?

Coming back home felt like finding your house full of stray dogs trashing the place.

And not just one or two. A whole pack.

“If you didn’t send them, then why should we care?”

Owl’s barbs flew relentlessly.

She clearly resented him for showing up late and now daring to ask questions.

“Enough, Owl,”

the chieftain tried to stop her, but she paid no attention.

Juul stepped in to offer a few additional explanations:

Some of the Narae Tribe's smaller clans and the Garam Tribe had also been hit.

“Those two giants are just too strong.”

Two colossal monsters—unstoppable.

“Most of our shamans collapsed trying to block the curse with ritual magic. Some may still die from it.”

The fact that the continent’s greatest shaman—the one who could’ve helped them—had collapsed, all while Rem had come seeking a ritual blessing… was this all a coincidence?

Rem briefly wondered if he hadn’t come to cleanse misfortune, but rather to bring it.

Then he answered.

“The two giants, I’ll handle them.”

Those kinds of bastards—just kill them.

Rem was confident he had that much strength.

“...Even for you, it might be too much. If you’re trusting that Frokk, maybe. But if not, you should consider taking them out first.”

That was Juul speaking.

The chieftain tossed the firewood he’d been holding into the bonfire. It resisted for a moment before catching. Flames roared upward, casting shadows along the roof of the tent.

“I said it’s fine. Two giants? No problem.”

Rem repeated firmly.

“They’re a problem, sure, but the numbers are worse.”

“How many times have you fought them?”

“Twice.”

They’d lost both times—and the path to the sacred ground had been taken.

“Even knowing about the guardian spirits?”

Rem asked Juul a few more things about the terrifying giants.

He couldn’t judge everything by hearsay, but they weren’t the type to fight like knights.

Apparently, a few skilled warriors had tried to block them before collapsing from the curse.

“What about the settlers from the continent?”

There had been people trying to build frontier towns in the West, so he asked.

“Useless. They didn’t even look like they wanted to help.”

The West was divided between frontier settlements and native lands.

There wasn’t much land fit for farming, but the empire had left behind a few outposts.

Even those places were now mostly abandoned.

“What is this?”

Something about all this rubbed Rem the wrong way.

Outsiders, giants—there had to be a reason they were moving.

No one lifted a finger without incentive.

If they weren’t being paid for their labor, why bother?

Which meant they were after something else.

In his mind, a hazy picture began to form.

He couldn’t see it clearly yet—just fragments of a looming shape.

But for now, the immediate task was obvious.

Kill the giants.

“Oh, look who it is—the great Western hero’s here.”

Owl’s sarcasm didn’t stop.

‘Might be smarter to fix things with Owl first…’

If not, he might catch an axe to the back of the head.

One way or another, a lot of fighting would be needed to clean up this mess.

‘So maybe I did come to absorb the bad luck.’

If not, he and everyone else might already be dead.

Listening to the chieftain, he realized—it wasn’t just a crisis. They were teetering on the edge of collapse.

‘And yet most people are still taking this too lightly…’

At least the chieftain, Owl, Juul, and Hirason might take action.

He’d already asked Hirason to look after Enkrid earlier.

‘Even the captain came with me.’

They wouldn’t lose. A handful of tribal freaks wouldn’t bring them down.

“The two giants? I can take care of that myself,”

Rem repeated again.

“I’ll say it one more time—if you’re putting your faith in that Frokk, think again. Honestly, I wish you wouldn’t get involved either. This isn’t just some random twilight on the horizon.”

Juul tried to stop him.

He knew better than anyone what Rem was capable of.

“And why not me?”

Rem asked, genuinely curious.

“Because if we lose you, there’s no hope left.”

Bleak words.

Juul had once been the most optimistic man Rem knew.

So if he was talking like this now… things must really be bad.

“I’ll be fine. You think I’ve just been lounging around all this time?”

“Plenty have already fallen to those two giants. Even his father did.”

Rem’s brow twitched.

The chieftain of the Maru tribe had been his friend.

And the man’s father had been Rem’s teacher—the one who taught him to wield an axe.

He was the only person Rem had ever truly fought before leaving.

They’d never gone all-out; the outcome of such a match was unknowable.

“He didn’t last long,”

Juul said quietly.

Rem turned his gaze to the chieftain.

The chieftain nodded in confirmation under Rem’s stare.

“We don’t even have enough warriors. We can’t scatter, either—if we split up, we’ll all be picked off. But if we stay like this, we’ll run out of food and starve together.”

He was speaking plainly.

The chieftain wasn’t stupid. He just had nowhere to retreat to.

“Got it. For now.”

Rem stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the flickering shadow of the bonfire on the ceiling.

Then he finally spoke.

“Let’s go see what this curse is all about.”

“You can’t even use sorcery.”

Owl threw the jab—but still moved.

There were barbs in her words, but she was someone who would do anything for her tribe.

And she knew it too: Rem showing up at a moment like this was a blessing.

If he hadn’t, she might’ve already gone on a rampage with her axe.

‘Maybe this is what they call a crisis becoming an opportunity.’

Rem thought.

If this situation had forced her to hold back her rage, maybe it was a good thing.

At the very least, he’d bought himself some time to explain things.

Rem started walking.

He wanted to see the cursed victims for himself.

Understanding the situation came first.

As he stepped out of the tent, the chieftain called after him.

“Yeah. Go take a look. And… really, I’m glad you’re back. Welcome home, my new son.”

That was how the West addressed a daughter’s husband.

The chieftain was Owl’s father—and father to the tribe as a whole.

That was what made him their leader.

“I’m a little late,”

Rem replied.

“More than a little,”

Owl added at his side.

Yeah, he knew. He knew.

Which is why he didn’t bother answering.

Rem moved silently. Owl took the lead, Juul followed behind.

‘Something tells me… things are worse than they look.’

Those trapped inside the tents might have been surviving, but from the outside, Rem felt the urgency more clearly.

As he walked and pieced things together, one conclusion came to mind:

Even stopping the giants outright might be impossible.

At least, not alone.

‘As time drags on, the curse will only weaken the tribe further.’

Then the giants could strike again and finish them off.

Whoever was behind them—hiding in their shadow—was the true enemy.

As long as someone had the will to be cruel, they could pull it off.

And if the giants were cannibals? Cruelty came naturally.

‘But why?’

Why stir up a people with no central homeland—nomads and herders?

If the goal was just to scatter them, fine.

But was there something in the West worth taking?

Rem thought about what these intruders might truly want.

‘People.’

Outsiders. Giants. Curses.

The three pieces combined to form a sinister picture.

But there still wasn’t enough information.

‘Damn. My head hurts.’

And the constant sideways glances from Owl weren’t helping.

They reached the tent, thick with acrid smoke and pungent herbal fumes.

That’s when a voice called out, stammering in awe:

“A miracle—a miracle, I tell you!”

***

Enkrid was slightly surprised.

Wait, what did I just do?

Nothing much. He’d just held the kid’s hand.

And yet—the boy suddenly opened his eyes.

“Huh?”

The boy blinked, confused, his lips moving as if to form a question.

His eyes were bright—like starlight.

“Who are you?”

“Enkrid. Call me Enki. People say the full name’s hard to pronounce.”

“Ah, an outsider.”

The boy nodded.

Nearby, a young woman stood at the edge of the group—she was the one who had walked past three little girls earlier when they arrived.

Her eyes widened—astonished.

The traces of the curse that had been spreading through the boy’s body had stopped, and he’d opened his eyes.

The woman lifted the blanket that had covered the boy and checked his body—then turned to stare at Enkrid.

“…What the hell?”

She muttered.

She seemed genuinely shocked—like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

After a brief silence, her dazed eyes sharpened again.

Her gaze never left the boy.

“He’s healing.”

That was Hirason speaking.

The twins, who had been sitting off to the side massaging their calves in exhaustion, walked over.

“It’s real.”

They both said it at the same time.

Hirason was so shocked she shouted again:

“A miracle—a miracle, I tell you!”

And once again—

Enkrid had a hard time following their conversation.