Chapter 483

The West was vast. Beyond the six major tribes, there were others who lived clinging to their traditions—or maybe just stubbornness.

That short-haired blonde Rem had met in the city of Oahri was one of them.

Just one person, but still—Rem knew her.

Someone who worked with shamanic tools, someone with a wandering streak. That short-haired blonde was her friend.

“Didn’t you say leaving traces all over the place would be a huge problem? And yet you left behind a shamanic tool?”

She’d picked flowers, collected signs of giants, and while doing that, ended up running into someone from one of the minority tribes.

“How’d you know?”

Black Eyes asked. There wasn’t a hint of wariness in her—only pure curiosity. She’d always been like that.

Rem stood lower on the slope, while the other stood above.

Shouldn’t she be surprised to see Rem back in the West?

But she wasn’t the type to care.

Maybe she hadn’t even noticed Rem had left.

“Just happened.”

Rem replied like it was nothing.

Black Eyes blinked a few times. Whatever she was thinking wasn’t clear—but her personality and purpose in life likely hadn’t changed.

She’d always said she enjoyed stepping back and watching people from afar.

There was nothing more entertaining than watching human life, but she hated being involved.

Her long, trailing hair blew in the wind—annoyed by it, she tied it back with a rough pull.

“No one else really uses shamanic tools. If you see someone who does, they’re probably blood-related.”

It was all just coincidence.

These minority tribes avoided interaction with others, believing that only by doing so could they preserve their unique energy.

It was this kind of tradition that had led to the birth of the mixed seed—the Bŏljong.

She’d looked up at the stars and ended up watching other tribes. Eventually, the one who guided the paths of trajectories touched her feet.

This woman believed her tribe couldn’t keep living the way it was.

There was some grand cause in that… and also her own desires mixed in.

“Still water rots.”

That was her mantra. Beneath it, she just really wanted to observe people.

In the past, Rem had clashed hard with those traditions.

They claimed words alone could cleanse one’s spirit.

That exchanging speech and thoughts would weaken their shamanic power, and that once someone defied the rules, if they weren’t punished, arrogance would give rise to a false priestess.

All nonsense. Shamanism didn’t work like that.

But in reverse, that kind of belief might have made their magic stronger.

Because it was belief that shaped energy.

They worshipped the same Sky God born from Bakhtananmu,

but their way of life—completely different.

Still, did that mean they deserved criticism? Should they be condemned?

Should people yell at them to change, drag them out of their world by force?

There was no need.

They weren’t hurting anyone. They just wanted to live peacefully among themselves.

It was actually some of the bigger tribes who tried to take their energy by force.

But the minority tribes never wanted conflict, nor contact.

Even the mixed seed said her people would eventually rot and wither if they kept living this way—but she wasn’t about to do anything about it.

She just liked peeking out at the world every so often.

“You’ve gone pretty far this time, huh?”

Rem asked again.

The one from the minority tribes—whom Rem called mixed seed, Black Eyes—didn’t even need to think about it before answering.

It wasn’t a secret, and it still wasn’t resolved.

“Before three summers passed, some lunatic targeted our tribe’s offering.

We lost part of it. I came out to find it.”

Those who worked with shamanic tools had real skill.

Even Rem couldn’t take on their whole tribe alone.

And what even was this offering?

It was a part of the god they worshipped.

Roughly speaking, you could call it a holy relic.

Tradition, energy, spirit—whatever it was, someone had disturbed it, and thus, contact had begun.

But some lunatic had targeted it?

As an outsider-observer, the mixed seed had probably seen and heard things.

Maybe she knew more than the Narae or the other tribes that had been directly attacked.

She hadn’t come to help fight.

The people here had been sharpening their blades saying they’d been attacked.

But no—this was where it started.

They were the first ones attacked.

“It was a mage. A foreigner from the continent.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Rem put the pieces together—scattered fragments between the tribes—and formed a bigger picture.

She traced back to the cause of what was happening.

Though honestly, it wasn’t like she’d gone all in on it.

More than anything, she was just curious—who the hell had done it?

She’d roughly figured out the location, and had a guess at their motive.

“You want to go crush the bastard who stole your offering?”

That’s where the question came from.

“We know where it is. But if we fight, we lose.”

They’d already fought once, and now their weapons had been reduced to one path.

It was something worth saying.

The chieftain of their tribe had acknowledged it too.

“Retrieving the offering is important. But we can’t sacrifice our tribe’s lives for it.”

That’s what she said. Once glowing with a piercing blue light.

“I’ll repay what was taken.” Most Westerners were like that.

The minority tribes were no different—if anything, they were even more intense.

“So come when we fight. Take your offering back.”

That’s how it was settled.

***

Rem, deep in thought, knocked aside a giant’s club with her left axe,

then slashed with the right.

Thwack! Splorch!

The left axe knocked the club away.

The right axe bit into the giant’s shin—skin split open, purple blood spraying out.

‘Could’ve just handed it back, I guess.’

Rem thought as she leapt aside.

Thud!

The club slammed down. Stone shards flew.

The ground here was shallow and loose—filled with blood, pebbles, and sand.

The giant’s strike left a dent in the earth.

Giants were strong.

But strength was useless if it didn’t land.

Honestly, she could take a hit head-on if she needed to.

‘Just deflect it.’

From the outside, it looked like she was in constant danger.

Running alone between giants?

Even for Rem, even as a hero candidate, it was reckless.

Like running into a thunderstorm without even putting on a coat.

But Rem herself felt… calm.

Compared to fighting Milman Myeonggwang, this was easy.

Whoosh!

A giant’s club came swinging down toward her head.

Whoever had made them, the clubs were all the same earthy-brown color.

It took more effort than you’d think to arm giants in unified gear.

Which meant—someone had made these weapons for them.

As the club fell, Rem raised her left axe upward, bent her knees just right, and braced.

BOOM!

A deafening crash.

To an outsider, it looked like she’d just been flattened into a bloody pulp.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

The giant’s strike, unmanageable for most, was redirected.

Using her Heart of Might, Rem channeled power into her arms and endured.

More accurately, she used her whole-body flexibility, starting from the knees, to flow and disperse the giant’s power.

She absorbed it smoothly, then let it pass through her.

Elbows, shoulders, waist, knees, ankles—every part of her body worked in sync, using soft and flexible muscles to distribute the force.

Instead of brute-forcing through it, she’d learned to deflect.

She’d worked for this, practiced.

Her technique had clearly improved.

You could even say her thinking had broadened.

Whatever the case, she was way stronger than when she’d left the West.

Crack!

From the point where her axe met the club, a vertical fracture formed.

Still in that stance, Rem charged forward.

Crack-crack-crack!

The axe in her left hand split the club down its length.

Startled, the giant kicked at her.

Rem thrust her right-hand axe forward like a shield and shifted to her next move.

She flung the broken club aside with her left hand, then—far slower than Enkrid’s blade, but still steady—she traced a circle with her axe around the giant’s ankle and spun.

CRUNCH.

The giant's skin was so tough that ordinary slashes barely scratched it—but Rem’s axe sliced and split it cleanly.

With a wet squelch, deep purple blood burst upward. The half-severed ankle swayed, and with a loud thud, the giant collapsed, a pool of blood quickly forming beneath.

GROAAARGHH!

The giant roared like a beast.

But even then, its eyes didn’t change. Those unfocused pupils—

It had been strange from the very beginning.

There was no trace of thought in the giant’s eyes.

They looked like creatures consumed by rage.

These were different from the ones they'd fought when first entering the West.

Or were they?

Those bastards hadn’t exactly looked normal either.

Then again—what did it matter?

The giant howled in pain but still flailed its hand.

Rem batted the incoming hand away with her left axe.

Clang!

The axe blade bent instead of cutting and snapped in two.

Without hesitation, Rem hurled the broken axe like a javelin.

Even with the blade broken, it still struck deep, tearing through the giant’s bloodied skin.

But it didn’t hit a vital point.

So she went for the eyes.

The shattered axe handle flew through the air and stabbed straight into the giant’s eye.

GROAAARGHH!

The giant screamed again.

Clear fluid mixed with dark blood splattered across the ground.

“Give me another axe,”

Rem said, reaching back without turning around.

There was a warrior who had come into battle with her whole body loaded with axes just for this moment.

In a knight order, they’d be a squire—supporting combat while managing gear.

Here, they were called a small warrior.

That small warrior hadn’t understood at first why they were told to carry so many axes.

But now, it made perfect sense.

Where else would you find weapons that could even withstand Rem’s strength?

“Hyaah!”

With a sharp yell, the small warrior threw an axe.

Whoosh—thwack.

The axe spun through the air and landed perfectly in Rem’s hand.

She gripped it, cracked her neck side to side, and muttered,

“Keep your damn eyes open, will ya?”

None of the giants responded.

They knew no fear—so they knew no hesitation.

That was the terrifying thing about them.

Their eyes were large and round, set deep within veins—

mostly dark brown, always unfocused.

There was no light, no intelligence.

Just blind slaughter. No madness in their eyes, just mindless brutality.

Anyone looking directly into those eyes might have felt their knees go weak.

But not Rem.

Her lip curled.

“Damn bastards.”

She raised her axe over her shoulder.

There was no sense of danger. That’s why she moved with such ease.

Meanwhile, Enkrid was relentlessly slicing the mage.

“You—”

“You bas—”

“You ma—”

“You son of—”

The mage seemed cursed—unable to finish a single sentence.

Enkrid didn’t care.

He just kept closing in, pushing harder and harder.

His blade moved with an obsessive rhythm, relentless and steady—

a texture like Oyawa cloth: endlessly repetitive.

Some of the others nearby tried to intervene.

They joined hands and began a chant.

Crack!

A whip snapped down from above, lashing across their heads.

It was the Froc's.

“So you’re all cultists after all.”

Lua Gharne’s tone was calm, but there was a cold fire burning in it.

A composed kind of rage.

“Trirr… your enemy is prepared here.”

She muttered something incomprehensible and charged in, whip and sword both drawn, leaping into the midst of the humans.

Even while fighting, Rem could tell what was happening.

Lua Gharne had seen it—recognized them.

Their faces were familiar.

There were a few new ones mixed in, but most were known quantities.

They were the maniacs who believed that eating human flesh would pass power into them—

part of some deranged tradition.

Just seeing them was proof enough.

Back before Rem left, she’d had plenty of fun cracking their skulls open.

Now those same bastards had taken the enemy’s side.

Honestly, it wasn’t even surprising.

If anything, maybe they hadn’t had much of a choice.

Some of them might’ve become “warriors” of the cannibal tribe—

until they got their heads split open by an axe.

After that, they were probably cast out—pushed and pulled every which way.

And if a cult approached them right then?

Yeah, maybe this was all Rem’s fault.

But that didn’t mean she felt any guilt.

Everything in this world could have a reason attached to it.

Or, the opposite—maybe there was no reason.

It all came down to how you looked at it. What you believed.

That’s why you didn’t have to take responsibility for every little ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) thing that happened.

Was it a melee? Maybe not.

There weren’t that many people fighting, after all.

Lua Gharne moved with her eyes half-lidded and burning with restrained fire.

She slashed through a few cultists.

To Rem’s right, Dunbakel was rampaging.

She slashed at a giant’s wrist and forearm with her two sickle-shaped swords,

then suddenly dove into the giant’s chest and carved a vertical line under its jaw.

She struck, withdrew, slashed, and returned—

a smooth motion.

A long streak of purple blood followed her blade as she moved.

She was clearly faster than before.

“Cultists!”

Lua Gharne’s shout rang out.

“You think if you swing your blade every day, one by one,

your vengeance will end someday?!”

A cry full of will and resentment.

Rem wondered briefly why the Froc was suddenly acting like this—

but in the end, as long as she fought well, it didn’t matter.

Clack.

Rem tapped the edges of both axes together to reignite her focus.

Dangerous or not, these bastards were vicious.

They were fighting with their lives on the line.

And yet, these same ones had threatened her woman and her family.

If Owl had died, Rem wouldn’t have just stood by.

“No one gets past me.”

She almost said that—

but then closed her mouth.

It wasn’t the moment for dramatic lines.

The giants were beyond reason.

They should’ve been following commands—but now they weren’t even doing that.

So the giant horde was focused solely on the two standing in their way:

one human, one beastkin.

Gennarae had started to jump in—then stopped.

To him, the beginning was sudden. But everything that came after…

was strangely calm.

It shouldn’t make sense, but it did.

It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t chaotic.

It just was.

Enkrid clashing with the mage.

Lua Gharne charging into the cultists.

Rem’s combat alone was astonishing to watch.

He’d known she could fight. She was a hero candidate, after all.

But… was she always that good?

Gennarae was dumbfounded.

Still, he couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

So he raised his hand.

“What, you all just gonna watch?”

He turned to the allied tribes behind him and pulled out his totem.

A wolf-head carving of dark, weathered wood.

Blackened from use.

Gennarae clutched it tight and prayed.

“Wolf God, Wolf God…”

“Come down upon this place.

Tear them all apart. Kill them all.”

White ears, black eyes, friend of the morning star.

Violet veins bulged along Gennarae’s arm.

The pain held his body upright.

He clenched his teeth and endured, then began his chant.

It was the spell for Divine Descent.