Chapter 88: Chapter 88: Ahheman's Last Stand
"This, the Iliad?"
Ahheman's demeanor solidified.
"The Iliad is a challenge among champions and heroes. It is a last, life-and-death battle for honor wherein neither side can withdraw.
The tribal leader Aquila grinned delicately and approached Ahheman.
"Ahheman, great shaman of Balak, you are a being of high pride and sparkling honor, a protector of respected customs, as I have said previously. Will you permit such pride, honor, and custom to be compromised?"
Ahheman couldn't resist the opportunity to grit his teeth.
He asked why the clan leader, who had always considered him a blemish, had raised the issue.
It was all part of laying the foundation to make the Iliad compelling.
The veteran clan leader, determined to use this powerful opportunity to diminish the power of the shamans who had taken over the chieftaincy.
He had been using his daughter, Aiyen, to influence the youths to oust superstitions and old habits to keep the shamans in line.
His grandson, Ahun, didn't take sides either.
"Grandfather. You always said we should honor tradition. The Iliad is our Balak tradition."
"Quiet, that's what I know!"
Ahheman gritted his teeth and turned his head.
Before him stood Vikir, his countenance formidable.
The oppressed POW had been transformed into a local legend in a moment.
In less than two years, a ragtag outsider had filled the position that Ahheman had coveted his whole life.
Ahheman felt his emotions churn.
His anger at Vikir erupted like a pillar of fire in an oil field.
"Fine! I understand! I demand the Iliad from you!"
Hearing Ahheman's declaration, Vikir nodded without a word.
It was a sign of acceptance.
Patriarch Aquila spoke in a soft tone that only Vikir could hear.
"Do you think you'll win...?"
"If you were to ask me to make it happen, I'll do it."
Vikir had been a hound of the Night for over fifty years, since his relapse.
He was accustomed to being someone else's blade.
Aquila smiled with satisfaction at Vikir's response.
It felt as comforting as a sharp blade in his grasp.
"Good, I trust you, son-in-law."
"...?"
Briefly, Vikir thought he saw a glimmer of Morg Adolf in Aquila.
Then, all the heroes, young and old, rallied to battle.
Where two champions would fight for their souls.
All the spectators watched, their hands sweating.
Ahheman thought to himself.
"Yes. This is good. I'll take action to shake off all my bitterness and reclaim my place."
He raised his blazing eyes and glared at Vikir.
As if everything would return to normal if only that thing before him were no more.
"The date is the full moon in three days," Ahheman yelled like boiling magma deep within an active volcano.
"The date is the evening of the full moon in three days, the place is here, and I officially challenge you to the Iliad!"
Briefly, the fighters were stunned by the intensity of Ahheman's words.
However, Vikir, the target of the challenge, remained unfazed.
"Just three days. Let's do it now."
It was as if he was simply trying to complete a task.
Once again, the champions were impressed by Vikir's casual demeanor.
Ahheman, on the other hand, trembled.
Three days of clandestine preparation had been disrupted.
Vikir knew this, which is why he hadn't given Ahheman time to strategize.
"That's the shamans' art."
He's trying to slow down the Iliad with his usual swagger, but it's no use.
Vikir, too, is a weathered old man who has seen it all, but he is no match for Ahheman.
As a survivor of the Period of Obliteration, he is better than the old shaman in the art of conspiracy.
"The Iliad grants the challenger the right to choose the date and place, by tradition, doesn't it?"
At Vikir's words, Ahheman let out a pained sound.
He, who had always been vocal about the need to honor tradition, was speechless when tradition was brought up in this situation.
Arrogant and narcissistic, his own words were weighing him down.
Seeing this, Aiyen chuckled.
"As expected, Ahhemman will be Ahhemman."
Aiyen muttered something accusingly, then turned her head away.
She saw her loyal subordinate, trusted ally, and dear friend, the wolf Bakira, sitting impassively beside her.
Aiyen stroked Bakira's fluffy ears and leaned in to whisper quietly.
"Go to the village and tell them to prepare to welcome the victor of the Iliad."
The instructions were for the villagers to prepare a celebration for Vikir.
But.
"Don't do that."
Vikir turned to Aiyen.
When Aiyen's eyes narrowed, Vikir turned his head and replied.
"If you let your imagination run wild, you'll always come up with the opposite result."
It's hard to prepare for variables when you're so confident.
Vikir observed Ahheman gritting his teeth in the distance.
He was a shaman, so there were many surprises in battle.
Vikir had fought countless shamans, warlocks, alchemists, and the like throughout the Period of Obliteration, and about every two years, there had been a sudden counterattack.
Ultimately, Vikir was usually the victor, but they always had a trick they kept hidden just before they died, and Vikir was used to that.
"I don't let my guard down even one percent.
A dog gives his all to catch a hare.
This is especially true when the prey is an old raccoon.
Vikir glanced over all the information he had before the relapse, ticking off all the potential possibilities.
Seeing Vikir's vigilance, Aiyen became cautious too.
She wanted to be as helpful as possible, so she told him everything she knew about Ahheman.
There came a point in the conversation where Vikir's ears perked up momentarily.
"Wait a moment. Tell me about that part again."
Seeing Vikir's interest, Aiyen eagerly opened her mouth.
"What part are you referring to, Ahheman's preference for clothing colors? According to the boy in charge of the clothing, he prefers tight, leopard-print pelts...."
" ... Before that."
"Oh, you mean his background?"
Aiyen whispered to Bikir, repeating what she had heard from Aquila.
At that moment, it was a secret that no one knew except Aquila, Aiyen, and Ahheman himself.
"Ahheman is not a native of Balak. He was originally a member of another clan and was kidnapped as a child. He was probably around your age, Vikir."
Vikir was somewhat surprised to hear that.
He'd assumed he'd been a native of Balak for ages before tradition disrupted everything, but he was actually an outsider.
He was even more surprised by what Aiyen said next.
"He avoided mentioning that he was captured for son-in-law hunting, but... in fact, he was taken as a slave. To the sh
aman at the time who practiced homosexuality."
Perhaps because he was an outsider who had been taken as a slave as a teenager, Ahheman saw himself in Vikir.
It was a kind of homophobia. ... ...
Because Vikir, who had been that way, followed all the right paths and became a hero respected by everyone, Ahheman's resentment was bound to worsen.
"Anyway. He was a sex slave, waiting for an opportunity, and at one point he killed a shaman and took his powers."
Aiyen went on to recount the gruesome struggle Ahheman underwent afterward to integrate into Balak's society.
"He had no direction in a Balak society that valued physical strength, and he was hated for killing the shaman who had raised him, so he would do anything to be accepted by his people."
He took on all the village's menial tasks, from scavenging human and wolf dung to hunting dangerous game and serving as bait.
It was common for him to rise early in the morning and cradle the shoes of the former clan leader in his arms, warming them with his body heat.
By the time he was accepted as a member of the clan's culture, his silver hair had already turned gray.
As an old man, he couldn't help but see the glories of his youth that he wasn't able to enjoy.
The blood, violence, and impulses that had been suppressed in his youth, unleashed to their fullest extent, bubbled to the surface with a sense of retribution.
And so he sought to oust the power of his clan leader, Aquila, and devour Balak, and the entire wilderness.
Outside the walls, he even joined hands with the Supreme Council of Leviathan!
Meanwhile, Vikir suddenly had a question.
"... So, what clan was Ahheman originally from?"
"Hmmm. I have little knowledge of that."
Vikir nodded at Aiyen's response.
It doesn't quite matter at this point.
Meanwhile, Ahheman had been squirming nervously since earlier.
It only intensified when Vikir stepped onto the battlefield for the Iliad.
Like a meticulously trained hound, Vikir took his time, slowly, steadily, tightening the leash on his prey with each step.
Prepared for every eventuality, Vikir entered into battle.
But before the Iliad could unfold, a deadly twist occurred that even the mighty Vikir could never have anticipated.
...Boom!
A foot slammed the ground behind him.
And then someone grabbed Vikir's wrist and yanked him backward.
Vikir turned his head.
"...!"
Lips brushed against Vikir's lips.
Aiyen, whose demeanor had softened over the past two years, gazed up at Vikir with a hungry look.
"Win and return. I'll give you something better."
She smirked and pushed Vikir in the chest.
Vikir thought of saying something in Moorish, but decided against it.
This isn't the main focus right now.
Now.
...Cha-ang!
Lucifer sliced through the vein in his wrist, baring his black teeth.
It was the moment when the chain of the Iron-Blooded Night Hound was released.
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