LUW 63

Chapter 63

The air grew heavy.

Pierre wore a harmless smile typical of nobles, something he hadn’t shown in a while.

“I’m simply grateful you accepted so readily.”

“Whether you deserve gratitude or not will be decided after the meeting.”

It was a short but weighty response.

Pierre met the sharp gaze of the King of Hakan head-on, without a flicker of hesitation.

He was not an easy opponent.

Though the Empire lumped them all together under the name “Hakan tribe,” dozens of smaller tribes existed within that label.

And this man was the one who had unified them into a single entity.

The title “king” hardly seemed enough—for he was power incarnate, a living legend.

Pierre, hiding sharpness behind his smile, politely opened the discussion.

“King of Hakan, I come to request something from you—a wise leader.”

“There’s only one thing you could ask of me. A peace treaty?”

Pierre quietly drew a breath, bowed his head, and replied.

“No, that is not it.”

The king’s brow twitched. A ripple of murmurs stirred around the tent.

“No?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the current Emperor of the Empire has no intention of forming a treaty. I’ve come for a different reason.”

It was, indeed, unfortunate.

The current emperor, full of ignorance and greed, preferred war over peace.

Pierre had stepped onto this land himself to reveal that reality to the Hakan people.

“I have come to propose a path to the King of Hakan—a path that lays down weapons and saves lives.”

The atmosphere inside the tent changed instantly.

One of the tribal chiefs sitting nearby sprang up, drawing his sword like lightning and holding it to Pierre’s throat.

“You vile imperial dog! So this is what you came to say? You’re telling us to surrender?!”

The blade grazed Pierre’s neck as the enraged shout rang out.

A sharp sting spread from the shallow cut, but Pierre didn’t even blink.

Instead, he spoke quietly, calmly.

“Biern. Draw your sword, and you’ll be cast out.”

Biern, who had half-drawn his sword, clenched his teeth and stopped.

Pierre slowly turned to face the tribal chief holding the blade to his throat.

“I understand your anger. But now is not the time for emotion—we must see the situation with reason.”

“Reason?! You dare speak of reason after treating us like animals and selling us as slaves?!”

The chief’s hand shook with fury on the hilt of his sword. He turned to the King of Hakan and cried out.

“My King! My daughter was violated by imperial men, and my grandson was taken by an imperial merchant—he is still missing! Allow me to execute this man right here!”

Fury flared throughout the tent.

The blade once again pointed directly at Pierre’s throat, and several warriors crouched low, surrounding him.

But Pierre, at the center of it all, simply closed his eyes and reopened them slowly.

Then he spoke—quietly, yet firmly.

“Biern. Bring them in.”

Biern hesitated for a moment, then straightened and silently exited the tent.

Those who remained held their breath, eyes fixed on the entrance.

Moments later, the tent flaps flew open, and small figures rushed inside.

Boys and girls, around six or seven years old.

Red eyes and black hair—clearly children of Hakan blood.

One boy looked around, then his eyes lit up as he spotted the armed tribal chief.

“Grandfather!”

“…Kurak!”

Without hesitation, the boy ran into the chief’s arms.

Clatter—the sword fell from the chief’s hand.

The old man embraced the child with a face that looked like it might collapse.

“Kurak, Kurak…! You’re alive. My grandson!”

His voice finally broke.

His rough breathing shook as he held the child close.

The mood inside the tent shifted palpably.

The warriors’ expressions showed confusion, and some desperately scanned the children’s faces, eyes shimmering with pain.

Then the King of Hakan quietly addressed Pierre.

“You’ve brought us quite a surprise, noble of the Empire.”

Pierre continued calmly.

“There was little time, so we managed to rescue only the ten most at risk. If you agree to retreat, we will, in time, return the rest of your kin to your arms.”

The King narrowed his eyes and let out a sardonic smile.

“And if I refuse?”

Despite the provocative tone, Pierre met his gaze unwaveringly.

“We are the Hakan. Turning our backs and fleeing is the shame of a warrior.”

Some warriors silently lowered their heads.

They said nothing—but pride and the crushing weight of reality were etched on their faces.

Pierre took a short breath and spoke again, quietly.

“The Empire already knows the Hakan are on the move. If this negotiation fails, hundreds of thousands of imperial troops will soon march onto this plain.”

He slowly turned his gaze to the child still nestled in the chief’s arms. The old man flinched and tightened his grip.

“The consequences will be devastating. In the midst of old hatred and pride, innocent children will lose their lives.”

The King’s face stiffened.

He spoke in a low voice.

“You speak as though the Hakan will lose.”

“We will.”

A short, resolute answer.

Silence fell once again.

The King scowled, a surge of oppressive energy radiating from him, as if to crush the atmosphere.

But Pierre stood firm and continued.

“I’m not underestimating the Hakan. You are a warrior people, but you number only in the tens of thousands. Facing a force of hundreds of thousands is suicide. You are brave, but courage does not shield you from death.”

His voice was low, but his words were brutally realistic.

“This war will sever the Hakan’s long legacy and pride. The few surviving children will once again be enslaved—stripped of their names and language, exploited for the rest of their lives.”

Muffled breaths escaped from among the warriors.

Some clenched their fists. Others had already shut their eyes.

Pierre finally raised his head.

“If that is truly the path you wish to take, I won’t stop you. But I do not wish to see unnecessary bloodshed.”

The King’s expression twisted. Losing his composure, he roared like thunder.

“This is our homeland! Where would you have us run to if we abandon it?!”

Pierre replied calmly.

“I’m not saying you should leave forever. The Empire is unstable right now, but soon, that instability will be resolved. When that time comes, I will arrange a formal negotiation. So you can return to this land with dignity.”

“We already know the Empire is unstable. Doesn’t that mean now is the time for us to strike?”

Pierre tightly closed his eyes—then opened them again.

“And what will you gain from that battle? Will you enslave the imperial people this time? That would only continue the cycle of hatred.”

He finished quietly.

“I want to break the long chain of blood between the Empire and the Hakan here and now.”

A moment of silence passed. Then the King sneered.

“And if we stop, are you saying the foolish emperor will stop too? If it were that simple, this tragedy wouldn’t have dragged on for so long.”

Pierre answered firmly.

“Then I will make sure it becomes that simple.”

“We don’t need promises made with words.”

“These aren’t just words. The slave liberation list is already being compiled. Even now, people of Hakan descent are being identified within the Empire. If you agree to cooperate, once peace is restored, I promise full support for Hakan.”

He drew a breath and concluded.

“So that the Hakan are no longer called ‘beasts’ in this land. So that you don’t vanish into history. I give you my word in the name of Pierre Cardinand.”

The King silently stared at Pierre.

The silence lasted longer than any speech. The warriors, too, had turned their eyes to him.

As the King calmly watched Pierre, several tribal chiefs lowered their heads while gazing at the children.

The old chief still held his grandson, patting his back, saying nothing.

Now, the fate of the Hakan people rested on one man’s decision.

And in that silence, the King finally opened his mouth.

“You don’t belong under that foolish emperor. You have the eyes of a ruler—just like me.”