Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 28 - Chapter Pr1

Prologue

A perfectly round moon hung in the night sky, visible from a room in a corner of the castle towering over the fortress city of Heraklion in the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. Plush carpets covered the floor, and the furnishings in the room, clearly crafted by renowned artisans, reflected luxury at a glance. It could have been the office of the castle’s lord or a guest room meant to welcome esteemed visitors. Either way, furnishing this room undoubtedly required considerable wealth.

In that room were a man and a woman. The woman lay quietly asleep on the bed, her hands clasped over her abdomen. She appeared to be in her mid to late teens. Clad in a white nightgown, her tanned skin and Asian beauty were striking. However, her beauty was not the kind typically associated with femininity. To those who knew her, she likely evoked the sharp elegance of a finely honed blade rather than the delicate charm of a flower. Even her toned physique suggested she was far from a sheltered young lady confined to the safety of home.

On the other hand, the man sat in a wooden chair placed beside the bed. He seemed to be in his early to mid-thirties, possessing a powerful, muscular build and cold, intelligent eyes. His commanding presence and resolute expression marked him as a man well suited to leadership and the control of others.

In fact, his rank was exceptionally high. Among the Manibhadra tribe currently stationed in Heraklion, he held the second-highest position—a distinction that left no room for doubt about his authority. Despite his imposing stature, worry and uncertainty etched his face.

“Another day without change... Should I be grateful that her condition hasn’t deteriorated, or lament that another day has passed with no progress?”

These words escaped his lips in a quiet murmur. Pale moonlight streamed in from the window, adorned with white lace curtains, gently illuminating the face of the woman lying on the bed. The serene light seemed akin to the blessing of Neterfishea, the goddess of the moon and compassion, one of the many daughters of Meneos, the king of the gods in the world of Earth. Regrettably, even the calm radiance of the moon’s blessing seemed powerless to awaken the sleeping woman. The man extended a hand toward the sleeping beauty who had yet to open her eyes. He gently stroked her lustrous black hair, his expression a mixture of sorrow and yearning.

“She looks so peaceful while she sleeps...” The words slipped quietly from the man’s lips as he gazed at the woman’s serene face. His hand reached out and gently rested on her forehead. “What kind of dreams could she be having? No, she’s likely not dreaming at all.”

Feeling the warmth of her skin through his palm, the man exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The expression on his face resembled that of a father anxiously watching over a sick child. In truth, the woman lying before him was not a complete stranger. Though the age gap made it difficult to see her as a daughter, she was like a much younger sister to him—an interpretation that was not far from the truth.

After all, I do share blood ties with the young lady, the man thought.

Of course, care was taken to ensure these ties were separate. However, the oni tribe, being an insular and small ethnic group, had its own dynamics. Despite their relative isolation from other tribes, intermarriage generally occurred within their own community.

As a result, the influential families within the Manibhadra tribe often shared intertwined bloodlines, a reality not unlike the noble families of Earth’s aristocratic societies, who similarly preserved their lineage. Whether they were human or otherwise, intelligent beings tended to think in remarkably similar ways. Thus, it was undeniable that they fell within the bounds of kinship. And yet, for the briefest of moments, the man’s extended hand faltered, hesitating slightly. It was no mere illusion. Perhaps this hesitation stemmed from a reflexive sense of guilt at touching an unconscious woman of marriageable age. Of course, the man harbored no malicious intent. But even so, when asked if his actions were appropriate, he could not confidently say they were beyond reproach.

Being alone in a room with an unconscious woman is hardly ideal to begin with.

This hardly needed to be said. At the very least, having a third party present would have been prudent. Ideally, it should have been a female servant or maid. Not that the man bore any improper thoughts, but being alone in a room with a woman of her age could easily invite unfounded suspicion from others.

Ridiculous, really...

In truth, such suspicions would amount to baseless accusations or what one might call the malicious speculations of small-minded people. From the man’s perspective, the very idea of taking advantage of an unconscious woman was so absurd that he felt inclined to question those who entertained such notions. He was a man of considerable rank and authority within the Manibhadra tribe, and many women in the tribe would gladly vie for a single night in his company. Quite literally, he had his pick of the lot.

Moreover, the man did not possess any twisted sexual inclinations that would motivate him to force himself upon someone against their will. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he harbored a deep disdain for such individuals. To him, there was absolutely no need—none whatsoever—to act upon an unconscious woman lying in bed, no matter how beautiful she might be. To be even more precise about his feelings, the man simply found no enjoyment in the idea of sharing a bed with an unconscious person.

Paying for a working girl is cleaner, leaves no complications, and is far more enjoyable.

Given his current position, such an improper act was out of the question. This place, after all, was enemy territory.

True, we’re being treated as guests for now. But at its core, our situation hasn’t changed—we are still prisoners. To indulge in such a frivolous distraction under these circumstances... I’m not that foolish. And if I were to make such a reckless mistake, that man would not hesitate to cut me loose and remove me from the negotiations.

That outcome was as plain as day. Knowing this, there was no way the man would intentionally choose such a dangerous course of action. Explaining this logic to others would be a waste of time, though. In reality, whether it was the truth was irrelevant. The prying minds of those around him were never genuinely interested in the truth anyway. People often formed their own assumptions about others, passing judgment freely. And for what purpose? Simply to amuse themselves by spreading wild speculation and assuaging their own dissatisfaction. This tendency seemed like an inherent flaw among intelligent life-forms. Though the world of Earth had yet to develop tabloids or gossip magazines, if someone were to introduce them, there was no doubt they’d be incredibly popular. Once unleashed, rumors could not be stopped. While the proverb, “A person’s tongue cannot be silenced,” did not exist in this world, its truth remained universal across all worlds. The man understood this all too well.

That’s why I must avoid behavior that invites suspicion. It’s a foolish, ridiculous issue, but unavoidable.

He could ignore the idle gossip entirely, but that was an unrealistic choice for someone living within the confines of society and in his position, where every action and word had to be carefully considered. Even trivial suspicions could snowball, eventually tightening a noose around his neck—or worse, threatening the lives of those closest to him. That was the burden and responsibility of leadership. Despite this understanding, the man still refused a third party’s presence and remained alone in the room with the sleeping woman. At times, people made decisions that defied reason or logic. Perhaps, in his case, it was to secure the solitude he needed to confront his own inner turmoil—a time to dispel his doubts. If so, then accepting some degree of risk might have been an unavoidable necessity.

Two weeks have passed.

This man was Rahizya, and he was the son of the elder who led the Manibhadra tribe—a group also known as the Outlanders—residing in the dense jungles of the southern regions of the continent. However, Rahizya’s typically confident face had vanished due to a painfully clear reason. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Nearly two weeks had passed, yet the sleeping princess showed no sign of waking. Rahizya remained unsure of how to handle the situation, though he had certainly considered possibilities. A man as adept at scheming and intrigue as Rahizya could easily predict what might happen. The issue was simply that he didn’t want to acknowledge the reality. But no matter how much he tried to avert his gaze, the facts before him would not change.

And the time to make a decision he had been postponing was drawing ever closer. Rahizya knew this instinctively. He also understood what was required to make that decision.

Surviving the explosion was, without question, a stroke of luck. There’s no denying that. Fortunately, there were no visible major injuries, but still...

On that fateful day, Rahizya and around two hundred soldiers assigned to guard him had fled the main camp at the center of Brittantia and Tarja’s forces. Amid the chaos, he had found and rescued Harisha, who had been blown away by the blast and left unconscious on the ground. Her survival was nothing short of divine intervention; the explosion had decimated the five-thousand-strong war elephant unit under Harisha’s command. When Rahizya searched the area near the blast’s epicenter, the only survivor he found was Harisha, who now lay in bed, deep in slumber.

Of course, Rahizya and Harisha were adversaries in the power struggles within their tribe. They had frequently clashed, their arguments fierce and heated. This did not mean they despised each other enough to wish the other death. To be more precise, Harisha’s death would have been far more problematic for Rahizya than beneficial. If she were to perish, the Manibhadra tribe would suffer a significant blow.

Most likely, internal conflicts would escalate to a point where resolution would become impossible.

That scenario remained plausible, and it had been avoided. When Rahizya witnessed the devastation on Lubua Plains, Harisha’s survival felt like a blessing from the heavens—a stroke of fortune for which he could never be too grateful.

Yes, I should be thankful, even if this fortune is imperfect. Within that gratitude lay a complex mixture of frustration, dissatisfaction, and perhaps even anger. Surviving was an incredible stroke of luck, but that alone was not enough. No, considering the sheer intensity of that explosion...

Rahizya’s mind vividly recalled the scenes from that day, which was nothing short of literal hell. For someone faint of heart, witnessing such a horrific scene might have driven them to madness. The bodies of the Manibhadra tribe’s soldiers strewn across Lubua Plains were grotesquely mutilated. Only a handful of corpses still retained any semblance of human form. Such carnage was rare, even in a world perpetually ravaged by conflict.

Rahizya, a member of the Manibhadra tribe with countless combat encounters and near-death experiences, could still recall the chill that ran through him upon seeing the devastation.

A pillar of light descended from the heavens, immediately followed by a column of fire. It was like something out of myth. They say Indra’s Vijaya, the weapon he used to fell our oni ancestors’ progenitor, could obliterate entire armies with a single blow. I wouldn’t be surprised if Vijaya was indeed the cause of this.

He had no idea what Vijaya actually was; he only recognized the name through the myths passed down among the yakshas. Whether Vijaya was some form of weapon or arcane magic remained unclear. Among the Manibhadra tribe, not a single person could provide a definitive explanation of what Vijaya truly was. Even the elders, revered as the keepers of the tribe’s accumulated wisdom, could not shed any light on it. Rahizya doubted that—even if he traveled across the entire southern region of the western continent, asking every oni he met—anyone could provide an answer. Still, he had heard of its terrifying power since childhood. The scene Rahizya had witnessed that day was so overwhelmingly vivid that it evoked visions of that legendary weapon described in the myths.

Of course, myths are ultimately just fairy tales. I know that, thought Rahizya. Whether entirely fabricated or rooted in kernels of truth, not all the stories handed down as myths were based on historical reality. At the very least, I’ve never believed the myths of our tribe to be literal accounts of history.

Naturally, Rahizya did not intend to publicly state such a view or hold myths in contempt. He understood deeply how essential these myths were in preserving the pride and unity of the Manibhadra tribe. But that didn’t make him naive enough to accept every part of the tribe’s legends as absolute historical fact. This rationality and his prioritization of logic over blind belief were hallmarks of Rahizya’s pragmatic and realist nature.

But the sheer destructive force of that... If someone told me the gods of myth wielded this weapon, I might just believe them.

Regardless, Rahizya couldn’t determine whether the legend was factual. What mattered was that he perceived it to be true at that moment. The towering mushroom cloud seared four simple letters—fear—into the hearts of all who beheld it. It made no distinction between human and oni. Faced with such overwhelming destruction, there was no being, no creature, capable of witnessing it without succumbing to fear.

Beyond that primal fear inherent to all living beings, Rahizya’s sharp mind never ceased its relentless analysis of the situation. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, this unavoidable obligation to contemplate the fate of his tribe burdened him.

However, the cost of that clarity was steep. For any ordinary person, memories of such a scene would be too horrifying to ever recall willingly.

The vast cratered ground, blanketed by a mountain of blackened, charred corpses...

While the sheer horror of the sight was one thing, what truly defied description was the raw stench of burning flesh accompanying it. It was a level of devastation that could easily trigger PTSD in anyone with even a modest tolerance for such atrocities. Yet Rahizya could not afford to flinch in the face of such horror. Why? Because there was no guarantee that the devastation he had witnessed would not occur again.

No. If it happened once, there’s no reason it can’t happen twice.

Knowing the possibility existed, he had no choice but to analyze the situation and prepare a countermeasure. Even if his calculating intellect had already concluded that no effective method of defense existed, he could not stop himself from trying.

It must have been the result of intense blasts of heat and shock waves. Judging by the size of the pillar of fire that erupted from the ground, the explosion must have been extraordinarily violent. The flying debris and rubble would have naturally shredded anyone exposed.

Rahizya, a denizen of the terrestrial world, could not comprehend the extent of the destruction he witnessed. Yet, it resembled what might happen to a victim of a shotgun blast at point-blank range. Amid all this, the sole survivor was Harisha. Not only had she survived, but she had done so without so much as a broken bone or a burn.

How on earth did she make it out alive?

By the standards of their world, this was nothing short of the best possible outcome. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it a gift from the goddess of fate. Still, it wasn’t a blessing Rahizya could embrace with unbridled joy. The goddess’s blessings often came with a price proportional to their magnitude.

And paying that price a second time is not an option. The image of Harisha’s beloved war elephant, scorched and lifeless, flashed through Rahizya’s mind. Paopabu, the king among the great beasts...

This magnificent creature, raised alongside Harisha since childhood like an older sibling, was also the Manibhadra tribe’s most formidable of the four-tusked elephants.

To think such a mighty king of the four-tusked elephants would be lost in such a minor skirmish... The cost is too great. Lady Harisha will be devastated when she learns of this.

Like the Manibhadra tribe, other yakshas had long faced marginalization and been branded as outsiders—people unfit for the civilized order. The native populations of the western continent saw the yakshas, who had migrated to the southern regions, as alien intruders, something peculiar and unwelcome. Yet, they were far from being helpless victims of persecution. That, too, was undeniable.

Indeed, the yaksha had maintained their independence for centuries—perhaps even a millennium or longer—refusing to bow to the meddling of the southern nations of the western continent.

They had been able to fend off external interference for so long due to many reasons, and one of them was undoubtedly the existence of creatures known as war elephants. The yakshas, including the Manibhadra tribe, had secured their autonomy by domesticating and utilizing the mighty four-tusked elephants.

With such massive creatures at their command, it’s no wonder they were a menace to their enemies.

While these beasts might pale in comparison to the monstrous creatures classified as “giant species,” the four-tusked elephants were clearly apex herbivores within the dense jungles of the southern regions.

Submitting a guild commission to hunt a four-tusked elephant would require, at a minimum, adventurers or mercenaries Rank A or higher. In some cases, only elite Rank S operatives would be deemed capable of handling such a task. It wasn’t uncommon for such high-risk commissions to languish on the guild’s bulletin boards for years without a single taker.

To make matters worse, those creatures are intelligent.

Elephants rivaled—or perhaps surpassed—horses in cognitive ability and were said to mourn their dead, a trait indicative of profound emotional depth. To experience such emotions required a significant degree of intelligence, and the emotional richness of elephants left no doubt about their mental capabilities. This truth held for the four-tusked elephants native to Earth as much as it did for their mundane counterparts on Rearth. Furthermore, the yaksha fiercely guarded the secret of beast mastery arts, which could enhance the intelligence of the four-tusked elephants.

It was as though these beasts became tanks with minds of their own, analyzing the battlefield and making decisions autonomously. For the Manibhadra tribe, the four-tusked elephants were vital tools of warfare and a decisive factor in their survival and prosperity. These elephants were far more than mere instruments of war; they were family. This sentiment was neither pretense nor rhetoric but the very essence of the beast mastery arts.

Perhaps Paopabu’s enormous body served as a shield. Whether by chance or intent, it doesn’t matter. Most likely, it was intentional. He put himself in harm’s way to protect Lady Harisha.

There was no evidence to confirm this theory, but Rahizya was convinced it was true. And it was precisely this conviction that troubled him.

How am I supposed to tell Lady Harisha when she awakens?

To Harisha, Paopabu was not just a beast. He was like an elder sibling, having grown up alongside her since childhood. The loss of such a cherished companion would undoubtedly deal a devastating blow to Harisha.

Considering Lady Harisha insisted on leading the charge...

From the beginning, this had been a war they never wanted, as Harisha always found allying with the yakshas’ long-standing enemies—Tarja and Brittantia—to be a source of deep dissatisfaction. The frustration had undeniably been churning within her heart ever since the negotiations began. In truth, the period leading up to the war had been marked by intense clashes between Harisha, who prioritized the tribe’s traditions and pride, and Rahizya, who sought practical solutions to the immediate crisis. Nevertheless, in her determination to do what was best for the tribe, Harisha volunteered to lead the vanguard. It was her way of reconciling the tension between the ideals she held dear and the harsh realities confronting her. Her decision reflected her consideration for the future of the Manibhadra tribe.

But the result of that decision...

It was no one’s fault. Every life on the battlefield was equal, and survival or death was determined by individual skill and fortune. In that sense, Harisha need not feel responsible for Paopabu’s death. But emotions often disregarded such logic. Harisha would almost certainly come to deeply regret her decision.

And to make matters worse, her entire unit was annihilated... Knowing how proud Lady Harisha is, it’s not impossible to imagine the worst-case scenario.

There was a real possibility that Harisha, overcome with guilt and despair, might take her own life to atone for the defeat.

“But thinking about such things now is pointless, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s time for me to steel myself as well,” muttered Rahizya. His voice was harsh and cold. Blood dripped onto the floor from between the fingers of his clenched fists.

The excessively tight grip was the result of anger and regret. His nails dug into his flesh, causing pain to surge through Rahizya’s body. However, this physical pain was likely nothing compared to the emotional pain Rahizya was experiencing.

When I think back to the scenes on the battlefield, it’s a blessing that Lady Harisha’s life was spared. But if she remains unconscious and cannot even drink water, no matter how strong a yaksha’s body is, there’s a limit to what can be done. If Lady Harisha doesn’t wake up...

The worst possible outcome clung to Rahizya’s mind, refusing to leave. Moreover, he had no way left to prevent that terrible outcome. The yaksha and other oni were born with a rich life force and sturdy bodies, giving them a significant advantage in this world governed by the principle of survival of the fittest. Given that, it was undeniable that oni, including the yaksha, were biologically superior to humans.

Despite this, the oni were still just a type of demi-human, meaning the yaksha were regarded not as gods but as demonic beings. Though they had some similarities, gods and humans differed greatly. In reality, Rahizya and his kind were not gods.

If humans were the ones said to be the ancestors of our kind, it might be different.

The yakshas’ vitality surpassed that of humans, but that did not mean they were supernatural beings like gods or demons. Their biological traits as living creatures limited the superiority of races like the yaksha. They needed food and water to maintain life, just like other organisms. They could not live by consuming mist or clouds like a sage. Moreover, in this world, there was no advanced medical technology like feeding tubes or intravenous drips for patients in comas. Rahizya could not even imagine such techniques existing in another world, such as the one known as Rearth. Consequently, the only way to take in fluids and nutrients was for the individual to swallow them voluntarily. But for the unconscious Harisha, that was literally impossible.

All Rahizya could do was occasionally wipe her lips with a damp cloth. However, this minimal action was clearly insufficient to ensure her survival by providing the necessary fluids. Of course, it was better than doing nothing. But if anything, it was more an effort to keep Rahizya satisfied rather than being an effort to prolong Harisha’s life. He understood that better than anyone else.

As someone with no knowledge of medicine, there is nothing else I can do. Even if the tribe’s healer were here, I doubt they could do anything.

In this world of underdeveloped medical technology, no machines were available to take X-rays or MRIs to examine the head. If there were no visible external injuries, the doctor would simply assume that there was no problem with the patient’s body. Naturally, no clear treatment method existed, so the only conclusion was to monitor the situation. At this point, the matter of Harisha’s awakening was in the hands of the gods.

“I’m reaching a point where my strength is diminishing. If Harisha doesn’t regain consciousness soon, I can only expect a few more days at best. The real issue is how that man will act if it comes to that.”

Rahizya and Harisha were staying in a room within the fortress city of Heraklion as guests of Archduke Mikoshiba.

The treatment they had received was quite generous; the furnishings in the room were luxurious, and a dedicated maid took care of them, ensuring that they lacked nothing in their daily lives. A renowned doctor had been arranged for them, and the use of rare medicines had been permitted. Rahizya, a powerful figure in the Manibhadra tribe, had never received such lavish treatment from any other faction. However, Rahizya was not naive enough to accept such kindness at face value.

The treatment is excellent. But it’s obvious this is being done with a clear purpose, mused Rahizya. It was unthinkable that an enemy general would receive such favorable treatment without an underlying motive. Though they treat us as honored guests, I cannot forget that we are closer to prisoners here.

Additionally, Rahizya did not have the freedom to wander outside the room and even had to request permission from the guards outside the door for basic needs like going to the bathroom. One would not be wrong to say that he was effectively being confined. Rahizya understood the true motive, even with the surface justification of protecting an honored guest. Despite the inconvenience, he recognized it as a reasonable precaution. Only half a month ago, the Manibhadra tribe had been at war with Archduke Mikoshiba’s forces. It was no accident that Rahizya’s two hundred soldiers were assigned to stay at the training ground in the southwest of the fortress city of Heraklion. The deliberate separation from Rahizya and his men was evident.

They must be wary of me using my subordinates to scheme.

Rahizya had no ill intentions toward Archduke Mikoshiba’s family in his current situation. With Harisha in a coma, any attack would obviously lead to poor results.

Even if I led an assault with my men, with only two hundred soldiers, it wouldn’t be enough.

One could stage an effective ambush with careful preparation. Moreover, all two hundred of Rahizya’s soldiers were among the best in the Manibhadra tribe; they had combat strength exceeding what one might expect from their nominal number of troops. However, Rahizya and his men stayed in Heraklion only because the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy’s army had pulled out of the battle at Lubua Plains and retreated to the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. This was nothing but a consequence of coincidence. As a result, Rahizya had no knowledge of the fortress city of Heraklion.

With Harisha remaining unconscious as an additional burden, taking any hostile action against Archduke Mikoshiba’s family would be an act of sheer folly, far beyond recklessness—essentially suicide. Rahizya understood that Ryoma Mikoshiba was also aware of this.

But if the roles were reversed, I would likely give the same order.

Rahizya would certainly not launch an attack in this situation. Because it seemed so impossible, there was a certain value in considering such a desperate move. A surprise attack works by exploiting the human tendency to dismiss the unlikely.

And there’s no way that man doesn’t understand this possibility.

The easiest way to avoid such a risk would be to execute Rahizya and his group outright. If they killed them without question, it would eliminate the need to manage them or worry about unnecessary trouble. Death would mean the removal of all risks. However, Ryoma Mikoshiba chose not to take that option, and this wasn’t out of pity for the defeated.

Rahizya’s mind flashed to the face of the young man he’d first met a few days ago, an older face that had been more intense than he expected. He’s not as cruel as the rumors suggested. But even so, it’s clear at first glance that he’s not simply a good-natured fool. He’s certainly no simpleton. The gentle smile hides a gaze as sharp as steel... Those eyes see through everything in the pursuit of logic. A man like that would never choose to merely make us prisoners.

Of course, Rahizya had no concrete proof of this. But when he laid eyes on Ryoma Mikoshiba, he could sense the cold, merciless predator in the man. In many ways, Rahizya embodied the same kind of predator.

Looking at it this way, I can begin to understand his thoughts. Rahizya had, albeit vaguely, come to grasp what Ryoma Mikoshiba’s aim was. Perhaps this also proved both men were the same. There’s no doubt that man is waiting for the right moment. Likely when Harisha’s fate is clear... More accurately, he’s waiting for me to give up on her... All of this is part of a strategy to manipulate our tribe to suit his needs.

At the moment, Ryoma had no reason to negotiate with Rahizya due to the possibility of Harisha regaining consciousness. As a vice commander, Rahizya didn’t have the authority to make decisions in negotiations with the enemy. No matter how carefully Rahizya might negotiate, there remained the possibility that Harisha, as the commander, would overturn everything with her decision.

Considering her personality, it’s certain she would reject any agreement out of defiance toward me, Rahizya considered. There was no logic to this. The more logically Rahizya explained things, the more Harisha would likely reject his words. But if her strength begins to fail, the situation will change.

In that case, command would naturally fall to Rahizya by seniority. This chain of command was the key point to evaluate.

Rather than waiting for the young lady’s recovery, should I just end this? The idea had suddenly crossed Rahizya’s mind. Was it the cold calculation of a ruler or perhaps the emotion of someone who shared the same blood? Rahizya couldn’t distinguish between the two but quickly shook off this notion.

It was a foolish thought... If Rahizya were to choose that path, there would have been no need to desperately rescue Harisha from that hellish battlefield, nor would he have wasted two weeks. He gently reached for Harisha’s forehead and stroked it tenderly before quietly leaving the room.

As he exited, he prayed to the goddess Neterfishea, hoping that a miracle would occur for Harisha once more. Rahizya didn’t truly believe that the gods would answer his prayer. But it seemed that the gods in this world were beings with a sense of humor. Perhaps they were like mischievous gods who enjoyed toying with the hearts of people, watching them worry and agonize.

Two days later, the gods granted their favor to Harisha again as if answering Rahizya’s wish. This would lead to a new path for the oni, including the Manibhadra tribe from the southern region of the western continent. However, no one knew what lay at the end of this path—not even the gods, who were not of human origin.