Shepherd Wizard-Chapter 224

Translator: Pai_

Like the Birdmen, Centaurs were one of the heterogenous races that had already gone extinct during the mythological era.

Their physical characteristic was that their lower bodies took the form of a horse.

Naturally, to balance with that, their upper bodies in the shape of a human were also enlarged, so their overall physique was enormous enough to overwhelm a human.

And the brute strength that came from such a large body was even more overwhelming.

“Ah, no... stop...”

"Master of nature! Please have mercy!"

In the Grassy Plains, which had long been somewhat removed from human cultural spheres, a form of folk belief worshiping Mother Nature instead of the Preah God Tribe existed, and Centaurs were the embodiment of Nature’s wrath.

Charging in with speeds many times faster than the swiftest horses, wielding spears or shooting arrows, they were so fearsome that many massive nomadic tribes couldn’t even dare to resist.

Before long, the Grassy Plains became the hunting grounds of the Centaurs.

Sitting on the tattered remains of torn-up tents, the Centaurs wiped the blood from their mouths with their hands and shrugged proudly.

“Humans are good.”

"Enjoyable."

"I wish there were more humans."

Surprisingly, on the backs of those speaking such words, several humans were riding.

All of them were strikingly beautiful, young, and either terrified or filled with despair in their eyes.

This was precisely the reason why, in the distant past, the gods had scoured every corner of these remote plains to exterminate the Centaurs.

Not only did they view humans as food, but they also harbored sexual desires toward them, a trait unique to their kind.

After spending a number of days indulging in all manner of pleasures while soaking the plains in blood, they gradually lost track of how many suns and moons had risen and set, and by that time, they began to gaze toward the north.

“It’s coming.”

“A calamity is coming.”

“Crows?”

“No, a Golden Eagle.”

“Could it be devils?”

“Maybe.”

Centaurs had the ability to divine the future by reading constellations.

They didn’t know exactly what it was, but they could sense that a great calamity would soon come from the north, and that to stop it, they would all need to unite.

As the most gifted prophets, they had foreseen the descent of the Preah God Tribe in the past, and also that those beings would sweep across the world and drive countless races to extinction.

They had simply lacked the strength to stop it.

But now things were different.

The devils of this age had weakened compared to ancient times, and those who remembered the dreadful catastrophes of old were now able to come together as one.

Just as the Dwarves had learned submission after facing a cycle of destruction, the Centaurs had learned the way of unity.

“Gather the kin!”

“O you who run the fastest and shoot the furthest! The enemy comes! Let us join forces!”

Each of them was as fast as a horse-class magical beast, and when they sent messengers in all directions, the rallying happened in an instant.

Their nature was originally violent and barbaric, and they had seldom united unless it was with their direct kin, but the sight of them gathering now was almost beautiful.

The number of troops thus assembled was about ten thousand.

Not all of those revived in the plains had gathered, but even so, the number was sufficient to confidently face any foe.

“They’re almost here.”

The largest and fiercest of the Centaurs, with a golden mane, spoke in a low rumble as he took out the bow slung on his back.

Even though his upper body was about twice the size of an ordinary human’s, the bow he held was so large that even with arms fully extended, it was hard to reach end to end.

In the Grassy Plains where large trees didn’t grow, such weapons were made from a surprising material: weeds.

They would pull the grass scattered across the fields, shape it, carefully coat it with saliva, and dry it, which turned it into elastic bow frames and arrow shafts; twisting it into thin threads created the bowstrings.

Armed with these weapons, the Centaurs observed the approaching humans with their exceptional eyesight.

Every one of them was mounted on a magical beast, and their number was only about forty to fifty at most.

Before the Centaur army assembled here, such numbers didn’t even count as a threat.

“Are those the foretold calamity?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. There’s too few of them.”

“The devils of this era have grown weak. They cannot defeat us with those numbers.”

“But the prophecy says they are the source of the ominous signs.”

The wizards of this Grassy Plains region, who referred to themselves as shamans, had already long proven their capabilities.

Among them, the powerful ones could overwhelm several Centaurs, but their numbers were not high.

Even if all of them possessed the strongest magical power, in the face of this kind of overwhelming force, they would simply be trampled to death.

Still, they could not let down their guard.

Their prophecy said these people would bring about an enormous calamity, and such prophecies rarely missed their mark.

The golden mane let out a roar, using both the lungs of a human and a horse, that resounded across hundreds of meters in every direction.

“Surround and shoot! End it in one strike!”

Responding to this, the shouts of their kin echoed across the plains, and hooves crushed the dry soil and wild grass.

As they all moved together, a dust storm like a sandstorm arose.

The first to attack were the hundreds in the lead.

Since the enemy numbers were too small, it was difficult for everyone gathered to attack, so only the fastest and most fearless had the honor of shooting arrows at the enemy.

Thick arrows, like the forearms of a well-trained man, sliced through the wind and flew toward the formation.

“Ugh!”

Whoosh, a sudden gust of wind. At the sight of all those arrows being blown away, the Centaurs opened their eyes wide in shock.

A silver-haired man on the lead beast had swung a large fan, and behind him, a gray-haired man reached out his hand.

The wind those two stirred up didn’t just deflect the incoming arrows, but was strong enough to knock over nearby Centaurs in droves.

“Wind...”

“Thunder Lord?”

“They’re the devils’ envoys!”

Just as they murmured the fearsome old names, a counterattack from the devils exploded forth.

In a completely unexpected way.

“What is that?”

Bang! With a resounding boom, a Centaur stared blankly at the hole in his chest before collapsing.

Even though they boasted incredible vitality with the organs of both humans and horses, they could not survive with their hearts pierced.

Those with slightly sharper eyes realized that something had been fired from the large cylinders held by the humans, and the sticks attached to them, but even then, they couldn't figure out a counter.

What could you possibly do against something you could barely follow with eyes wide open, only tracing faint trails?

If that had been possible, Centaurs would have thrown away bows and arrows long ago.

Such weapons would have been useless in fights between their own kind.

“Uoooooo-!”

As if the first shot had been a signal, the weapons held by the humans instantly unleashed an enormous number of projectiles.

Each shot carried enough force to tear through the bare upper bodies of the Centaurs.

Sounds like beans being roasted rang out repeatedly, and dozens of Centaurs nearby collapsed without being able to resist.

***

"Truly terrifying."

Solif, who had worked together with Turan to use the magic artifact and generate wind to blow away the arrows, clicked his tongue in astonishment.

As he said, the firepower of the detached unit was at a shocking level.

Those large cylinders with attached rods, prepared in advance upon seeing the approaching Centaurs, were actually Dwarven steam machine guns.

Firing about ten rounds per second, once these terrifying weapons were infused with the magic power of nobles, their firepower completely neutralized the enemy's numbers.

If not for the difficulty of storage and transport, they would have wanted to supply these to all wizards.

“Keep firing, don’t stop!”

When the Centaur with the golden mane, seemingly the commander, gave an order from afar, his forces resumed their assault.

Even more arrows flew than before, completely darkening the sky in a barrage.

But with Solif handling the front and Turan covering the sides and rear, generating wind, it wasn’t difficult to block them.

Thanks to a few nobles from House Aravion lending their strength as well, no attacks managed to penetrate through.

“Reload the bullets, quick!”

“We’re almost out of water!”

“Wait! It’s hard to manage water out here on the plains, remember?!”

In the meantime, two nobles of the Rapids Bloodline, who handled liquids, frowned as they struggled to draw water into the large cylinder.

Normally, they could create a massive amount of moisture the moment they willed it, but in the Grassy Plains, even the air was dry, making it incredibly difficult to pull in water.

The only saving grace was that the machine guns they were using operated on steam, meaning moisture constantly evaporated into the air.

By recapturing that and funneling it back into the water tanks used as raw material, they could recover some of the losses.

While the water was being replenished, others formed small teams and continued reloading and firing the machine guns.

Though their bullets were also affected by the wind barrier, thankfully, they fared much better than arrows.

It's a natural law that the larger the projectile, the more it is influenced by wind.

But a little instability didn’t really matter, because the number of Centaurs surrounding them was beyond imagination.

You could close your eyes and throw a stone in any direction and be certain to hit one, so what if the trajectory wavered a bit?

How long did this one-sided situation continue, where the enemy’s arrows were ineffective, and only their gunfire inflicted damage?

At last, as if his patience had reached its limit, the Centaur with the golden mane, who seemed to be the commander, shouted once again.

“Everyone charge! Kill them with your own hands!”

Though Centaurs preferred bows and arrows made from wild grass, those weren’t their only weapons.

The long spear was another of their favorite weapons.

Being the embodiment of the phrase “man and horse as one”, they could display agility and destructive power far superior to any human cavalry.

Their inherent savagery and violence were repackaged as courage, a virtue for mounted warriors.

Despite the rain of metallic bullets flying at them like mad, the Centaurs charged forward.

Seeing this, Solif jumped off his mount and spoke.

“Looks like it’s my turn to step in.”

“Just stop their approach. I’ll take care of the attack myself.”

“You’re not going to conserve your magic power?”

“I was waiting to see how strong they’d be, but at this level, there’s no need for that.”

Nodding, Solif’s eyes flared open, and white flames burst from his body, surrounding dozens of members of the detached unit.

The approaching Centaurs screamed as their hair caught fire and their skin began to roast from the unbearable heat.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“What- how?”

With heat like that, those inside should’ve been roasted to ashes, and yet...

Defying that assumption, those inside the flames were still comfortably continuing their shooting.

This was because Solif, while summoning the fire, controlled the heat so it radiated only outward.

In other words, it was a flame shield, a combination of skill and magic.

An advanced technique impossible for ordinary wizards, prompting even the nobles to gasp in admiration as they continued firing.

“Can’t believe it’s not even hot in here.”

“Actually, it’d be a disaster if it were. Even if it's steam-powered, it’s still a gun...”

“The barrel’s already too hot. Try cooling it down a bit.”

As the main unit maintained a one-sided defensive stance and decimated the enemy, Death itself descended among the Centaurs, who couldn’t charge, nor fire arrows, now left adrift.

The first to sense something strange was a Centaur with a black mane.

“Hm?”

A faint stinging sensation in his throat, nose, and eyes.

That quickly turned into a searing, burning pain, and he screamed while covering his face.

He wasn’t the only one feeling it.

What swept over the thousands of Centaurs nearby was a fog of death.

Hydrochloric acid had been vaporized in large quantities, then manipulated with wind magic, wherever it passed, the grass of the plains melted away, oozing green sap.

“Poison, it’s poison!”

“Hold your breath and fall back!”

Some who grasped the situation shouted, but with their tracheas and lungs already beginning to dissolve from the acid, it was difficult to even speak aloud.

Amidst the chaos, filled with gunfire and the pounding of hooves, only a few nearby could hear the warning cries.

Even those who did, by the time they understood what the shouts meant, had already inhaled a lungful of hydrochloric acid, there was no way to respond systematically.

Thousands of Centaurs collapsed, writhing and shrieking hoarsely, looking like a depiction of the deepest pit of hell where the damned were cast after death.

However, among them were a few individuals, larger and stronger than their kin, who endured even after inhaling the acid.

These were ones like the golden-maned Centaur, leader of the largest horde.

Turan, still in concealment, casually loaded a steel ball into his slingshot and fired at them.

There wasn’t even any need to use great force.

The steel ball, accelerated with magic power, pierced the heart of the first target and then moved freely, seeking out the next, and the one after that.

Those Centaurs revered as heroes among their kin had their hearts pierced or heads shattered one after another, not even knowing why they were dying as the steel ball came flying.

There was no way to counter it.

They possessed all sorts of skills, but none of them involved producing light.

Even if they had lit up a bunch of ordinary lights, it wouldn't have pierced the veil of night surrounding Turan’s body anyway.

“Run away!”

With one Centaur’s cry as the trigger, the army collapsed in an instant.

They realized their prophecy had been far too accurate.

The star of disaster was truly dangerous.

So dangerous that even if all the Centaurs of this plain united their strength, they wouldn’t dare challenge it.

What they needed was not to fight, but to flee and hide.

Those who barely escaped with their lives turned their heads and looked up at death looming in the sky.

A god with ashen hair billowing in the wind was staring them down.

***

After the battle ended, Turan rescued the humans who had remained at the Centaurs’ dwellings.

Originally nomads of the plains, they couldn’t believe that the monsters who had tormented them had truly been wiped out.

Not until they were shown the thousands of uncollected Centaur corpses scattered not far away.

Strangely, some among them, instead of being thankful, showed signs of sorrow and lament.

“To think they turned Nature’s wrath into this.”

“They will be punished.”

They interpreted the Centaurs’ fury as Nature’s punishment upon humanity, and saw their defeat as an act of rebellion against the natural order.

Some had even willingly served the Centaurs who preyed upon them.

A few of the nobles who heard this reached out, their faces twisted in disbelief, ready to kill them on the spot, but Turan stopped them.

“Let it go. They probably won’t survive much longer anyway. No need to dirty your hands.”

Though they had unintentionally helped wipe out the main force through this encounter, there were still at least several hundred Centaurs left on the plains.

Even that many would be a disaster beyond what ordinary wizards or humans could handle.

After instructing the rescued ones who still had some sanity left to head to the Land of Five Lakes, they continued south, killing any Centaurs they encountered and rescuing more people.

Of course, even those they saved were likely people with nowhere to turn to, and who knew how long they’d survive.

On the second day of their march south, Bije returned with Meisa, having been sent to Morgen.

Even though their parting had felt like it would be long, the awkwardness of seeing each other again after just a few days seemed mutual. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before breaking into quiet smiles.

“I saw something unbelievable on the way here. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Centaurs? Yeah.”

Since he’d killed even the fleeing ones, their corpses were scattered across several kilometers, there was no way she could have missed it.

After greeting Solif and the other nobles, Meisa spotted Kim Woong, frowned slightly, and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why’d you bring him?”

“Thought we might need him.”

“Hmm, well... I guess it’s not the worst idea.”

Meisa had never been fond of the idea of imprisoning Kim Woong in the underground prison beneath the Temple of the Sun in the first place.

Her only son, Luska, was staying in a nearby hideout.

Had she not already suffered endlessly under the nobles of House Zahar since childhood?

For that reason alone, she seemed to have decided it would be better for him to stay somewhere closer to her, rather than in that place.

Kim Woong, having nothing to say in response to that point, simply avoided her gaze, and Turan deliberately shifted the topic.

As they recounted recent events, Meisa expressed intense disgust at the Centaurs’ lecherous behavior and the attitude of the native people of the plains who had submitted to it.

“I honestly don’t understand how their minds work. Worshiping the very creatures trying to kill them…”

“To the people of this land, those who worshipped gods from other regions were enemies. Maybe they just needed something to rely on.”

At Turan’s unexpectedly sympathetic tone, Meisa furrowed her brows with a puzzled look but soon nodded.

She likely didn’t agree, but it meant something like, “Well, if that’s what you believe, fine.”

After regrouping with Meisa, they continued south for another day.

Just as they began to feel they were nearing Haime’s location, Turan unexpectedly spotted a sizable group of humans encamped ahead.

“Those are people, aren’t they?”

“Impressive that they’re gathered even in a situation like this.”

Confirming that the group looked like a nomadic tribe, Turan suddenly found the surrounding terrain familiar.

Thinking it over, he realized this was near the base of the Golden Fleece Tribe, which he had visited during his past time in the plains.

A strong tribe residing in an area typically meant it was a fertile region.

With many people gathered, it seemed they had been able to build up some level of defense, even against Centaurs.

“This must be one of the areas where a strong tribe originally lived, which is why some people still remain. Let’s go.”

Surely, even in a situation like this, they wouldn’t treat fellow humans as enemies just for being outsiders.

And if they did, they would come to regret it.

As they approached, Turan unexpectedly encountered two familiar and welcome faces.

“It’s been a long time, Lord of Parsha.”

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Please, speak freely. It’s not right for a family head of a great noble house to use honorifics with me.”

Mago Lavitas.

A lesser noble who had once helped them during the pursuit of Moroz, the traitor of Lavitas, was now one of the shamans of this tribe.

Come to think of it, after that matter had ended, he had received permission from the Lavitas main house to suppress his ability to reproduce and live out the rest of his life in the plains.

When Turan gave him a questioning look, he nodded in confirmation.

“Thanks to the gracious approval of the family head, I’ve been living here as a shaman. But due to the recent calamity, I was pushed out of the west and ended up here.”

Though he had done his best to protect them, he said in a somber tone that most of the tribespeople who followed him had perished.

“Still, even preserving this many is an impressive feat.”

Though he himself was much weaker in comparison, Turan had learned many things about ways of life from Mago.

It was also Mago’s teachings that had contributed to Turan being able to consider harmony with the Dwarves.

At Turan’s respectful demeanor, the other nobles exchanged puzzled glances as they looked between the two.

They wondered if Mago, who seemed so unremarkable on the outside, was actually some kind of elder of Lavitas.

Of course, Turan paid no attention to the reactions of his subordinates.

Just as Keorn once had, he intended to show respect to those who had proven themselves to be of honorable character, regardless of status.

No matter their position.

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Thinking he might have imagined it, Turan narrowed his eyes and approached an elderly knight standing some distance behind Mago.

A middle-aged man, now even older, with hair nearly completely white, left a strong impression.

It was Keorn, the knight of House Aravion, and when he recognized Turan approaching, his face lit up with surprise.

“Turan?”

Turan could not greet Keorn with a “long time no see” or “good to see you”.

Because within him, there was no sign of the emblem of Aravion that should have been there.

Keorn’s inner self was empty.

Just like what he had seen before - in Haime, and the head of House Nagin.

*****

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