BVIB 32

Chapter 32

If you traveled a hundred-odd kilometers north from the Empire, you’d reach the Salt Desert.

Beyond the endless white expanse of the Salt Desert lay a vast forest, dense enough to resemble a jungle. That forest marked the beginning of Kaluta’s territory.

In other words, the Salt Desert served as both the border and an unspoken neutral zone between the two lands.

Past the forest, a towering mountain range rose up like a natural barrier.

The geography of Kaluta was unusual, to say the least. To the south, there was sea. To the north, desert. At its heart, the land was dominated by mountains, with highlands and plateaus stretching out above them. And if you crossed the Salt Desert, another sprawling jungle awaited—meaning, as long as you knew how to hunt, starvation wasn’t much of a threat here.

According to the information Roselyn had received, the people of Kaluta were currently settled somewhere along the mid-slopes of those massive mountains—but that didn’t mean the mountain was their nation, exactly.

Although they called themselves a country, Kaluta wasn’t strictly organized like one. Perhaps due to their nomadic roots, the Kaluta people routinely moved their settlements, never staying in one place for too long.

Some days, the people of Kaluta would settle high in the snow-covered plateaus, well above six thousand meters in elevation. Other days, they would inexplicably set up camp deep in the heart of the forest. This uncanny ability to appear and disappear, combined with the region’s treacherous terrain, formed Kaluta’s greatest defense.

It was this unpredictability that kept the Emperor silent, even as Kaluta’s people crossed the border into imperial lands day after day. If the Kaluta moved, the Emperor’s elite personal force, Labyth, would inevitably be dispatched in response. And when that happened, it would be a fight to the death—nothing less.

That was the reality of Roselyn’s world.

To be precise, “Kaluta” had begun as the name of the strongest tribe, the one that had united all the barbarians. Over time, their name had come to represent the whole nation.

Even now, though, the so-called country of Kaluta was made up of many distinct tribes, each living their own way within the broader territory.

Even if one tribe was defeated, there were still countless others left; this made waging war on Kaluta more trouble than it was worth.

At noon that day, Roselyn’s party finally reached the mountainside. As they arrived, a young boy stepped forward to greet them.

He wore bright white trousers, but his upper body was nearly bare—his open shirt did little to cover his torso, revealing well-defined muscles beneath tanned skin. Thick golden cuffs adorned each of his wrists, catching the sunlight as he moved.

“Welcome. You must be exhausted from your long journey,” the boy said politely.

“I am Bayan, minor chieftain of Kaluta.” His voice was steady, and his striking green eyes met Roselyn’s without flinching. Silvery hair fell over his forehead, giving him a wild, regal look. He introduced himself as the next in line for succession.

Bayan…? Roselyn blinked in surprise.

If this was the same Bayan Baatar had mentioned as his older brother, then he must be only seventeen years old. She regarded him with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, not expecting someone so young—or so composed—to be standing before her as a leader.

Yet despite his youth, Bayan was taller and broader than most seasoned knights. His gaze was proud—bordering on arrogant—but never strayed into rudeness.

“Enough with the formal greetings,” the Second Prince complained loudly, completely ignoring diplomatic niceties. “Just hurry up and show us the way. I’m exhausted and dying to get cleaned up and rest.”

He was, as always, the exception.

The Second Prince, who had spent the entire two-week journey grumbling about everything, wasted no time in making himself the loudest voice among the foreign delegates.

Bayan regarded him with a fleeting glance, then looked to Arma by Roselyn’s side and finally to Roselyn herself—before returning his attention to Arma.

“Are you the leader of this delegation?” Bayan asked.

Arma gave a brief nod. “I am Arma Dianitas, Third Prince of the Empire.”

Roselyn, arms crossed and watching Arma speak with unexpected composure, couldn’t help but feel quietly satisfied with his performance.

Arma had always been a terrible actor, but Roselyn’s rigorous coaching had paid off.

At this rate, at least one of them should be impressed, she thought, feeling quietly pleased with herself.

“It may be a short stay, but I look forward to working together,” Bayan said, extending his hand.

Arma grasped it lightly.

For a moment, Bayan’s eyes flickered in surprise. He had deliberately tightened his grip, trying to assert dominance. Yet, Arma’s expression remained completely unchanged, not even a hint of discomfort.

Bayan hadn’t intended to break any bones, but the pressure he’d used would have made most people cry out in pain—or at least pale visibly.

He’s strong, Bayan observed, just as he started to release Arma’s hand.

Suddenly, Arma’s grip tightened in retaliation—hard enough that Bayan’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise.

How does someone outside the Kaluta tribe have this kind of strength? The thought genuinely astonished him.

Then, with a hearty, booming laugh, Bayan let go, unfazed by the show of strength. Immediately, Arma also released his grip, his face still impassive.

Bayan laughed so loudly and freely that Roselyn’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“As expected, you’re worthy of leading your group. My apologies,” Bayan said, withdrawing his hand with a nod of respect.

“…It’s nothing,” Arma replied curtly, glancing briefly at Roselyn before lapsing into silence.

“It seems His Highness the Third Prince is a man of few words,” Bayan remarked, letting Arma’s brusqueness slide with a generous smile.

…I didn’t expect him to be so welcoming, Roselyn thought, a little surprised. The Dianitas Empire and Kaluta had clashed in countless skirmishes over the years; there was no love lost between them, and Kaluta’s hostility was usually more blatant.

There are only two reasons the Kaluta ever welcome outsiders, she mused. One, if the visitor has done them a favor—like I did. The other: if they recognize someone’s strength.

Despite his youth, Bayan spoke with a maturity far beyond his years—adopting the formal speech befitting his position.

At last, Bayan approached Roselyn with an easy, open laugh.

Arma’s brow twitched as he watched the exchange.

“May I ask who the lady is?” Bayan inquired politely.

“Roselyn Bellion. I’m here to assist with the delegation’s negotiations,” she replied evenly.

“You must be quite wise to be chosen for such an important role among so many candidates,” Bayan said, offering his hand for a handshake.

Refusing would have been rude, so Roselyn accepted his hand without hesitation.

“I know this might be an impertinent question, especially by imperial etiquette, but…” Bayan paused, his striking green eyes meeting Roselyn’s crimson ones, studying her intently.

“You have truly beautiful eyes. Tell me, do you have a lover?” Bayan asked, giving her hand a polite shake before, in a gesture more reminiscent of an imperial knight than a Kaluta tribesman, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

Roselyn’s expression darkened visibly.

There’s just no predicting Kaluta customs, she thought. She recalled how Baatar had boasted endlessly about his brother, but now that same brother seemed determined to interrogate her from the very start.

“I don’t have a lover, but I am engaged,” Roselyn answered with a light, practiced smile.

“More importantly, I have a gift for you,” she added quickly, deftly steering the conversation in a new direction.

She remembered hearing about this custom once before.

There was a saying about Kaluta: they repaid grudges fivefold, favors tenfold, and affection a hundredfold.

“A gift?” Bayan echoed, curiosity flickering in his green eyes.

Arma had quietly moved to Roselyn’s side, and without a word, he took her hand in his. She simply nodded.

Before she could say more, the tightly shut carriage door burst open with a loud bang.

“Big brother!!” came a cry.

“Baatar…?” Bayan’s eyes widened in shock as he recognized the voice.

Letting go of Roselyn’s hand, Bayan leapt from the carriage and caught the boy who flung himself into his arms.

“Brother! Brother—!” Baatar sobbed.

“Baar! You rascal…!” Bayan exclaimed, struggling to keep his composure.

“Huaaaah! Brother!” Baatar wailed, all restraint gone.

Throughout the entire journey, Baatar had put on such a brave face. He’d tried to escort Roselyn, even giving advice on how to navigate the rough terrain. He’d seemed so steady—until now.

But finally, safe in his brother’s embrace, the child broke down in tears.