BVIB 37

Chapter 37

“What do you think, Hatan?” Khan asked.

“My thoughts are always in line with yours, aren’t they?” he replied with a gentle smile.

She gave him a look. “I know that. I’m asking for the chieftain’s opinion.”

It was late at night. Inside a large tent, Khan—seated at the table—turned to her first husband and the tribe’s chieftain.

“I don’t think she was lying,” Hatan said after a moment.

“Exactly,” Khan replied, placing her chin in her hand and bringing a long pipe to her lips. Hatan lit it for her with practiced ease.

“She’s bold—not at all like those imperial types. Speaks well, too.”

“Our second child hasn’t stopped talking about her all day,” Hatan added, a hint of laughter in his voice. “And it seems the eldest likes her, too.”

Khan let out a short laugh and reached up to ruffle the hair of the man who was easily twice her size. “She’s bold but dangerous, isn’t she?”

Hatan didn’t deny it.

Roselyn Bellion had certainly been bold today. He didn’t know if everything she said was true, but he couldn’t say she was wrong, either.

“And to think she stood so straight before me, looking me in the eye even in that state…”

Khan still remembered how startled she’d been to hear Roselyn had collapsed shortly after leaving the tent. For outsiders, altitude sickness was common upon arriving in Kaluta. If she’d been suffering since the night before or all through the morning, she hadn’t shown even a hint of weakness—her composure and resolve were truly impressive.

“It’s a wonder she’s even alive with a body like that,” Khan remarked, recalling the physician’s report she’d received earlier. Even the children of Kaluta were hardier than Roselyn.

“So, it all comes down to whether we open the borders or not,” she murmured under her breath.

“Send the Thunderbird,” Khan commanded quietly.

Hatan’s eyes widened slightly. The Thunderbird—a bird said to fly a thousand li in a single night—was native only to the jungles around Kaluta. It was only ever dispatched for the most urgent summons.

“Tell everyone to gather here within three days,” Khan continued. “It’s been a long time since we’ve held a tribal council.”

For the first time, she was convening a council for the sake of a foreign envoy.

“Yes, my Khan,” Hatan replied. He managed to suppress his surprise, then leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to leave the tent.

Amused by her husband’s display of affection, Khan let out a soft, low chuckle. “Tonight, I’ll spoil you a little when you’re done. So be quick and come back.”

“Yes,” Hatan answered obediently, stepping out into the night. As he left, his thoughts returned to the events of the afternoon.

“Do you have a death wish? How dare you threaten me by bringing up my children?” Khan’s anger was unmistakable; she made no effort to hide her fury after quickly grasping what Roselyn meant.

Arma’s hand flew to his sword, but Roselyn caught his wrist before he could draw it. He flinched at her touch, his shoulders tensing as he reluctantly lowered his gaze.

“…Roselyn,” he murmured.

“It’s alright, Your Highness,” Roselyn said calmly.

At her quiet reassurance, Arma released the hilt, and only then did Roselyn let go of his wrist. Arma glanced down at the spot where she’d touched him, his skin still warm, before looking back at her with concern.

My head is pounding, Roselyn thought, but she kept her expression composed, refusing to look away from Khan’s seething glare.

Khan’s anger was enough to make even the people of Kaluta wary. Her murderous gaze was as sharp as a blade, and the oppressive force of her presence was almost suffocating—far more than any ordinary person could bear.

“That wasn’t a threat. I was simply stating the truth,” Roselyn said calmly.

The Khan’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

Roselyn met her gaze, unflinching. “Nations—including the Empire—will continue to advance scientifically. They’ll keep developing new weapons. Someday, there will be weapons that far surpass human power.”

The Khan bristled, her voice sharp with anger. “That kind of nonsense…!”

“I know how strong the Kaluta are,” Roselyn interrupted, her tone steady. “There aren’t many who could beat your people in single combat.”

She paused, letting her words hang in the air before continuing, “But shutting yourselves away from the world isn’t the answer.”

The Khan glared at her in silence, refusing to reply.

“Isn’t that what history has proven over and over?” Roselyn pressed, her voice gentle but firm.

Still, the Khan said nothing, her expression dark.

Roselyn went on, her eyes fixed on the Khan. “The great Ul Empire once ruled these vast Urgran plains, but they too chose isolation. Centuries ago, the Ul Empire lost a war, and the plains were shattered, carved up by outsiders.”

The Khan’s jaw tightened, but still she remained silent.

“And now,” Roselyn continued, a faint, ironic smile curving her lips, “what’s left is a small nation barely surviving at the edge of the plains, relying on foreign alliances just to exist.”

She offered the Khan a small, knowing smile. “Back then, many called the Ul Empire arrogant, pointing fingers and mocking them…”

As Roselyn’s words lingered in the air, stretching out with deliberate calm, the corners of the Khan’s lips twitched—an involuntary reaction.

“History isn’t always right,” Roselyn continued, her tone gentle yet resolute, “but I’ve never seen those who forget it survive for long.”

With that, Roselyn rose from her seat, her expression composed and unhurried.

“The table’s broken, and the room’s in chaos. Perhaps it would be best to set another date for our discussion. What do you think?” she asked, her voice light but respectful.

The Khan remained silent, her expression unreadable.

After a long, heavy pause, Roselyn saw the Khan finally nod, the movement slow and reluctant. Roselyn smiled softly and dipped her head in a courteous gesture.

“I hope that next time, we’ll have a sturdier table—and reach a respectful, mutually beneficial agreement,” she said, nudging the ruined table lightly with the tip of her foot.

Her proud, unwavering gaze was intense enough to mask the pallor that had crept into her cheeks.

It was a bold move—perhaps even rude—but considering it was the Kaluta themselves who had shattered the table with their fists, they hardly had grounds to complain.

Arma, ever composed, smoothly stepped forward to escort Roselyn from the tent.

“Hah!” For the first time in her life, the Khan found herself at a loss for words, managing only a hollow, incredulous laugh as they left.

“Water…” Roselyn, back in her tent, murmured, her voice a little hoarse.

“I’ll get it for you, Roselyn,” Arma said quickly.

“Oh, thank you,” Roselyn replied, managing a grateful—if weary—smile.

She watched as Arma dashed out hurriedly, a reluctant look on his face.

Arma had barely left when someone knocked at the door.

“Yes?” Roselyn called out.

The door creaked open just a crack, and through the narrow gap, a cluster of children peeked their heads inside, one after another.

Among them, Roselyn recognized a familiar face.

“My goodness! So it’s true—adults really can get so sick they can’t even move…” one of the children exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Baatar was right!”

“See? I told you I don’t lie,” Baatar replied, puffing out his chest with pride.

Judging by their amazed expressions, it seemed some rather wild rumor had been going around. Their faces all seemed to say, Is it really possible for someone like that to exist?

To put it simply, the children looked at her as if they’d encountered a rare animal or some mythical creature straight out of a legend.

Baatar, surrounded by the other children, nodded with a smug, satisfied look—clearly pleased with himself, though Roselyn couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.

“Can we come in?” Baatar asked, glancing at Roselyn.

“We won’t cause any trouble… promise,” he added quickly.

Roselyn disliked showing weakness in front of others, but she wasn’t the sort of person who could turn away a group of children with a cold demeanor, either.

So, with a reluctant sigh and a less-than-enthusiastic expression, she gave a small nod.

“Ah! She said yes!”

“We’re coming in!” the children cheered, spilling into the room with bright, excited faces.

“Hey, what did I tell you all?” Baatar scolded, turning to the younger children. “I said greetings are important, remember? Didn’t I tell you there’s a polite way to greet people in other countries?”

“Oh, right!” the four children—excluding Baatar—quickly lined up in a row and bowed deeply.

“We apologize for the intrusion!” they chorused.

Their greeting was a little clumsy, and Roselyn couldn’t help but think they’d gotten something terribly wrong about foreign etiquette.

“Wow, your skin is so pale… You must be really, really sick,” one of the children whispered in awe.

“Are you okay, pretty lady?” Another child asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Pretty lady! Will you marry me? I’ll make sure you stay healthy!” a boy blurted out, plucking a flower from a nearby vase and pressing it earnestly into Roselyn’s hand.

“Hey!” Baatar barked, landing a swift, scolding fist on the boy’s head.

“Ow!”
The boy who had proposed rolled dramatically across the floor, clutching his head.

“Wow, your white hair is so pretty…” another child breathed with admiration.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? If you are, I’ll tell my mom and dad to bring something to make you better!” a little girl offered, her eyes shining with earnest concern.

Roselyn chuckled weakly, glancing at the children huddled close around her. “No, I’m all right,” she reassured them.

“Get well soon, big sister,” one of the children said, squeezing Roselyn’s hand.

“Yeah, and then you can marry Baatar when you’re better!” chimed in another, clutching her arm.

“Ah! Don’t say weird things!” Baatar protested, but even as he scolded them, he didn’t let go of Roselyn’s hand.

The warmth of their small, earnest hands seemed to chase away some of the exhaustion in Roselyn’s eyes. Slowly, her eyelids began to flutter closed, comforted by the children’s presence.

“Huh…? She fell asleep,” one of the children whispered.

“Shh, quiet! My mom said we have to be extra gentle with sick outsiders—like they’re made of fluff,” another child cautioned, pressing a finger to its lips.

“Yeah, but I think we need to be even gentler with someone as pretty as her,” a third added in a hushed tone.

Surrounded by their soft, whispering voices, Roselyn drifted off to sleep once more.

Not long after, Arma returned. Finding the children huddled around Roselyn, shushing each other, he quietly ushered them out of the room. Then, he sat down at the edge of her bed.

“Why do you make yourself so irresistible, Roselyn?” he murmured, a shiver running down his spine as he recalled how she had stood her ground before the barbarian chieftain without flinching.

At the same time, a sharp pang of jealousy twisted inside him—a cheap, base emotion, but one he couldn’t ignore. There were sides of her he didn’t fully know.

“When you act this way, it makes me never want to let you go,” Arma whispered softly.

Gently, he pressed a kiss to the ends of Roselyn’s hair as she slept.

In the darkness, his blue eyes slowly grew distant and contemplative, sinking into shadow.