The Lord Of Blood Hill-Chapter 294: Golden Grand Tent
Garu’s explanation is unusual, they don’t actually want to be bandits.
It’s just the way things work on the grassland, a rule among the tribes.
Every spring after planting season, they hunt down any outsiders who enter their territory.
The tribe isn’t just targeting trade caravans, they go after anyone who crosses into their domain.
Henwell presses, “Why kill people? Is it some kind of blood sacrifice ritual?”
Garu scratches his head. “I don’t really know. I’ve only heard the elders say that if there aren’t enough lives offered to the Spirit of the Grassland, bad things happen. Maybe the grasslands wither, or livestock fall ill, or terrible weather strikes. In short, if the sacrifices aren’t enough, disaster is very likely.”
Orak frowns, “You kill every year? What if you don’t kill enough?”
Garu’s face turns sad. “Then the elders of the tribe are sacrificed.”
The king’s envoy, Wacker, questions further, “That can’t be right! If you kill like this every year, the population would keep shrinking. The merchants would surely catch on and avoid passing through during that time. Eventually, you’d have to sacrifice your own elders. How fast would that consume your people?”
Garu forces a smile. “It’s not as bad as you think. The yearly sacrifices to the Spirit of the Grassland only need a few people. A tribe of ten thousand only sacrifices a dozen or so each year. Every ten years, there’s a bigger ceremony. For a tribe of that size, the decennial sacrifice calls for hundreds.”
Obian suddenly thinks of something. “Is there an even bigger ritual?”
Garu considers it. “I think so, but I’ve never seen it. The elders say that every hundred years, there’s a grand ceremony on the grassland. Whether it’s a sacrifice or not, I don’t know for sure, but it might be connected…”
“Golden Grand Tent!”
“Border Breach!”
Henwell and Obian speak at the same time, giving two very different answers.
Obian looks at Henwell. “The lord of Blood Hill actually knows about this?”
Henwell replies calmly, “I just like reading a bit of leisure books.”
Orak asks, “What does that mean?”
Henwell gathers his thoughts. “Every hundred years, there’s a grand gathering on the Western Regions grassland. Representatives from the major tribes come together to compete for leadership in some way. This ceremony is called the Golden Grand Tent, or sometimes the Golden Sacred Tent. The leader chosen is known as the Golden King.”
Wacker’s eyes widen. “How dare they! Isn’t that a provocation against the kingdom?”
Obian sighs. “It’s more than just provocation, it’s a real contest. At that time, the entire Western Regions grassland quickly mobilizes. In a very short period, they build a complete military and political system. Then, they launch a border breach, invading the kingdom. Their forces march straight for the Golden Capital to claim the title of Golden King!”
Wacker still can’t believe it. “But the weapons and equipment on the grassland are far inferior to the kingdom’s. How do they dare invade?”
Henwell smiles. “Three hundred thousand mounted archers! At that scale, weapon superiority doesn’t matter as much. When the time comes, the Ika Kingdom must mobilize nearly its entire army to push the grassland cavalry back. Historical records show that most times, the Ika Kingdom successfully repels them. But sometimes, mistakes happen, and the grassland cavalry nearly sweep through the Western Regions territory.”
Obian reflects, “When I first learned about this, I never understood why the grassland cavalry did this, or why the kingdom didn’t tighten control over the grasslands. Now that I’m here, I realize it’s not so simple.”
Everyone understands what Obian means—the grassland tribes are preparing for a massive blood sacrifice.
It may not be the whole reason, but it’s definitely a major factor.
As for why the Ika Kingdom doesn’t impose harsh control after defeating the grassland cavalry, it likely has much to do with the Fury Spirits they face at night.
That also explains why the grassland people regard the Fury Spirits as their guardians.
Orak still looks puzzled. “If the Ika Kingdom is under such pressure, why haven’t neighboring countries reacted?”
He’s basically asking why other nations don’t take advantage of the chaos to invade Ika.
Henwell sighs. “Of course, it’s because those countries are just as busy and can’t spare the resources to take advantage.”
”In our northern Vorry forests, we have a similar ritual called the Forest Gathering. When it happens, hordes of northern bandits flood south.”
”To the north, the Kosen Kingdom faces its own enemies—after a Snowy Pilgrimage, the icy warriors from the frozen plains launch an assault on the northernmost city.”
”To the east, the Billie Kingdom isn’t idle either. After the East Sea Wild Tide, pirates known as Tidehunters attack all coastal cities.”
”The southern Ogiro Kingdom is a bit better off, but even there the Silent Forest stirs, and the Quiet Forest Wanderers strike Diversion Bay.”
”The Lumir Duchy has it worst. There’s an event called the Sacred Lake Rising Tide, after which rivers flood with water bandits.”
Henwell scans the stunned faces around him and smiles softly. “Haha… although historical records are vague, even these scattered whispers reveal how precarious things were. Compared to that, the War of the Six Kings was just child’s play! Every nation had to give their all, any slip-up could mean ruin and extinction!”
After a long silence, everyone slowly recovers from the shock.
Wacker is sweating. “But why don’t we know any of this? Such huge events should be recorded in every family’s history. Why haven’t we heard about them?”
Henwell shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I think the royal families and nobility do keep records. They just don’t share them publicly. Or maybe, for some special reasons, they can’t tell everyone. Like the grasslands of the Ika Western Regions, the kingdom can only prepare defenses but can’t fully eliminate these threats. I imagine other regions face similar situations.”
While everyone is still digesting this, Henwell suddenly says quietly, “There’s one more thing. You know, although there’s no exact record, by comparing timelines of various major events in ancient texts, I roughly estimate when the last full-scale invasion happened. Do you know how many years it’s been since then?”
Everyone looks at Henwell’s friendly smile, sensing a hint of mischief.
Henwell grins. “By my calculations, it’s been about eighty years! That means, at most, there are twenty years left before such an event breaks out again. If nothing goes wrong, everyone here will get to experience it firsthand!”
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Chapter 294: Golden Grand Tent
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