On the vast grasslands, there naturally could not exist the teacher–disciple relationships bound by the strict rites and rules of the Eastern Confucian cultural sphere. Yet it was also not as casual as those in the Western kingdoms. For the nomadic tribes of the plains, what they valued most was martial skill—the art of combat and the hunt. Therefore, once a master–disciple bond was established, it was tantamount to fixing a "legacy."
It was not merely a bond of father and son, but also a blood oath never to be betrayed for life.Even entering into a further life-binding contract was not impossible.
Thus, when Attila suddenly voiced such words before him, with no prelude or buildup at all, Lucan instinctively thought he had misheard.
He looked at the "King of the Huns" before him—said to have been active for decades, yet still bearing the appearance of a girl barely into her teens. He looked at her serious expression, those golden eyes, and could not help but fall silent.
As the only bloodline heir of the Hun imperial family, he did not need Attila's recognition, whether spoken or shown by action. He was already the rightful successor to this vast nomadic empire that had been built.
—Even though Lucan knew, this empire would not last long.—Even though he understood, nomads only conquered, but lacked the means to govern.
This too was the choice of "Human Order."
No matter what, he truly did not need such recognition.Attila, as King of the Huns, should understand this.
In other words—
"Does she really just want to pass on 'martial skill' to me?"
Lucan's thoughts spun rapidly, and almost in that instant, he grasped the meaning behind it all.
But still, he asked:"Why?"
"Because… you are beautiful. You are good civilization."
Attila's face did not change as she spoke. She slowly bent forward, her waist sinking, abdomen folding down, the contours of her honey-colored skin and athletic frame becoming more pronounced.
"I very much want to destroy you, but I also do not want to see your 'destruction.'"
Leaving aside her nature as the white giant, the Vanguard of the Stars, who destroyed the Age of Gods and crushed the bodies of the divine, with a mission targeting the annihilation of all civilization—
In history, Attila, known as the "Scourge of God," was herself regarded as the destroyer of Western civilization.
She led her primitive nomadic people to smash the Eastern Roman Empire at its height, plunder vast lands, and march upon Western Rome. Wherever her army advanced, it embodied nothing less than the unquestionable victory of barbarism over civilization.
And whether in the past or here and now, all of this came from her instinct.
From the orders etched into her very being by that civilization of the Stars that had given her life:
Destroy civilization.Plunder the planet's energy.
Yet though a weapon, she was still a conscious existence. And consciousness often meant the awakening of self, the birth of individual inclination.
Thus, even as a weapon, through ceaseless war and conquest, she began to develop a "fondness" for the very civilizations she was meant to destroy.
Contradiction extreme, paradox sharp beyond measure—
And yet, this was precisely what Lucan knew to be the essence of Attila's persona as the Vanguard of the Stars.
Even if Attila's existence here was merely the "split spirit" descended from the true body of the Vanguard—whose core had long since fallen into slumber when its energy was exhausted, and which projected this avatar for free activity—
Her being remained singularly special. Her consciousness and selfhood were still connected to the true body.
Lucan listened to Attila's words, and only felt it natural. He thought to himself: So it really is like this.
Having lived through many lifetimes, though his origin lay in the modern age, even placed in this ancient time, Lucan was still countless times more "civilized" than any nation Attila had ever conquered.
Naturally, he would provoke her strongest, most primal urge to destroy.And at the same time, she would feel an extraordinary affection toward him.Lucan would, unavoidably, stir up the violent contradiction between her personality and her instinct.
But to be torn by conflict to this degree—Was proof enough…
"Attila's existence may not be able to last much longer."
He looked at the "girl" bending at the waist so that her eyes met his on equal level. This thought rose in his heart. Gazing into her eyes, he understood that Attila's state was but one of her true body's "dreams"—just as in Indian mythology Brahma dreamt the creation of the world, so too the dream of a giant god shaped the life of a person.
And he also understood: the sudden death of Attila that later led to the decline and collapse of the Hunnic Empire was, in all likelihood, caused by the "giant god" awakening in that far-off antiquity.
The clearer her personality, the sharper her consciousness, the more it meant her true body was nearing its awakening.
Therefore—
The "granting of martial skill" from the God of War.This might well be the last thing that the "girl" before him wished to leave in the world, under the name of Attila.
Understanding all this, Lucan met Attila's gaze—seemingly calm, yet hiding a hope within. In the end, he nodded.
In truth, even leaving aside all the above considerations, this could very well be a brand-new path for him.
On the road of Mystery, he had already reached lofty heights.But that road had always been as a "magus," as a sorcerer.
Now, he needed only to continue steadily, accumulating endlessly, walking through the ancient eras, engraving Mystery as he went.
Yet though his progress was continuous, the pace was hardly fast.If he wished to make a true breakthrough, a better choice would be to broaden laterally—
From "Letters" into "Martial Arms"!
And the "Scourge of God," Attila, famed as the "God of War," was undoubtedly qualified to teach Lucan.
...
[Seeing your nod of agreement, Attila may still have borne the same expressionless face, yet you could feel her joy and delight.][Perhaps it was because she could have greater contact with higher forms of "civilization."][Or perhaps it was out of the very love that arose from such a cause.][It was from this day onward that, less than one year old, you began to study martial skill under Attila.][You even started following her to the front lines.][To any discerning eye, it was obvious—the great "Scourge of God" valued and cherished you deeply.][For the first time in her decades, the Hunnic King, whose beauty was unchanging, revealed emotions not belonging to a mere "warrior."][Yet the Huns themselves were pleased, overjoyed.]["If the Great Khan could thus leave behind blood heirs, all the better." —Such rumors began to circulate throughout the empire.][Even your father thought so. Though unwilling to part with you, and reluctant to see you dragged across campaigns by Attila, he still steeled himself to send you off. And seeing his tearful farewell, as if he were giving away a daughter in marriage—you sweated in embarrassment, thinking: I'm not even one year old yet!][This has gone far beyond a mere crime, hasn't it!?][Fortunately, in the end, a rumor remained just a rumor.][Though you ate and slept together, at most Attila simply liked to hold you as she slept—and then suddenly bite you in her sleep. At most she liked to embrace you idly and knead you in her arms. —And this is supposed to be "fortunate"!?]
Lucan opened his eyes in the middle of the night and pushed away the face pressed against his own, expressionless.
In the command tent of the central army, on the front lines of the Huns' invasion of Italy, Lucan—already a year old, but still too young to grow rapidly, his height still not even a meter—was at this moment tightly held in the arms of a half-asleep Attila. His face was drenched in the drool of this so-called "great Scourge of God"!
He glanced sideways, at the sight so close before him—
Attila's honey-colored long legs coiled about his waist like a constricting serpent. Her battle skirt had already ridden up to the roots of her thighs; her plump legs reflexively tightened even in sleep. Her clothes had grown disheveled, a half-exposed swell slipping from her neckline to brush against his cheek with her breathing. Her hips pressed deep into the furs, her waist arched like a bow. The whole of her body was like a hunting tigress, locking him completely in her embrace.
Perhaps no one would ever imagine, that the King of the Huns—who rode across Europa, conquering vast lands—would look like this while she slept