In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities-Chapter 189 Anger And Hatred Rising Withing The Empire

"Throw dirt on it! Extinguish the flames!"

Commanders shouted orders, trying to regain control, but their voices were quickly drowned out by the roar of the fire.

Soldiers writhed on the ground, desperately attempting to douse the flames that clung to their bodies. Yet the fire showed no mercy, consuming them relentlessly.

The acrid stench of burning flesh and fabric filled the air. The flames grew fiercer, accompanied by a chorus of agonized screams.

"Retreat! Fall back!"

Desperate commanders shouted in vain. The chaos had already spiraled beyond their control, and the fire, alive with malevolent energy, continued to spread among their ranks.

The leaders of the Five Great Tribes were stunned by the carnage. While the vanguard had consisted of weaker allied tribes, such a catastrophic outcome had not been anticipated.

"Help us! Please!"

Panicked soldiers fled toward the rear, but even the chieftains of the Five Great Tribes could not bring themselves to stop them. Despite their reputation for ruthlessness, they couldn’t begrudge those who simply wanted to survive.

Yet even those who managed to escape the flames often succumbed to severe burns shortly thereafter.

The shamans of the Five Great Tribes worked frantically, but there was little they could do. Ancient weather-altering rituals were the domain of the Rock Bear Tribe’s priestess, Babaru, but she was nowhere to be found.

Kanta, the chieftain of the Lion’s Mane Tribe, confronted Yandor.

"Yandor! Bring your tribe’s priestess here immediately. Whether she summons wind or rain, she must act now!"

Yandor, who had been concealing Babaru’s absence to protect his tribe’s reputation, hesitated before replying weakly.

"Babaru… infiltrated the fortress seeking vengeance for her granddaughter. She hasn’t been seen since."

His admission sparked outrage among the other chieftains.

"What? A key figure like that has been missing, and you didn’t think to inform us?"

"How do you expect us to fix this mess now? Rock Bears truly live up to their name—nothing but thick-headed fools!"

Yandor bristled at the insult, but before he could retaliate, Crown Prince Oswald intervened.

"Enough! Cease this bickering. What can we do against a calculated fire attack like this? It’s fortunate that only the allied tribes have suffered losses. Let’s withdraw and reassess the situation. We’ll be more cautious moving forward."

Reluctantly, the chieftains agreed, pulling their troops back.

The battlefield they left behind was littered with countless charred corpses. Soldiers within the fortress observed the aftermath with a renewed sense of victory.

"Look at that! They’re all burned to ash!"

"The mages did it! They torched the whole lot of them!"

Their triumphant shouts echoed throughout the fortress. The soldiers’ eyes gleamed with confidence, and no sympathy was spared for their foes. The cheers persisted until the flames finally subsided.

Michael allowed the soldiers to revel in their victory. Morale, he knew, was paramount in war.

Meanwhile, the few survivors of the allied tribes were sent back to the battlefield by the relentless demands of the Five Great Tribes.

Armed with sticks, they were tasked with smothering the remaining embers on the scorched plains. The ground was still searing hot, and sporadic flames leapt out at the struggling soldiers. Yet they had no choice but to continue.

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Failure to comply or hesitation in their work would result in whipping.

Their efforts were clumsy, their hands blistered from the heat radiating off the charred earth. Smoke stung their lungs, but they had to keep bending over like beasts of burden, beating at the embers until their hands were raw and burnt.

Yuran, the chieftain of the Meadow Rabbit Tribe, suppressed tears as he worked. His tribe had survived the fire thanks to quick thinking, but the prospect of the battles ahead left him despairing.

Even if the war expanded the empire, his tribe would gain nothing. The spoils would go to the Five Great Tribes and the powerful clans; there was no meaning in this endless suffering.

Yuran paused briefly to gaze at the ash-covered plains. Smoke still rose from scattered patches, casting ghostly shadows over the land. Among the debris lay unrecognizable corpses, their bodies twisted in agony.

Charred remains with outstretched arms, burned black, appeared to cry out silently. The mix of scorched flesh, smoke, and the metallic stench of blood turned his stomach.

His anger and hatred toward the Five Great Tribes and the royal family far surpassed his enmity for Michael, the enemy commander who had orchestrated the trap.

Yuran’s gaze shifted to the chieftains of the Five Great Tribes, perched on horseback and barking orders. Even now, they were bickering among themselves.

"This wretched empire can burn to the ground for all I care," Yuran thought bitterly.

From a distance, Michael observed the allied tribes closely. The palpable tension among them was evident even from afar. To Michael, it was an opportunity ripe for exploitation.

After the trap operation using firebombs succeeded, the terrified Pamir Empire forces settled on a distant hill and didn’t move. Darkness soon blanketed the land, bringing a cold night.

Michael, having agreed to alternate shifts with Duke Capone to inspect the watchtower, headed toward his tent. Since the start of the war, he had been living in the barracks alongside the soldiers. His tent was situated on one side of the fortress. The nobles who shared Michael’s ideals rested nearby, their positions centered around his tent.

Inside the tent, Nyangnyangi and Marcus were peacefully asleep, their weary bodies sprawled out. Marcus had reduced his enormous size to that of an elephant, curling up his body and snoring softly. Nyangnyangi occasionally twitched his front paws, furrowing his brow as if dreaming.

Despite the approaching summer, the nights were still chilly. However, the warmth emanating from Marcus made it unnecessary to light a fire in Michael’s tent. As Michael took a seat at the table, his attendants approached to serve him.

"Master, do you require anything? Shall we prepare a meal or warm tea for you?" asked Alex, breaking Michael’s train of thought. Michael, now accustomed to his magical equipment, no longer needed attendants to assist with removing armor or maintaining weapons. His horse, Bucephalus, was already resting, freshly groomed by the stable master.