Vampire Knight: Memories

Wasteland tribes

They tied up the slave and led him behind the horse. Galloping back to the camp, they arrived deep into the night.

"Father!" Saji ran happily into the chief's grand tent, shouting as he went, "Come quickly and see our spoils of war!"

Garland didn’t want to disturb the chieftain’s rest and waited outside.

The wasteland tribes lived in close-knit communities, forming alliances composed of multiple families. Historically, these families were all related by blood. The closer one’s lineage was to the chieftain’s family, the higher their status in the tribe.

At the center of the tribal camp stood a dozen large tents. Three of them belonged to the chieftain, while the rest housed the families of his closest supporters. Around these grand tents were smaller tents clustered together, each representing a household.

The tribe did not stay in one place permanently. They migrated periodically for grazing purposes. The entire tribe consisted of many more families scattered across their territory, reportedly numbering over three hundred households.

Garland’s mother had once lived in the camp, in a tent near the chieftain’s. But after her passing, she had to personally tend to livestock to survive. Garland, too young at the time, could no longer remember where their old tent had gone.

Recently, as he grew older, he noticed that his appearance became increasingly different from the other tribesmen. Unconsciously, he felt more distant from them. Even returning to the camp, he felt like a stranger.

He had never stepped into the chieftain’s tent and now waited silently outside.

He waited for a long time, but Saji still hadn't come out. He almost fell asleep.

"Wake up, everyone—don’t sleep! Come celebrate with us!"

Suddenly, a tribesman ran out of the chieftain’s tent, shouting outside every household’s tent.

The boy was startled awake, still a bit confused.

The chieftain’s attendants poured out one after another, beaming with joy. They ran throughout the camp, waking every family. Holding up trophies, they proudly announced:

"Our little prince, Saji, is unstoppable! He single-handedly killed two northern castle soldiers!"

Drowsy tribesmen emerged from their tents. Hearing the chieftain’s attendants make such a declaration, they too cheered, gathering outside the chieftain’s grand tent with torches in hand.

"Our little prince is so brave?"

"Of course! Look at these spoils! This iron helmet still has blood on it!"

"What? Let me see—"

The tribesmen passed the war trophies around, praising them endlessly.

Victory called for celebration.

Garland was caught in the crowd, waiting in front of the grand tent for the chieftain to speak.

The tent flaps parted, and the chieftain stepped out, holding Saji’s hand. His face was flushed with pride, beaming as he boasted.

"Tonight is a night of celebration! My youngest son is a fierce warrior! He has slain two northern castle soldiers with his own hands. These are the trophies he has brought back!"

The tribe’s great general emerged from a side tent and praised him.

"These spoils are valuable. For a prince so young to achieve such a feat is remarkable."

The clan leaders of the great families nodded in agreement.

"The prince has brought honor to the tribe! He is truly a worthy descendant of our ancestors!"

The chieftain ordered the trophies to be displayed high for all to see, to honor the prince’s achievement. He then commanded a great bonfire to be prepared, so the tribe could sing and dance through the night, singing praises of the young prince’s glory to their ancestors.

The tribesmen immediately set to work.

Only then did Garland notice Saji, who was hiding behind the chieftain. His little brother's face was full of grievance.

"Father, Father—" Saji kept calling out in his childish voice, "I told you, it was Brother, Brother, he—"

"Silence! Say no more!" the chieftain scolded. "Go and play!"

Saji’s eyes turned red, tears welling up.

Seeing how unreasonable his father was, he ran over and threw himself into his brother’s arms, distressed.

"Brother, it’s not like that! Father won’t even listen to me! It was all you—"

"Hush, it’s alright."

Garland stroked Saji’s head gently.

"Those enemies were slain for the future chieftain—you. What I killed is what you killed."

Saji clutched at his brother’s clothes, which were still stained with blood.

The chieftain noticed the closeness between Saji and Garland and frowned slightly.

"Garland, come here. I have something to tell you."

"Oh, coming."

The boy pushed Saji aside and followed the chieftain into the tent.

The floor of the grand tent was covered in animal pelts, soft and comfortable underfoot.

The chieftain dismissed his attendants and sat down alone.

"Chieftain," Garland greeted again.

"Mm."

The leader gazed down at him with an expression that was both stern and seemingly kind, yet carried a hint of something else—perhaps anger.

Garland suddenly remembered the strange man still tied to the horse outside. He wasn’t sure what should be done with him, so he reported,

"On the way back today, we also captured a slave."

"A slave?"

"Yes. He’s outside."

Speaking of this, the boy became more animated.

"He speaks both our tribal language and the northern tongue. He says the northern castle forces are gathering to attack us! And he knows everything—he can tell us all about the northern castle’s secrets!"

Garland spoke with excitement, but the chieftain wasn’t listening.

A tribesman in charge of preparing the bonfire entered, seeking instructions. The chieftain waved him aside, signaling him to wait, then returned to discussing the night’s celebration.

Garland waited for a long time, but it seemed the chieftain had already forgotten about the slave and began speaking of something else.

The chieftain sighed and spoke in a deep, meaningful tone.

"My nephew—you are a brave warrior. You are worthy of the name Garland. I have always known that."

The boy nodded seriously.

His name, Garland, meant "courage." It was a warrior's name.

"You and the others all call me Chief, but you are different. You are my sister's son, my nephew, my closest blood relative." The Chief sighed, as if recalling the past, with traces of tears in his eyes. "I have no other heirs. Saji is my only son. Seeing the deep bond between you two fills me with great joy."

"Mm."

"One day, Saji will inherit my position and become the leader of the tribe. When that time comes, you will be the Great General who supports him.

"You two will be each other's most trusted partners and the only ones worthy of reliance."

"I will remember that," Garland replied. He didn't fully understand the meaning behind these words. The elders always spoke in such profound ways, so he simply took it as a sincere admonition.

Just as he was about to bring up the matter of the slave again, the Chief, already tired, motioned for him to leave.

Outside, the bonfire was ready. The tribespeople had changed into their festive attire, cheering around the fire. As the atmosphere grew livelier, the Chief, also dressed in ceremonial robes, stepped out surrounded by his retainers, with Prince Saji at his side.

Garland carefully slipped through the crowd, hiding behind the others. Lively celebrations were never his strong suit.

Telling the ancestors of heroic deeds was a traditional practice. The Chief began with a chant, recounting the history passed down orally among the tribespeople. After all, the night was endless, and the tribe's history could be told from a time long, long ago.

"The boundless plains are our homeland, stretching from the place where the sun rises in the east to where it sets in the west; from the north, where winter reigns, to the south, where the heat is relentless. We are the descendants of our ancestors.

"Forty years ago, a force rose in the east of the plains. A great leader united all the tribes and led his army across the land. We called him the Great Chief, who shone upon the plains like the sun.

"Following him in battle, we are three blood-related tribes—Koz, Qirdan, and distant Seza—his eyes, wings, and claws. We were unstoppable, victorious in every fight, slaughtering our way to the edge of the plains.

"We now stand at the end of the plains. Beyond this, there are no pastures, only rocky mountains. We have guarded this land for the Great Chief for ten years."

"Why say it like that..." Garland muttered to himself while crouching alone. "There's still people in the castles out there. This isn't really the end of the world..."

No one cared about what Garland was saying. Everyone was focused on the Chief, listening to his story. Even though they had heard it a thousand times, they never tired of it.

The Chief's tone suddenly shifted. He clenched his fists tightly, his expression growing solemn.

"Ten years ago, the Great Chief of the plains fell ill with a plague, one beyond all cure. He could only return home to heal. We have waited here for his return—ten years have passed..."

Listening to this, Garland felt a deep sorrow—not for that leader, but for himself.

That same plague, ten years ago, had also taken the life of the tribe's princess—his mother.

For so many years, he had tried to recall his mother's face, but it was nearly impossible. After all, he had been too young back then.

Every time he saw Saji talking happily with the Chief, Garland felt a pang of jealousy.

The Chief’s speech ended, but the celebration continued. The tribe’s singers and dancers began recounting the tales of past heroes. This time, Prince Saji’s achievements were added among the legendary stories, celebrated alongside them.

They sang, they danced, and they retold the familiar stories again and again.

Suddenly, a piercing drumbeat echoed through the night. Accompanied by attendants, the tribe’s shaman approached the bonfire. His attire was the most elaborate, so naturally, he arrived last.

In fact, the shaman’s status within the tribe was even higher than the Chief’s. He was the voice of the gods, wielding supreme authority like a deity.

The shaman wore a robe woven from strips of black cloth, adorned with black feathers on his back. He and his attendants carried leather drums and bone drumsticks, striking them rhythmically as they danced their way into the gathering. The tribespeople stepped aside respectfully, welcoming him with the highest honor.

"Kaah—!"

The shaman let out a sharp, eerie cry that pierced the night sky. This was a ritual prayer to the gods, its true meaning known only to him.

The shaman was a being not entirely human—a half-man, half-crow. A crow’s head protruded from his neck, its beak opening to produce various calls. The cries were piercing and sorrowful, as though weeping.

That crow head was not a mask—it was a real, living head.

He had always looked this way, even without his ceremonial robes, a crow-headed man. He ate raw meat like a crow. The tribespeople took turns offering their livestock as sacrifices for him to consume.

The shaman possessed great mystical power. Garland had heard that he could summon spirits, allowing tribespeople to speak with their deceased loved ones.

Garland wished the shaman could help him see his mother once more and hear her voice just one last time.

But for some reason, the shaman had always refused Garland’s offerings.

No matter what sacrifices Garland prepared, they were rejected.

Not only that, but the shaman also refused to answer any of Garland’s questions.

Perhaps it was because of this that the tribespeople shunned him.

After all, if even the messenger of the gods despised someone, who else would accept them?