Etiquette for Those Prepared for Death
In the Empire, the marks of a beauty were skin as white as snow, golden hair that shone like sunlight, lips red as cherries, and eyes blue as sapphires. Eira embodied every one of those ideals—a noble lady from an earl's family, raised with aristocratic education, graceful movements, and refined speech, her appearance flawless. She had graduated from the Imperial Academy with top honors, built a wide network of friends including the princess, making her the perfect bride by any imperial noble's standards.
As snowflakes fell softly around her, Eira's golden hair cascaded down, brightening the surroundings like threads of pure gold spilling forth.
Haah. Her cherry-red lips parted, releasing a delicate voice on a puff of white breath—enough to stir the hearts of any man.
"Those fucking monster bastards keep coming down here, pissing me off to no end, you know."
Words more fitting for rough northern men spilled from the noble lady's mouth in her polite tone. In her hands, she clutched a helmet still warm from her head and a mace smeared with monster blood and brains.
Her beautiful, curled golden locks, soaked with sweat and blood, clung together after serving as padding inside the helmet. Her skin, pure as fresh snow, was marred with deep bruises and cuts.
Eira ripped off her shield—on the verge of shattering from accumulated blows—and tossed it into the snow. She scanned her surroundings.
Amid the snowfield littered with monsters whose heads she'd crushed, the noble lady looked like a delicate work of art out of place. Yet she blended so perfectly with the scene that it seemed the battlefield had been crafted just for her.
"Could you report the casualties, please?"
"Seven dead, twenty-one wounded, milady."
A typical northern warrior—bearded, clad in leather and metal armor—gave his report. A flicker of sorrow passed through Eira's sapphire eyes, vanishing as quickly as it came. A commander who let emotions take hold endangered her men. She wished for no casualties, but that was selfish; still, the higher toll than usual weighed heavily on her heart.
Monsters kept descending, defenses weren't being reinforced, supplies were dwindling fast. With mounting fatigue, damage, and breaking gear accelerating the losses, Eira glared toward her family's lands.
"Any response to the request for aid?"
"No, milady."
Eira clicked her tongue at the man's guilt-ridden face. She'd expected it, but it seemed her family had decided to abandon this place. No matter how she argued for protecting the territory's people, they'd spout all sorts of bullshit. Sacrifices for the greater good, calculated losses from cold judgment—fancy words, but it all boiled down to abandoning the folk. She'd called them wretched bastards and cowards before, but now it was confirmed. Revulsion surged at the thought of their blood flowing in her veins.
"Haah, isn't there some kind-hearted mage passing by?"
"Haha, how many good mages are there out there, and what's the chance they'd come through here right now?"
"If a truly good mage showed up, I'd suck his dick without a second thought, you know."
With that, Eira began clearing the battlefield.
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The timber for construction needed to be sturdy, rot-resistant, and straight-growing—qualities perfectly matched by the windbreak forest of Bostain territory. Planted by the first lord to block the frigid winds from the magic realm, it not only shielded against the cold but also provided livelihoods for the people through firewood and more.
Daiyen, having sold her expensive wool without issue, slipped out of Bostain territory and steered Nautilus toward the logging site.
Just before Nautilus arrived, the site was a nightmare. The wooden palisade was wrecked from monster attacks, corpses stacked like firewood on one side, and the sole intact building crammed with wounded.
"What the—?"
A one-armed man, bandaged crudely with dirty cloth and wielding a spear in his remaining hand despite his injuries, stared in bewilderment at the approaching Nautilus caravan. The road from the territory to the site was hellish even in good weather—snow-clogged in winter, muddy slop in thaw, avalanches burying any attempts at paving. Now with monster raids on top, seeing clean-clothed, healthy folk hauling goods made him wonder if he was dead.
But recognizing them as merchants with food and cloth, the gate swung open without inspection.
"Whoa! Am I dead?"
"I'm headed to heaven, but since I can see you, probably not."
"When are you gonna die?"
"Longer than you, buddy."
The wounded, doubling as hygienists, traded jokes upon seeing the food and clean bandages, their joy palpable.
Suhyun, surveying the horrific scene, had the injured moved to Nautilus and summoned Lucy and Morian for emergency treatment. Lucy knew herbal healing from the start; Morian had medical knowledge crammed into her head by Suhyun—human anatomy, functions, field treatments. Smart as she was, it took all-nighters to absorb it, but she could assist now.
Suhyun directed them, stabilizing the worst cases for transport aboard Nautilus for proper care.
By the time the injured reached the warm interior—far better than the freezing outdoors—Eira returned. Spotting a massive cauldron in the camp's center, thick stew bubbling inside as food ran low and they'd resorted to edible monster parts, she asked,
"May I ask who you are, sir?"
Thinking it was territory relief at the news of supplies, she was startled to see a young mage instead of officials. Suhyun replied,
"I'm Suhyun of the Nautilus Merchant Company."
"Merchant company? Ah, here for the timber, right?"
"Yes, but the situation looks grim."
Suhyun glanced around the site. Eira sighed.
"It's the result of a coward whose only 'achievement' was hiding in the castle while his siblings all died becoming lord, you know."
"Pardon?"
Flustered, Suhyun pressed, and Eira unleashed a torrent like a burst dam.
"They should've culled monsters from the magic realm outskirts regularly, but didn't. No thorough defenses, windbreak half-assed, yet greedy for cash, expanding logging sites everywhere, spreading our thin forces thin— all because of that idiot father."
Ptui. She spat phlegm with practiced skill, then straightened her gear and bowed gracefully.
"Thank you for aiding us."
Her poise belied the armor; Suhyun couldn't help smiling at the stark shift. Better than nobles hiding schemes behind twisted words—this one was honest yet polite.
Eira thanked them profusely for the treatments, signing papers to take all the wood.
"If it's alright, would you take this and move the wounded to safety?"
She offered a gem-encrusted necklace and ring, antique but well-kept.
"Milady! More monsters incoming!"
"What? Damn it, now of all times! Recall everyone outside. Suhyun, monsters are attacking—get your people to safety quick, you know."
Grabbing for her shield, Eira remembered it shattered and snatched a nearby axe instead, charging toward the threat.
"I'll help."
"Mages without combat training are better on rear support, sir."
Even in a position of receiving aid, she spoke her mind bluntly. But seeing the massive monster horde, she reconsidered.
"Holy hell in broad daylight, Suhyun? Run, now—we can't hold long, you know."
Snow wolves, frost goblins, and frost trolls charged in formation. Eira steeled for death. As a noble-born knight, she'd known battlefields might claim her, but facing inevitable doom brought regret. If only she'd been stronger, tried harder...
"Fuck, dying a virgin without even dating sucks, but if I'm going down, I'll do it like a warrior, you know!"
Raising the axe diagonally like a shield and her mace for an overhead smash, Eira bellowed,
"Come on, then!"
As Eira braced for death up front, Suhyun prepared magic from behind. Pouring waterthorn oil—harvested in Chromore—onto the deep snow, it soaked in like water on sand, thanks to the plant's property of hardening water into thorns. Using the snow's ambient mana as catalyst, Suhyun cast.
Frozen Waterthorn Grass
Infused with Suhyun's mana, the ice thorns sprouted spear-length and steel-hard across a wide area. Monsters charging into them impaled themselves like suicides with daggers in mouth.
"Eh?"
Stunned as her death-cry foes skewered themselves, Eira reset against survivors dodging the thorns.
"Red blood, burst like flames."
"Red blood, burst like flames."
Suhyun's voice echoed. Blood trickling down the ice thorns and cold ground erupted in directed blasts like claymores; shattering thorns became shrapnel, shredding monsters trailing the impaled ones.
"Ah?"
The unprepared wide blast couldn't fell thick-hided, regenerative trolls—Eira thought she might survive—when the next incantation followed.
"Red blood, become flames and burn all flesh away."
"Red blood, become flames and burn all flesh away."
Blast-scattered monster blood—even trolls' nearly healed wounds—ignited like fuel. Frost trolls, oily-skinned and fat-laden for cold resistance, blazed fiercely once lit. Regeneration failed amid live flames; they screamed, flailed, then collapsed.
Eira set down her axe and mace, face beet-red, turning to Suhyun.
"Please, forget what I said earlier, sir."
Saving someone who'd braced for death and spoken their last words wasn't proper etiquette.