Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Episode 19.
Immediately after his conversation with Yuriel, Aiden headed straight for the drawbridge of the Holy Empire.
At the end of the bridge, Yuron was waiting. Laden with a massive chest and numerous other bundles, his legs visibly trembled under the weight.
Though still some distance away, Aiden's sharp eyes caught every detail.
Beside Yuron stood a large man who looked vaguely familiar, though Aiden couldn't quite place him.
Without hesitation, Aiden spurred his horse toward them.
The burly man waved enthusiastically as Aiden approached.
"Hey! Sir Aiden, over here! Long time no—wait, has it been that long? Haha. Anyway, good to see you."
The moment Aiden arrived, the man extended his hand for a handshake. Recognition flashed in Aiden's mind.
The self-proclaimed "Northern Bird-Slayer"—the paladin who had suffered a humiliating defeat at Aiden's hands during the knighting ceremony. His name escaped Aiden, but the memory remained vivid.
Dismounting, Aiden clasped the man's hand firmly. The man's grin faded as he adopted a solemn expression.
"I owe you—and your squire—a formal apology for my past rudeness. You truly are an extraordinary man. And your squire here seems to be holding his own now."
The chest Yuron carried contained Aiden's armor. Though the boy's face was red with strain, he stubbornly refused to buckle—though moving clearly took tremendous effort.
Once Aiden relieved him of the chest, Yuron collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
"...Two hours."
The paladin's booming laughter echoed.
"Your squire's got grit! Effort always deserves respect. Ahem, indeed. But Sir Aiden, will you accept my apology?"
"I never held it against you. Though I'd like to hear your name again."
"Haha, motivation to make an impression, eh? It's Tairun—remember it well. A name destined to shake not just the North, but the entire continent! Haha!"
The man radiated foolish enthusiasm. Aiden nodded and replied,
"I expect to hear your renowned name soon. I'm heading north."
The first relic slumbered there—records and artifacts of the Great Hero Arhan, buried beneath frozen earth.
Tairun's eyes widened.
"At this time of year? If true, I must advise against it. The North is in winter now. With beasts migrating south, all nearby villages and churches have evacuated. It was my operation, so I can say with certainty: the North is at its most dangerous."
Winter came to the North once every five years—a deadly cold that forced even the Ainn dwelling beyond the canyons to flee south.
Normally, the Empire would be festive during this season. The Ainn Hunt. A once-in-five-years opportunity to capture the migrating Ainn.
Cheap labor. Exotic concubines. Specimens for mages' experiments. Gladiators for the arena.
The Ainn's versatility meant hunters flocked north every migration season.
But not this year. Large-scale capture operations had been canceled—the Church's forces, the backbone of the hunts, were concentrated at the Papal See.
Under normal circumstances, Tairun would have been stationed in the North by now.
Aiden, too, had originally planned to explore the ruins five years later.
Assuming he passed the Pope's trial and obtained Elohimderk around that time.
But Elohimderk already hung around Aiden's neck.
There was no need to waste time. For Aiden, it was as if fortune had rolled into his lap like a ripe pumpkin.
Shaking his head at Tairun's warnings, Aiden replied,
"The North needs at least one paladin as a sentry. If the Ainn push past their usual migration limits, the northern provinces will become hell."
A lie. The Ainn wouldn't venture beyond their set boundaries—not now, at least.
Aiden had only one reason for haste:
The ruins could only be explored during the North's coldest week. That window was closing fast.
Tairun nodded, accepting Aiden's words without suspicion.
"Remarkable. I'd join you in earnest if I could, but... Ah, never mind. I'll spare the excuses."
Aiden was secretly grateful to the Church. Tairun tagging along would have been problematic.
"You must have duties here as well."
"True, but regrets linger. Had I not been promoted, I'd have more freedom like you."
Paladins had ranks. Aiden intended to remain at the lowest tier for now—freedom was paramount.
"Regardless, since you insist, allow me a small token. Please accept."
Tairun produced a faded red gem from his pocket.
"A high-grade artifact. If anyone in your party can wield magic, it'll mitigate the cold somewhat."
A rare find. During his time with Tegan, Yuron had purchased artifacts—including a replica of this very gem.
"I'll put it to good use."
"Think nothing of it."
Mounting Petra, Aiden added,
"I'll remember your kindness."
"Haha, this is nothing. You'd best hurry—I've detained a busy man too long."
"Until next time."
Aiden rode north without another word.
Three days passed.
Crunch. The horses' hooves now trod softly on snow. Verdant plains had turned white under biting northern winds.
"Achoo!"
Yuron sneezed, tightening his fur coat.
Cold air encircled both men, but this was only the beginning.
"You handled heat well, but cold seems to defeat you."
"Truthfully, having grown up in the south, this is my first time seeing snow. I finally understand why Northerners take offense at poetic descriptions of its beauty."
Shivering, Yuron pulled a white fur from his pack and offered it to Aiden.
"My lord, you should wear this now."
Aiden felt no discomfort. He'd invested in cold resistance long ago, preparing for future northern trials.
"Not yet. Keep it."
He didn't tell Yuron to wear it either. The boy needed to adapt. The North was merciful—cold increased gradually with latitude, granting time to acclimate.
Their trail continued north across pristine snowfields. Soon, a faint shape appeared in the distance.
"Sir Aiden? Do you see that? It looks like a house, but why would—"
A lone hut stood in the snowy wastes. Smoke curled from its chimney, scattering in the gale.
"If Deril trusted me, he'll be there."
Or maybe not. Even if he'd fled, Aiden wouldn't pursue. Their connection ended here.
Tethering the horses outside, they knocked.
"Anyone home?"
Before Yuron finished speaking, the door flew open.
A diminutive old man stood there—his sharp eyes belying his frail appearance. They swept over Aiden head to toe.
"Greetings. Paladin Aiden."
"An intriguing physique. Achievements disproportionate to your age. How old are you?"
"Twenty-two this year."
The core differed, but that was his official age.
"Oh ho, younger than I thought."
Had he aged so poorly? Two years had reshaped everything about Aiden—expression, gaze, all of it. He hadn't always been like this.
"And this one?"
"My squire."
"Hmm."
Yuron found the old man's gaze unsettling—like invisible hands probing his body.
"Hard road ahead."
With this cryptic remark, the old man gestured inside.
"Both of you, come in."
The hut was remarkably warm. Firewood crackled, filling the air with pine scent.
Seated at the central table, Sein greeted Aiden with a radiant smile.
"Sir Paladin!"
"Good. Where's Deril?"
"Brother's over—"
Through the window, Deril trudged into view.
Wearing only underwear, he carried a massive boulder on his back, struggling with each step.
The old man clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. Cadak ruined that boy. Then again, what do mages know?"
At the mention of Archmage Cadak's name, Yuron gaped at Aiden.
"The elder is one of the continent's Sword Saints."
Sword Saint Gielran Fenrir. Longtime friend of Archmage Cadak and guardian of the North.
The living wall preventing the Ainn from advancing further. A monster within the world's lore.
"Sword Saint this, Sword Saint that—meaningless titles for a recluse like me."
Aiden shook his head.
"Your disciples carry your legacy across the continent. Though you remain here, your influence spreads."
"Failures. Not even worthy of being called imitations—just tarnishing my name."
Gielran's personality matched the original story. He eyed Aiden skeptically.
"Why did you send these siblings to me?"
Aiden glanced at Sein, who was distracted chatting with Yuron.
"To save them."
"You're a paladin, yes?"
"I am."
The old man scoffed.
"An odd one. Word is you vowed to cleanse black blood."
"Correct. But I can't disclose methods, even if asked."
"Ha! Impudent. Makes me want to pry."
Violating the geas meant death.
"Elohimderk guides me to ruins with answers. I can say no more."
"That necklace chose you, they say."
"So it seems."
"Do you know what sleeps there?"
"The Great Hero Arhan's artifacts, no?"
"Even children know that. Be precise."
Of course Aiden knew. Gielran looked astonished.
"Your demeanor suggests you do."
"I came to claim them."
"Who said they'd be given freely? Listen well—you may be formidable, but your vessel needs filling. Arrogance will be your downfall."
Aiden knew his limits well. With only one life, recklessness wasn't an option.
He came because success seemed possible.
"I'll heed your advice."
"Leave the squire. He'll die."
A dilemma Aiden had pondered. Yuron was improving, but in the North, he was weaker than prey animals.
Protecting him would be impossible. Aiden was grateful Gielran raised the issue first—he'd planned to ask, secretly hoping for this.
"Thank you."
"Hmph. Just gaining another errand boy."
"Don't let appearances fool you—he handles chores well. Decent cook too."
"Enough chatter. If you're going, depart now. The deep freeze approaches."
Aiden bowed slightly, then approached Yuron.
"Yuron."
The boy sprang up, gathering his belongings.
"You're staying."
Yuron froze. His face paled as he looked up at Aiden.
"But... my lord—"
"In the North, you're dead weight."
Shadows crossed Yuron's face. He knew this better than anyone.
Leaning close, Aiden whispered,
"The elder values passion and effort over talent."
Yuron would understand. Just then, Deril entered, shivering violently—clearly having endured harsh training.
"Damn old man. In this freezing— My lord?"
"Get dressed. We leave now."
Deril's hopeful glance toward the fire dimmed, but he wordlessly prepared Sein to depart.
Outside, Aiden removed his necklace.
Channeling holy power, the crystal shot skyward, painting the heavens blue.
A luminous path stretched beyond the horizon—visible only to its owner.