To the North Duchy (2)
The road to Rozanica was flat and uneventful.
“Catch 'em all and kill 'em!”
“Ararararara!”
Of course, they ran into a pack of trolls along the way.
“Whoa? Meat after so long!”
“Festival! Festival!”
Of course, they also crossed paths with a herd of wild boars.
“Hand over everything you…… Sorry. Please go carefully!”
“……Bandits! Kill 'em all!”
“Kwaaaak!”
Of course, they even stumbled upon some bandits by chance, but it was no big deal.
These were the guerrilla fighters who'd been eating, sleeping, and fighting at the vanguard of the southern frontlines, after all. Unless it was an ogre couple or something on that level, nothing could trouble these guys.
“Th-that's impressive.”
“Yeah. Settle the bonus pay properly.”
“Don't worry! The byproducts alone will make it plenty profitable.”
After spending roughly three weeks together, they'd gotten fairly chummy with the caravan leader.
Valerius didn't pick fights with anyone except nobles and arrogant pricks, so as long as you could stomach his gruff, gravelly mouth, anyone could get along with him just fine.
As night fell, the caravan set up camp. Tents went up in a flash, and the merchants hustled to prepare dinner.
The Black Lion mercenaries' one glaring flaw was their bottomless appetites—and the massive food bills that came with them—so cooking had to be quick.
“We've got about four days left now.”
“Already, huh.”
They stuffed themselves hearty and prepped for bed. The caravan leader approached Valerius, who sat by the campfire with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and handed over a bottle of booze.
Northern beer, the kind they guzzled up there. Nothing beat it for a quick throat-wetter. Especially chased with cig smoke—it hit just right.
“Ahem. Captain, any plans after Rozanica?”
The leader waited politely until Valerius had savored his smoke and sip before broaching the subject.
This is the classic help ping.You got a spot to hit? Wanna duo?
But a true topsoller never left lane for petty sentiments.
“Sticking around till the snowstorm blows over. Hunt some monsters in the area too.”
“Ah. Right, you mentioned your mother lives there.”
The north's quarterly snowstorms were brutal enough to keep everyone indoors. Rozanica, being a trade hub, fared okay, but everywhere else was a no-go. With the Black Lion crew around, though, the city would be safe this season.
Gulp.
Mid-conversation, Valerius's eyes flicked to a carriage door swinging open.
A tall woman stepped out—tall even by northern standards. The leader's face fell at the sight of her robe, enchanted to veil her features completely in magic.
Whoosh.
She headed straight for the campfire.
He'd figured it for a casual help ping. This was some hardcore summon.
Valerius sized her up, prepping his block.
He frowned faintly at the sight of her. Ah, circumstances say this is the villainess, alright.
He sorted his mental notes. Does the original mention the duke's daughter's weakness around this timeline?
“Uh, haha. Warm drink, maybe?”
“Please.”
Beautiful voice, but firm as steel. The leader looked pained as he set water to boil for tea.
Whoosh.
Even with a noblewoman present, Valerius kept puffing away. Thick smoke was second nature to men but a harsh stranger to ladies.
Yet she voiced no complaint.
“Sir Valerius.”
“Captain's fine.”
The leader blanched at Valerius's casual tone. Valerius smirked. This guy's too fun to rattle.Tempted to push it further.
‘Interesting.’
Isolde Serpia, seated across from him, barely registered his rudeness.
Three weeks wasn't a blink. Sure, first impressions might sting, but not anymore.
He was rude, sharp-edged, violent... yet paradoxically warm at the core.
Hey, you fuckers! I said dress right!
Don't fuck with northern cold!
Hey, you scum! I said watch it!
Put weight on the icy wet spots and stomp!
Hey, you morons! I said no bullying the weak!
Fuck, don't tank morale!
His tirades kicked off brutal, but worry laced every word. He led from the front, sharing his own without stint.
Anyone but beasts could feel that raw care—and it forged unbreakable loyalty.
“Captain. One small favor?”
“Nah. Three weeks with us is one thing. Stranger lady? Pass.”
No offense taken. That's how much pull Valerius had.
Hell, in this caravan, only Isolde's guards gave him the cold shoulder.
“Then my face should settle it. Here.”
“N-noble lord!”
The leader's fluster was palpable at Isolde's abrupt declaration. Valerius scowled, glaring daggers.
Her steel to hold his gaze. The leader's panic. All adding up.
“Hah. No way. Isolde?”
“Gasp!”
The leader clutched his neck and crumpled.
A commoner casually bandying the North's precious flower's name like that? Noble-insult execution fodder.
Isolde smirked, doffing her robe. Lustrous silver hair spilled like a waterfall from the hood.
Sharp features, stunningly beautiful. Silver locks gleamed under starlight, sky-blue eyes commanding stares.
A face that matched any tale of the North Duke himself.
“Pleased to meet you. The North Duchy's……”
“Tch. Talk about shitty luck.”
“……What?”
His utterly irreverent cut-in left her speechless. Interrupting a noble's intro? With slang?
Silver hair, blue eyes—Serpia blood screamed to anyone with eyes.
“Rude.”
War hero or not, he was common stock. Prime noble-insult case for harsh reprisal.
Beyond ballsy—absurd.
“Guess the rumors skipped you.”
“……What?”
“Southern front's Valerius? Killed three nobles.”
The air iced over at those heavy words.
No one here was dim enough to miss the threat.
The now-shivering leader bolted for a carriage—guards, stat. Mad-dog hero gearing for violence.
“South front was rotten with corruption. Brass pigs stuffed themselves silly. Borrowed Elder Grant's clout. He hooked me up.”
Valerius fished out a medallion stamped with the royal seal.
Isolde went ghost-white.
“This lets you demand formal trials on noble graft.”
Undercover inspector badge, Korean-style. Different name here—he'd blanked on it.
Point was: it could grind even bedrock nobles down.
“Sure, dukes and marquises laugh it off. But you ain't passing for one right now?”
Duke's daughter meant status, not rule. Family perks, sure—but not the North's duke.
Valerius could raise hell with the badge. Duke house would squash it, but whispers would reach the capital.
“And my backup? Grant—ex-imperial mage, emperor's teacher. Knows his anti-graft zeal?”
“……Famous.”
Ma Tower elder. Ex-court wizard. Emperor's mentor. Rep for days. He buttressed the throne against noble bullshit.
Grant on the warpath? Baronies vaporized overnight.
Duke house had armies, but north front drained them dry.
“Oh, and crimson steel smuggling into the north past two years. Trade-banned stuff.”
“……”
Isolde ground her teeth.
Crimson steel: mana bomb fuel. Imperial lockdown.
Caught outside? Near-treason territory.
“How'd you know? No leaks possible.”
Spot on. Her lockdown was ironclad—only the duke and her knew.
Valerius? Original plot knowledge.
“C'mon, princess. We were cool. Mutual ignore, same road. No more noble drama for us.”
“……”
Her eyes flashed. His brow twitched. Whoa, cool as ice. Duke stock through and through.
Brainstorming escapes mid-pinch.
Time to peel. Push harder, real hornet's nest.
“Nice and easy, yeah? You know my soft spot.”
“No need to spell it. Hometown ties. Filial son rumors? Spot on.”
“Yup. Duke house crumbles? Rozanica and Mom go too.”
Knowing her dirt changed zilch.
Rozanica breathed because of the duke house.
Valerius's endgame: fix the north, chill peacefully with Mother Seria in Rozanica.
No villainess side quests, thanks.
“Lifelines gripped. Live and let live. Won't cross paths post-this.”
“Hah.”
Isolde barked a dry laugh at his gall. Glarred daggers, lips pursed, then rose.
“I'll heed your view.”
“Smart play. Yeah.”
Valerius smirked as she stalked to her carriage.
Villainess vibes? That death glare chased off monsters.