Night Spirit (1)
Rozanica was one of the warmer spots in the North Duchy, but that only held true for northerners. Even desert nomads who'd endured frigid nights in the sands struggled against the north's biting cold.
"How's it going?"
"Gonna take about a month to adjust, sir."
"That's quick."
Still, these guys had tough bodies to begin with, so they were adapting fast.
"More importantly, boss—what's the plan after the blizzard?"
The north had these blizzards called snowstorms that hit once per season. A raging wall of snow that cut visibility to a meter, lasting a full week. Naturally, humans, beasts, and monsters alike hunkered down in their holes without budging.
"What else? Clean 'em all out."
Which meant starved beasts and monsters rampaged everywhere once it ended. In the north, about thirty percent of casualties came from barbarians, and another thirty from post-blizzard monsters. A real headache.
"Fuck. If it weren't for the snow, I'd pave roads right now."
Thinking about the blizzard pissed him off. Without this goddamn snowstorm, he could've laid down roads and spread trade networks everywhere. The north would be way more livable.
"You think the central pricks would allow that? They'd lose their shit."
"Yeah, true."
Of course, the central nobles wary of the north's growing military might would make life hell. Valerius shook his head. This wasn't the time for chit-chat.
"How's the back alleys? Still ours?"
"Yep. Topsol Kill Gang's got it locked down. Everyone misses you, boss."
"Good enough. As long as no water trading or slaves."
The Topsol Kill Gang was the crew Valerius and his ragtag orphans had formed as kids. A legendary outfit that ballooned in numbers, expanded businesses, and unified the back alleys. The original goal? Grow it huge, ship members off to other northern cities to clean up their alleys. Crime rates would've plummeted.
Who knew nobles would team up with gangs?
Back then, with his medieval sensibilities lacking, he hadn't realized. Got burned hard in another city before figuring it out. Nobles were involved, so he'd half-given up on that angle.
"Oh, boss. Weird rumor from the neighboring city lately."
"What now."
"Slaves hitting the black market."
"Fucking lunatics."
Black markets existed everywhere. Practically a culture. He wasn't about to crack down, but the merchandise mattered. Drugs might circulate for medical use, but slaves? No.
Slavery wasn't outright illegal in the empire, but it was frowned upon like a bad habit.
"Slaves in the north? Total madmen."
The real issue? Northerners hated slaves. They made prime slaves themselves—tough stock. And after Valerius built insane influence in Rozanica's alleys, it got worse. Topsol Kill Gang raised hell; unless you had noble-level pull, no one touched slaves.
"Handle the rest."
"...You're going yourself?"
"Don't interfere. It's my line."
"When the hell you gonna stop with that bullshit?"
Slave talk in the city next to Rozanica? Couldn't ignore it. Probably tied to some noble. Sending underlings might complicate things. But with Valerius? Grant's protection meant he'd survive somehow. And going solo let him gauge without gang or noble bias.
...Time to cut the old man loose soon.
Not sever ties completely—just stop using him as a backer. He was paying debts now, but flip that, and who knew what leash it'd become. Hell, he was relying on Grant's backing right this second. Get comfy, and one day you'd wake up collared.
"What about the armor?"
"Gotta ditch it. Too flashy for strolling northern streets anyway."
"Boss without that liquid armor? You're just a squishy noob. What then?"
"Haha, I'll die trying."
Valerius chuckled at Raven's words.
"Anyway, new lining inside the armor. Leave it with the forge geezer."
"Forge geezer retired. Son's running it now."
"Fuck, that cheap bastard? Gonna drive me nuts."
As they bantered normally, Valerius's mind raced with suspects for the troublemakers.
Rozanica sat at the North Duchy's southern tip. Two nearby cities: one an iron mine, the other—Fillerbinker—where Valerius headed now.
Its redeeming quality? Quality conifers. The wood had a subtle gray heartwood—beautiful, tough, popular.
"Thanks for the ride."
"No problem, take care."
Valerius tipped the coachman, pulled his robe tight, and took in the city. Not Rozanica-big, but decent-sized. Unlike elsewhere, the north lacked scattered villages; folks clustered in cities. In harsh, cold lands, huddling was survival. No roads, tons of snow—small hamlets just isolated and died.
"Whoa, mommy."
"Ah, sorry."
He nearly bumped a waitress entering an inn. Glancing down, he saw a young Jo in tribe girl with feathers sprouting from her head.
The bubbly waitress craned her neck to see the giant before her. Golden eyes flashing, a long scar from left eye to mouth corner, brutal face.
"S-sorry!"
"Hmph."
She scurried off apologizing. Valerius shrugged. He was used to it—no big deal.
"Two beers, four sausage sets."
"A-any party with... Ah! Yes sir! Right away!"
He took a dim corner seat, raised a hand for the order. The waitress started to speak, realized something, shut up, and bolted to the kitchen.
Quick on the uptake.
Valerius: 193cm, 101kg, lean build. Bigger than north average, average for northern soldiers. But few scarfed four sausage sets—even giants. That calorie burn screamed mana or Aura user—a knight.
She'd pieced it together from his face and order. No point poking the bear, so she buried her curiosity and worked.
Perfect for him.
"H-here's your food..."
"Sit."
"P-peep...!"
Her face paled at his command. She glanced at the counter—her lookalike chef dad couldn't help.
"Not here to hurt. Just questions."
Ding. Ding.
He flicked two coins, chuckling at her rodent-like panic. She snatched them deftly, inspected instinctively.
"Peep!"
Then gasped at the shiny silver. Burning two million won on info? Shocking.
She tucked it carefully into her apron.
"What can I help with, handsome big bro?!"
"...Bright future ahead."
"No cuter girls my age around here!"
From trembling to bubbly in seconds. Medieval world: strong survived.
"You're a topsoller. I like it."
"...Dunno what that means, but compliment?"
"Fierce one-on-one warriors holding the top lane. Hmm, sausage is salty."
"Oh! Potatoes?"
"Nah. Sit. Your dad's quick—he'll bring 'em."
North's best perk: fridge-free cold beer. This inn's brew especially—sharp, potent bite.
"Know the black market?"
"Yup. Fetched poppy for Dad once."
"...Your dad needs replacing."
Empire banned it, but poppies stayed as staple meds. Best for short, hard pain/fever relief. Still, sending your kid to a dangerous black market? Deserved a scolding.
"Dad's nice. He was sick, no choice."
She teased, sensing his hot gaze on the chef. Valerius was just reading faces.
"Anyway, word is hot stuff hitting the black market lately."
"Hmm. Hm. Uh?"
She stroked her chin thoughtfully. Total old-man move—picked up from Dad. Suited the kid-old-soul vibe.
"Peep! Recently, Night Spirit Checholla appeared in the north."
"...Checholla?"
"Yes! Mercs caught it, selling on black market soon? Super secret! Secret!"
An ultra-rare night spirit in frigid north...?
"Hold up."
Checholla. Checholla. Mulling the name, Valerius's face twisted.
Know the heroines' powers in romance fantasies? Mostly healers, half spirits. Often both. Original work featured high spirits one heroine wielded.
And one was Checholla.