The Contract (Part 7)
The barbarians, the Spearhead of the Snow Flower.
Despite their conspicuous, savage appearance, no one in the Empire truly understood where they had come from. The reason they could stroll into the Miltonia Empire Capital dressed as wild warriors was not because of some extraordinary infiltration technique.
I took deliberate, steady strides toward Vidar, who had frozen in his tracks.
“Hailing from Rokasenna Territory in the northeastern Empire. Born into civilization and raised as an imperial citizen, only to cast it all aside and claim to be a barbarian.”
“……”
A barbarian? What a joke. Vidar was an elite through and through. Sharp-witted and gifted with immense physical prowess, he was a man once prophesied to become a renowned imperial knight. Yet that very man had abruptly abandoned civilization to join a horde of northern savages. Even more absurd was the fact that the Spearhead of the Snow Flower had welcomed him with open arms.
“Hmm… Go on, then. Speak your piece.”
As I rattled off his personal history, Vidar folded his arms over his chest and peered down at me intently. Right, that ought to pique your interest. I had just laid bare secrets that no living soul in the Empire was supposed to know. Even if he wanted to tear my throat out, his curiosity would stay his hand.
“The war between the Empire and the barbarians hasn't been a matter of days or weeks,” I continued, keeping my voice level. “Yet doesn't it strike you as odd? You've clashed shoulder to shoulder for generations, yet only the barbarians have remained completely unchanged.”
The Empire and the barbarians had waged war for decades. Over such an expanse of time, one would expect the tribes to loot imperial armaments, study metallurgy, and adopt modern advancements, but the barbarians had never changed—not from start to finish. Surviving in such a primitive state was impressive in itself, but it was that sheer, stubborn consistency that cemented their identity as 'barbarians' in the public eye.
“At first, perhaps you truly believed you could overthrow the Empire. But the Empire grew far too colossal to manage. Toppling the throne and liberating your kin? That ship sailed a long time ago.”
The beastkin had already integrated into imperial society. Considering how other humanoid races like the elves and dwarves had been utterly eradicated, it was nothing short of a miracle. And the reason the beastkin had managed to survive and blend in was precisely because the barbarians existed.
“Honestly, even knowing how you pulled it off, I'm still amazed. Through your own actions, you forced the entire world to distinguish between civilized beastkin and savage barbarians.”
A barbarian was recognizable at a glance. Even if an imperial citizen flinched upon passing a beastkin in the street, no one mistook them for a bloodthirsty barbarian from the north. The distinction was that absolute. Of course, to the integrated beastkin, being flinched at in disgust was humiliating enough, but there was no denying that Vidar and his cohort had deliberately engineered that division. Furthermore, the imperial court had utilized integrated beastkin as counter-propaganda against the northern threat, widening the cultural rift even further.
So, what was the ultimate goal of these 'barbarians'—or rather, the people playing the role of barbarians?
“If you cannot defeat the Empire, you gather all their hatred and prejudice onto yourselves and perish with it. Isn't that the true mission of the Spearhead of the Snow Flower? Dividing the same race into polar opposites—integrated beastkin on one side, savage barbarians on the other—was all to ensure that at least one half could survive, wasn't it?”
I framed it as speculation, but it was lore already fully revealed in the game. The ultimate objective of the Spearhead of the Snow Flower was either the assassination of the Emperor or their own absolute annihilation. That was the only way to excise the festering wound between the two factions.
“So, how about it? Feel like stepping up to the negotiating table now?”
“Heh… Hahahahaha!”
Great Warrior Vidar roared with laughter. It was the boisterous, cruel laughter typical of a barbarian champion, booming across the clearing. Yet, just as quickly, the humor vanished from his expression, leaving only a cold, analytical stillness.
“I will not ask how you learned all this,” Vidar said, his voice dropping into a cultured, scholarly timbre. “I will ask only one thing: do you have a solution?”
“There is no such thing as a perfect solution. However, I can supply the final piece of your puzzle.”
What the Spearhead of the Snow Flower was doing was a double-edged sword. In the beginning, they were merely a faction honing their blades for bloody vengeance against the Empire. Over time, that vengeance had curdled into a desperate shield protecting the brethren who had settled peacefully within imperial borders. A battle fought solely for their kin. If total extinction was the price, they were prepared to pay it.
They threw their lives away to demonstrate that they were different from their assimilated brothers, but it was merely a stopgap measure. No matter how strictly they drew the line, they were still the same flesh and blood. Even if the ties between them frayed thinner by the day, severing them completely was impossible. Yet, one could make that thread so faint as to be invisible to imperial eyes.
And to achieve that, the Great Warrior desired only one thing.
“I will prepare your destined adversary,” I said, gesturing to my side. “Right here—Lady Ariel.”
A fellow beastkin who would take his life before the eyes of the world. Precisely. Having an imperial beastkin slay the terrifying chieftain of the barbarians—that was the best conclusion Vidar had ever devised. Playing the barbarian had stripped him of any fear of death. In fact, his grand design had been premised on his own demise from the very start.
“This child is far from ready,” Vidar remarked, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated her. “She is far too weak.”
Even with such a scheme laid out, its feasibility was dubious at best. Vidar was simply too strong. He could throw the fight, sure, but that would only sow suspicion as to why the Empire's mightiest knights had never been able to put him down before. He had to survive against the Empire at the head of his horde, and then fall convincingly to one of his own blood. What was more, he had to play the villain condemned by a hero in the most spectacular fashion possible, witnessed by all mankind. Staggeringly grueling requirements.
“As she is now, certainly,” I conceded. “But give me three years, and I will raise her into someone capable of claiming your head.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Lady Ariel is the daughter of Tronios Aether himself.”
“That proves nothing,” Vidar countered coldly. “Tronios Aether could simply be an anomaly. In fact, among all the past heads of House Aether, not a single one possessed power rivaling the current Duke.”
Having discarded his barbarian mask, Vidar analyzed the situation with razor-sharp lucidity. Clearly, he had investigated the Empire's military assets down to the marrow.
“Then how about this? Ariel is already poised to step into the realm of an Archmage.”
“Your proof?”
“Because I'm the one who halted her transcendence. Right now, her physical vessel cannot endure her talent, so I placed a seal on it.”
I tacked on a plausible excuse. For some reason, the universe had conspired so that my survival depended entirely on curing Ariel's illness.
“If you think I'm spouting nonsense, go look up the research papers on the cure for Transcendence Sickness submitted to the academic society when you return.”
“Hmm…”
Vidar's societal identity in the Empire was that of a scholar. It might sound absurdly reckless, but who on earth would connect the image of a mild-mannered academic with a savage barbarian warchief? He didn't even need a mask for the disguise to be foolproof.
“Very well. It is a deal,” Vidar said smoothly. “I never intended to slaughter you to begin with, so I lose nothing.”
Lying bastard. The strike he had swung at Ariel earlier would have killed her on the spot if it had connected cleanly. He would've just shrugged and claimed she wasn't strong enough to survive. Then again, maybe exterminating us wasn't his primary intent; his challenge to a duel pointed to that. Had he truly wanted us dead, he could have ordered the entire horde to overrun us from the start.
“...So there you have it,” I said, turning to the girl beside me. “Lady Ariel, you can manage that, right?”
“Um, Sir Yohan? To be completely honest, I haven't understood a single word of what you two were talking about, and my head is spinning...”
No wonder she stayed quiet while I was passionately negotiating with Vidar. She just had no clue what was happening.
“The lady says she understands,” I declared without missing a beat.
“...I find that exceedingly hard to believe,” Vidar muttered, his brow twitching.
“Then I swear upon the honor of Damus County. Within three years, Lady Ariel will grow formidable enough to strike you down.”
My father hadn't officially authorized that wager, but it hardly mattered. If the pact fell through, Vidar would turn Damus County into a sea of fire anyway, oath or no oath. He had told me to give it everything I had. I definitely hadn't sold out our county. Nope, not at all.
“What do you say?”
“……”
Vidar scrutinized me in silence for a long moment, then spun around on his heel and bellowed toward the gathered horde.
“Gwahaha! Victory is ours! There is no honor in slaughtering pitiful cowards groveling for their miserable lives! Come! We withdraw, my brothers!”
Vidar had even fabricated an excuse for my cowardice so my face would be spared. The contract was officially sealed.
Only then did the strength abandon my legs, and I collapsed onto the grass. Beside me, Ariel, who had already crumpled earlier, blinked at me in dazed bewilderment.
“Uh, um… Sir Yohan, you saved my life, right?”
“Yes, that's right.”
“You saved me again. Hehe.”
“Though it comes with a three-year expiration date.”
Watching Ariel beam happily at me, I let out a long, weary sigh. I could bet my life on it: she still didn't have the faintest clue what had just transpired between Vidar and me. She's supposed to be a magical prodigy... Or is her head just full of flowers and sunshine?
“In any case, since I survived, we're still having dinner together, right?” she asked sweetly.
As I managed a wry smile, my father came sprinting toward me in a sheer frenzy. Took you long enough, Father. The curtain's already fallen.
“Yohan!”
“Yes, Father. I'm unharmed.”
“Just how pathetically did you grovel for that monster to spare our lives?!” Count Damus thundered, shaking his fists. “You disgrace to our family name!”
“We're alive, aren't we?”
“You are the treasure of our family!”
Classic Father. Flipping stances faster than turning over a hand.
To love. For some, it is as effortless and natural as breathing; for others, it is something to be guarded against with one's very soul.
At least, such was the case for Tronios Aether. He had fallen in love in an ordinary manner, and he had even married.
It had begun in a quiet beastkin village. While traveling, he had knocked on the door of a modest cottage merely to ask for a cup of water, and there Tronios Aether met his destiny. He resolved the troubles plaguing the settlement, forging a profound bond with its people. On that day, he had made a promise.
“You… you promised you would make my daughter happy…”
Courteous, customary words. Yet in that fleeting moment, they had been born of absolute sincerity. Over time, that sincerity had faded. No, it had been forcibly ground into dust.
“I wanted to,” Tronios replied softly.
“...You killed my kin. And you are killing them still.”
“I merely struck down barbarians who posed a threat to the Empire.”
“Kh-kh…! As if you did not know! Does covering your eyes make it unseen? Who, then, lies before your eyes right now?!”
“……”
“I was once a beastkin belonging to civilization, but now I have fallen into the spearhead of the barbarians.”
Tronios Aether had thoroughly subdued his assailants. He was the sole figure left standing; every beastkin warrior who had ambushed him lay broken on the floor. Not only that, but not a single piece of furniture in the room had been disturbed. Such was his overwhelming supremacy—a master capable of handling an entire squad of elite fighters while keeping the surrounding room completely untouched.
Aiming his staff at the bloodstained old man collapsed on the ground, Tronios spoke evenly.
“It is over.”
“You are merely running away… you coward…”
“You are right.”
Emperor Abraham had learned that Tronios Aether had taken a beastkin as his wife and seized upon it as a fatal weakness. That was why the monarch had thrust him to the absolute vanguard of the war against the northern tribes. Tronios had killed so many. Among the fallen was once a young man who had warmly blessed his marriage in that quiet village. Had that youth left the settlement and joined the Spearhead of the Snow Flower? At the time, Tronios had lacked the luxury to ponder such connections. He had only been made to feel, to his very marrow, that he had slaughtered a human being.
Not a barbarian. A person.
Walking across a battlefield drenched in madness, his thoughts had only grown sharper.
“I placed my house and your people on the scales.”
“And on that scale you weighed… was my daughter not part of your house?”
“She was.”
“Then why…?”
“Because I was never the one holding the scales,” Tronios whispered. “I merely deluded myself into believing I was their master.”
Tronios Aether had been unable to be at his wife's side when she passed. Even knowing she was critically ill, he could not return. Emperor Abraham had forcibly driven him to the frontlines. Defiance was impossible; disobedience would have seen House Aether reduced to ash. He had no choice but to choose the lesser evil.
By the time he finally returned to the capital, hearing of his wife's death only through the mouths of strangers, he was granted no time to grieve before being summoned to an imperial audience.
“Duke Aether.”
“...Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Do you resent me?”
“……”
“You may resent me all you wish. But know this: such is the burden of the authority you carry.”
On that day, speaking in the quiet shadows of the throne room, the Emperor had told him:
“Everything you love will become your weakness. That is the nature of the pedestal we occupy. You simply lack the power to protect what is dear to you.”
“……”
“Do you think I am any different? You know full well how many people perish each day within this imperial palace. That is why I give my heart to no one.”
“Are you telling me that I must do the same?”
“You have just witnessed firsthand what happens when you do not.”
“……”
“Do not love. No matter how peerless a mage you may be, what you can truly protect amounts to nothing more than a handful of dust.”
The Emperor was cruel.
“Yet, if you cannot help it… never display that affection for as long as you live. Keep what is precious as far from you as possible, so that packs of hyenas like me cannot circle them.”
Tronios knew those words were spoken merely to humble the prestige of House Aether at the Emperor's whim. Yet he could not bring himself to refute them. The stronger he grew, the more renowned his name became, the more his loved ones—not himself—became targets. He had already learned that bitter truth through the searing agony of the battlefield.
He still stood upon the battlefield. Even now, and for all his days to come. So long as he bore the colossal mantle of House Aether, his fate was to live his entire life amidst war.
“Therefore, I must choose,” Tronios said, his voice cold and resolute. “And it is painfully clear what I must cut away among the things I love.”
“Heh… Hahahahaha! Yes, so that is how it is… Then so be it. Cut the breath from my kin and me.”
“Yes. Please, curse me to your heart's content. I must slaughter you all to protect my daughter and what little remains of my family.”
“Tell me just one more thing,” the old man wheezed, his eyes dimming. “What did you do with my daughter's body?”
“...I could not build her grave within the ducal estate.”
“Then where did you lay her to rest?”
“Where one can look out upon a beautiful lake.”
And in a place overlooking that lake, he had built a villa. Right here.
“I see… So that is why you fought to protect this place…”
The old man closed his eyes quietly. Tronios did not even need to deliver the finishing blow. As if his lifespan had simply run out, the elder quietly drew his final breath.
“……”
Tronios Aether raised his head and gazed out the window. Though the villa had been battered by the skirmish, the lake outside remained tranquil and breathtaking.
“You…”
Near that lake, he saw the silhouette of Great Warrior Vidar. Tronios had noticed his arrival long ago. He had even prepared to intervene mid-clash. Yet someone had moved before he could. A boy who, much like himself, was a coward at heart.
“Yet you stepped forward nonetheless.”
In Yohan, Tronios Aether saw a reflection of himself. A soul who hesitated even to form ties with others out of sheer terror of loss. Surely, Yohan was that kind of person…
“Then it will be fine.”
And with that, Tronios Aether decided the conclusion to this affair.
“I shall push you forward.”
Yohan would not escape this marriage.