Chapter 135
Chapter 135
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 135
Chapter Title: Do You Know It's the Dead of Winter?
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135―――――
Do You Know It's the Dead of Winter?
"Sion Claussen."
Sion, who had been in the thick of berating the warriors while giving work orders, glanced down at the voice calling him.
He spotted Jan looking up at him from below, her eyes wide with quite some bewilderment.
"...What are you doing right now?"
"Can't you tell by looking?
I'm helping out because it feels like I'm about to get buried alive here."
". . ."
Jan glanced around furtively.
The moment she had appeared, every warrior had bowed their heads low, careful not to do anything that might irk Temuchin.
Yet this one man was carrying on with his tasks as if nothing was amiss.
Did he not know who she was?
No, that couldn't be.
Her own sister, Eos—the bane of Aigior—must have drilled it into him until her mouth went dry: beware Jan Temuchin, my sister.
He wasn't some clueless scatterbrain oblivious to the world, either. From the conversation he'd had with the Aigior side earlier, he clearly wasn't.
The sight of him handling the warriors so deftly, as if they'd been his limbs from the start, was something Jan hadn't anticipated at all.
"What are you complaining about now?"
It was already odd enough that he'd climbed onto the tent, but then he hopped down with practiced ease—landing neatly—and stood before Jan, muttering as much.
Thanks to that, she ended up face-to-face with him unintentionally and hurriedly rolled her eyes away, looking elsewhere.
"...You are a guest.
You didn't need to do this."
"For a guest to rest easy, don't you think the environment needs to be set up for it first?
One side's clearing snow, another's pitching tents, and somewhere else they're digging into the ground to sit.
With chaos everywhere, how could I possibly relax?"
Jan suppressed a laugh she hadn't expected at Sion's grumbling.
It wasn't so much that his words were amusing; it was just novel and surprising to hear him speak so casually right in front of her like this.
No one else could even stand before her without trembling in fear.
As Sion kept staring at her, Jan turned her head away bit by bit, only to let out an involuntary sigh at the sight around them.
Instead of warriors scattered about haphazardly clearing snow or pitching tents as usual, they were now working in pairs, pushing snow this way and that.
"...The warriors seem a bit off from their usual selves."
"I just told them clearing it fast means they can rest early, and wouldn't you know—they listened right up.
No matter where you go, getting soldiers to behave boils down to 'hurry up and rest deep.'"
As he muttered that, Sion noticed Jan was still looking away.
He felt indignant, wondering why this woman acted like that—whether his face was really so unbearable to look at in broad daylight.
'No, damn it.
She's from a barbarian tribe, but she doesn't look all that different from kingdom folk.
So what's so infuriating about this face of mine?'
Maybe they preferred the rough, rugged type like those warriors over there?
That could be. In this harsh, barren land, a guy who looked tough and could fight and work well probably topped the list over some pretty boy.
...Though the barbarian warriors didn't excel at much besides fighting, so maybe not.
"Temuchin."
". . ."
"Jan Temuchin."
"What."
"When someone's talking to you, can't you at least look them in the face for the conversation?"
"Is there no freedom in the kingdom to not look at someone's face?"
"Oh dear, does the North have some etiquette where you chat right in each other's faces without glancing at them?
I didn't know.
Well, excuse me."
Sion's words, laced with a slight taunt born of irritation, made Jan's eyebrow twitch for a split second.
The warriors gathered nearby tensed up even more, swallowing hard.
'What the hell is that crazy kingdom bastard saying!'
'We're dead.
We're all dead.'
'Taunting Temuchin without a shred of fear!'
If she were merely strong, the warriors wouldn't fear her so much.
Her skills were exceptional, her talent immense, but the real reason was her beastly nature—ferocious the instant her mood soured even slightly.
The young warriors just starting out might not know, but the veterans knew her legendary past in vivid detail.
She'd once wiped out an entire horde of hostile tribe warriors single-handedly, and when monsters raided the tribe, she'd beaten one to death bare-fisted—no armor—and dragged its corpse back.
Before the North's mightiest warrior, whose body was a living weapon, acting like 'come eat me up' with a dance was enough to spike everyone's tension.
"Sion Claussen."
The warriors huddled, wondering if she'd strike—debating whether to bolt from their spots.
"You are a guest.
There was no need for such actions."
"I told you already.
I want to rest without fuss, and I hate noise around me when I do.
Don't I need things sorted first to even think about resting?"
". . ."
Snow piled on his shoulders and head, his once-pristine clothes muddied and soaked through, a total mess.
As a guest, he could've just stood back with folded arms, watching—no issue at all. Yet this man from the kingdom's great nobility had chosen hardship for some reason, and he showed no sign of minding.
If it was an act, he was impressive; if genuine, even more so.
"Jan Temuchin."
At the voice calling her, the woman turned reflexively, and Sion swept his gaze around before speaking.
"Your subordinates look awfully uncomfortable. Do we have to stand here chatting like this?"
"...No, we don't."
He was suggesting they continue any sensitive talk away from prying eyes and ears.
Jan gestured for Sion to follow and led him to the commander's tent.
Sion nodded in understanding, then called out to Rishe, still clearing snow behind them.
"Rishe!
Hand that off and let's go."
"Yes!
Right away, my lord!"
The woman—an upper knight, no less—had met the wrong master and was shoveling snow.
Risikida, who had been diligently at it until just now, passed her shovel to a nearby warrior and scampered over to stand by Sion.
"By the way, Rishe."
"Yes, my lord."
"...You seem oddly excited?"
"D-Do I?"
When Sion eyed her questioningly, Risikida smiled bashfully and replied.
"I've never seen snow come down this hard before."
"Ah."
Sion nodded as if he understood.
For a girl from Nudia, a freak blizzard dumping like this in such a short time was no everyday sight.
Even Claussen only got light snow for a bit of winter mood—nothing like this, enough to bury a person.
"But, Rishe."
"Yes?"
"Don't like trash too much."
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"Snow. Snow.
I guarantee you, it's one of the top three nature's maddening things."
"I-Is that so?
Got it.
I'll keep it in mind!"
He didn't expect her to take it that seriously, but that was Sion's take anyway.
For the record, the other two he hated were rain-soaked fallen leaves and weeds sprouting everywhere.
―
"Come in."
Jan had led Sion to none other than her own tent.
A forbidden space no one but her could enter.
When a kingdom guest—not tribe leaders or warriors who'd followed her forever—went in, some grumbled, but most just worried for him.
'Will he be okay?
He's not coming out beaten to death, is he?'
She'd actually beaten a few cheeky warriors to death in the past.
In her mind, she'd held back for "educational" purposes, but a powerhouse who could take down upper knights effortlessly had destructive power way beyond expectations.
Plus, going into Jan's tent meant punishment for screwing up—nothing more, nothing less.
Everyone—chiefs and warriors alike—instinctively knew a summons inside spelled doom.
'There's that tribal law against laying hands on guests, though...'
'I don't want to clean up the body, Temuchin.'
Oblivious or not to the barrage of concerned stares, Sion entered the tent.
"Wait, hold on."
Jan, who'd gone in first, suddenly yelled. Then came a crash—something toppling over.
Moments later, shattering glass—waaang!—and a heavy thud—boom!
As time passed, a dragging rumble—drrrk!—and massive noise.
". . ."
"That last one sounded like weapons falling, my lord."
"That's what it sounded like to me."
"Maybe she's trying to kill you and botched it?
Suspicious.
That woman's highly suspicious!"
". . ."
Risikida's words suddenly made Sion uneasy.
True, 'Khan' Jan Temuchin often showed such savage sides in the novel.
Calm as a still lake usually, but if she sensed even a hint of disrespect—or judged something a threat to her tribe—she turned merciless beast.
At least with someone like Trisha, fiery about everything, you'd know what to expect.
But this woman played normal—cool but serious—then flipped a switch and became a walking bomb.
'No wonder her sister Eos publicly called her an unpredictable psycho bitch.'
Why were all the decent-personality characters so hard to find? Sion sighed.
To the point where even Lily seemed like a goddess of mercy.
"Y-You can come in now.
Sion Claussen."
"...Then, pardon the intrusion."
As he said it, Sion quietly warned Risikida beside him: 'If that woman pulls anything weird, don't fight—just grab me and run.'
Even Risikida couldn't guarantee victory in a duel against the one called 'Khan.'
'I should hand Risikida off to Kim Yuhyun soon.
And to use that guy effectively, I need friendly ties not just with the Khan but the Daughter of Winter too.
Makes exploiting Kim Yuhyun way easier.'
Thankfully, no weapons flew at him the moment he entered—pwak!
The tent inside was utterly ordinary—no peculiarities.
Just a table, five chairs, and neatly folded sleeping bags. That was it.
He was thinking, 'Huh, unexpectedly bare-bones personal tent,' when—
'...No, correction.'
Sion shook his head in dismay.
Deeper in, the 'real' scene emerged.
A crude wooden table lay flipped and shoved into a corner.
Behind it stuck out swords, spears, several daggers.
Even books scattered here and there—Sion didn't miss them.
'What was she hiding that for?
Some vital northern tribe intel?'
If those were secrets of the northern barbarians on that table, it made sense.
But oddly, instead of stashing them away properly—or tossing them into the portable stove smoldering inside—she'd swept them into one corner like kids cleaning a room.
What the hell with this woman?
The absurd scene begged the question, but Sion deliberately avoided looking that way.
He'd seen kids like this before—piling stuff in one spot when "cleaning"—and poking at it never ended well.
Especially when they acted casual, body screaming 'pretend you saw nothing,' and you went 'What's that? Huh?'—you'd catch hell.
Sion sat in a chair without sparing a glance at the pitiful pile.
Risikida stood quietly behind him, ready to guard.
". . .Hm."
Jan gripped the table, eyes averted again, humming as if deep in agonizing thought.
She'd called him, so she had to speak—but seemed at a loss for words.
"Um, Sion Claussen.
What I have to say is... well..."
Craaack!
A vicious snap, and the wooden table she'd gripped shattered.
She'd squeezed so hard the part in her hand tore right off.
". . ."
". . ."
". . .Ah."
...Ah, my ass—what the hell kind of 'ah.'
Staring at the crude log table in Jan's hand—something you'd need an axe to chop—Sion let out an incredulous laugh.
―――――――Author's Note―――――――
You'll get scolded if you don't recommend―