Chapter 175
Chapter 175
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 175
Chapter Title: Blizzard Howls
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Awooooooo……
"Good grief! These wolf pups sure are persistent."
A hunter living in a small hamlet near the snow mountains clicked his tongue as he tossed more firewood into the hearth, hearing the wolves' cries carried on the wind.
The wolves of the snow mountains were tough and tenacious enough to cross three or four peaks even in the dead of winter, but even they would hole up in their dens during days-long blizzards like this.
"It's been three days already, so the wolves must be going stir-crazy too, huh? Any idea when this weather will break?"
"Should be better by tomorrow morning, sir."
The hunter bowed subserviently to the young man draped in a cloak made of beast fur.
He wasn't cowed by the skinny half-orc youth's brute strength—even if the hunter didn't know swordplay, his own raw power held up anywhere.
It was because of the mercenaries glaring daggers from beside him.
*Who does this noble think he is? Crazy enough to come monster hunting in this weather?*
The half-orc youth was some great scion of a noble house who'd come to the snow mountains to build his fame.
He'd brought mercenaries along to this infamous northern spot—the most treacherous terrain teeming with roamers—for his knightly exploits.
But like nine out of ten young knights who came here for the same reason, this half-orc youth had charged in blindly, giving no thought to the fickle weather or harsh wilderness.
As a result, he'd been holed up in the hunter's cabin for three days straight, doing nothing but scarf down food.
*No skin off my back. Got the advance pay already. Roll 'em around the mountains for half a day tomorrow, and they'll tire themselves out.*
The hunter smirked inwardly while keeping an eye on the mercenaries the half-orc had brought.
Greenhorn knights like this were prime money-makers this time of year—what folks called easy marks.
Awooooooo…!
At the renewed howl, the hunter snapped out of his thoughts and looked up.
"Hmm? Hey, hunter. Doesn't that wolf howl sound a bit closer?"
"Uh… yeah, it does. But that shouldn't be possible."
As the hunter tilted his head, the mercenaries—faces flushed from booze to fend off the cold—bellowed.
"We've got ears too, you con artist."
"C-Con artist?"
"You said monsters don't move in this weather. So what's that howling?"
"W-Well…"
The mercenaries snorted derisively at the frightened hunter, then turned to the half-orc youth.
"Sir Maxen, looks like wolves have come down this far. How about we shove this con ahead and bag one quick?"
"Hmm. Should we?"
"No need wasting time, right? Blizzard's bad, but sunset's still hours off—we can handle it."
"Sir Maxen, you need roamer kills to join Duke Bartla's army. What if Tollo's warriors head to the vanguard tomorrow? You must join the vanguard for your house's honor."
"It's the glorious subjugation of the wicked Vampire Demon King! You have to get in the vanguard and show off your valor!"
"Hmm! You're right!"
Maxen, who'd been stroking his blunt molars, shot to his feet. The mercenaries cheered.
Everything south of the snow mountains was wealthier than the north at least, and even as a collateral branch, tagging along with a Tollo house member in the vanguard promised them riches and fame.
Thud thud!
"Excuse me! Mind if we come in?"
"Huh!?"
The mercenaries and hunter yanked out their weapons at the voice from outside.
"Wh-Who's there?"
"We came to hunt in the snow mountains but got lost. Open up, and we'll share some of our kill. Just need a warm fire and some booze."
Maxen nodded to the fidgeting hunter, who cracked open the door.
Creeeeeeak!
"Thanks."
Six men piled in amid the skin-nipping gale.
Maxen and the mercenaries eyed the uninvited guests warily, weapons at the ready. Their eyes bulged at the massive wolf corpses the newcomers dropped.
"Huh? Guests already. Nice to meet you, friends."
The lead man flipped back his sodden hood with a greeting.
His hood covered below the nose, but his strikingly pale skin and ruby-red eyes stood out on the young face.
But Maxen and the mercenaries couldn't tear their gazes from the huge wolf corpses his companions had just set down.
"Uh, nice to meet you. You folks catch those?"
"Yep. Hey, as promised, give one to these gentlemen here."
"Yessir. Lo-Lord Darktooth."
"Darktooth?"
"…My baby teeth were kinda dark. Family servants still slip up sometimes."
"Ah! Got it. So, which house are you from, sir? I'm Maxen. Volka Tollo Maxen."
In the north, only nobles deeply tied to the seven orc houses had molar-related nicknames and brought along servants.
So Maxen eagerly emphasized his Tollo lineage.
"You're Sir Maxen! What a pleasure."
The red-eyed 'Darktooth' paused briefly in surprise, then pulled down his hood.
"Eugene of the Yan house. Eugene Tollo Yan."
Eugene flashed a grin, pairing his hasty nickname with a hasty alias.
* * *
"Ah, so that's why you're out on knightly deeds even in this weather."
"Yep. And looks like you and I are in the same boat, Sir Darktooth Yan. Though mine's closer to true Tollo blood, of course. Haha!"
Maxen laughed heartily, clinking cups with Eugene like old pals.
And rightly so—they had much in common.
Both distant Tollo collaterals from obscure houses with slim prospects.
Both eager to rack up monster or beast kills to prove their prowess and snag vanguard spots.
So when this fellow Tollo in the same straits offered up a gray wolf willingly…
Maxen couldn't help but be thrilled and grateful.
Plus, the guy had orc blood but an elf father, so his orcish features barely showed—which Maxen loved.
Tollo prized bloodlines fiercely; half-orcs got a pass, but elf-mixed mongrels got no warrior status.
Meaning the 'Darktooth' before him had a birth defect barring vanguard rivalry.
"Folks like us gotta help each other, right? Come on, down the hatch, Sir Maxen."
"Hahaha! You got it!"
The guy's oblivious, dopey grin was icing on the cake.
"You lot, drink up—no need to hold back. We're vanguard mates anyway, right?"
"Ooh! Thank you, Sir Darktooth!"
"We'll never forget noble Yan house! Uhahaha!"
Maxen's mercenaries grinned wide, faces beet-red from drink.
The servants—who'd been toasting with them—glanced nervously at Lord Darktooth and spoke up hastily.
"Hey, our lord doesn't like that childhood nickname. Call him by his proper name."
"Why? Darktooth rolls right off the tongue. Haha!"
"Yeah, and those teeth look pearly white now."
With the guy's house seeming low-rent and booze flowing, the mercenaries' jabs escalated.
"W-Well…"
The fidgeting servants.
Lord Darktooth, who'd been watching them quietly, finally spoke.
"Quit meat, and the teeth go back to normal. So my servants stopped too after that."
"…!?"
The servants' faces crumpled like the world had ended.
"No way? For real? These guys really went meat-free? Not a bite?"
"Of course it's a joke."
"…!!!"
As the servants' dashed dreams reignited and their jaws slackened…
"But might be meat-free for a month. House finances are tight."
Eugene, who'd dressed his human-form Beowulf warriors as servants, enlightened them to the world's harshness (or rather, his own pettiness). He turned to blinking Maxen.
"Anyway, sir. Our house is such a distant branch in the sticks, I don't know much. Mind filling me in on the main Tollo house? Don't wanna embarrass myself in the vanguard."
"Ah! Leave it to me. Can't let a noble knight like you suffer for a humble house. Haha!"
Maxen puffed up, eagerly spilling all he knew about Tollo.
No way he'd make vanguard anyway—sharing info was no biggie.
"Oho! I see. Hmm, gotcha. Ah, so that's it? Wow."
With a wolf meant for roasting and a few silver coins, Eugene gleaned useful intel. Satisfaction curved his lips.
* * *
"Take care! See you in the vanguard! Thanks again, Sir Yan!"
"No need to say it. Safe travels."
Eugene waved as Maxen and his mercenaries strutted off with the wolf carcass slung over their shoulders. He turned sharply.
Romari and Galpredic, who'd kept hoods down low because of Maxen's crew, finally showed their faces.
"Whew! Nearly suffocated."
"Hm? Lady Romari, weren't you asleep?"
"Huh? W-What? When?"
"Kiee? Saw you snoring like a log, hood and all—liar!"
Even the spirit monitoring from the leather pouch chimed in snarkily. Romari flushed crimson and yelled.
"Quiet."
Eugene silenced the ever-sniping mage, familiar, and spirit, then addressed the group.
"Thanks to that half-orc, we got good info. Let's move out."
"Right. But is that guy for real? Even orcs got more guts than brains, but that many doing something so insane?"
Galpredic, adept in swordplay and tactics alike, cocked his head.
Eugene, battle-hardened, nodded in agreement.
"Suspicious to me too. But we gotta check. If Maxen's right, smash 'em. If not, leave 'em."
"Fair. Even if less than fifty charge in, Randolph and Edmund can mop up."
"Eh, not sure they'll even get that far."
Maxen's chatter was shocking on multiple fronts.
The Baiman Orcs—who'd so boldly declared war—still lacked proper command structure.
Tollo house—the most belligerent and powerful of the seven tribes—could muster under fifty warriors total.
Even scraping every pure orc warrior, mixed-blood soldier, and hireable merc from the seven tribes, they'd barely half-match Eugene's forces.
Most absurd: short-lived orcs with zero experienced in crossing snow mountains.
"Orc pups planning shaman magic to cross?"
"Hmm."
Galpredic's sharp point made Eugene turn to Romari after a think.
"Romari. Without Beowulfs, what would've happened in the snow mountains?"
"Frozen stiff."
"Thought so. What if magic?"
"Flame-school mage risking life might manage. Assuming solo survival."
"Exactly…"
"Yeah. Humans can't cross. You and Sir Galpredic handle cold as vampires. Need at least Beowulf-thick fur to retain heat."
Precisely.
That's why Eugene ditched mercenaries and knights, bringing only thick-furred, sturdy Beowulf familiars like Galpredic.
Even then, they'd barely crossed via a route a local hunter—paid handsomely in gold—knew from generations of family lore.
And that hunter said even he wouldn't try this season.
Thus: current snow mountains were uncrossable save for undead like vampires or top-tier beastkin like Beowulfs.
"Orc scum'll freeze mid-crossing."
The Baiman Orcs' ridiculous end was plain as day.
"Kieeet!? Pigs freeze? Wait, one of my upstream seniors raved about frozen pork belly tasting killer!"
"Frozen… what? Spirits roam what countries? Pork's killer, sure."
"Yeah, but orc meat's iffy."
Of course, these food-obsessed idiots were even more ridiculous.
(To be continued)
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