Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Declaration of War (3)
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Federback spurred his horse across the snowfield.
A white horizon indistinguishable from the sky stretched out endlessly.
This place, untouched even by the wind, was an utterly static space.
Were it not for the sound of hooves echoing from behind, one might have mistaken it for time frozen still.
His breath emerged as white vapor, dispersing into the air...
And it was swallowed by the endless silence, vanishing from sight.
"......"
Federback looked up.
The sky was a mix of white and gray.
Dark clouds were rolling in from beyond the mountain ridges, as if rain would pour down at any moment.
"To the forest."
Federback slightly turned his horse's head.
If rain came, heading into the forest would be better.
The knights, born and raised in the North, knew this fact well.
Soon, Federback's group entered the forest at the edge of the snowfield.
Tall conifers stood in dense ranks, slender and branchless.
Endless silence and solitude.
The snow-blanketed trees stood like inorganic objects, stripped of their colors.
The forest interior was achromatically still, oppressively quiet.
Twisted branches, like the skeletons of the dead, cast even more gaunt shadows than reality.
...Crack!
The sound of a branch snapping under the weight of snow.
Aside from that, no other sounds could be heard.
The occasional ice flakes drifting in from outside the forest felt like the final exhales of the deceased.
Rocks, withered bushes, gnarled tree bark, frozen animal carcasses, black and jagged leaves.
Federback led the knights through this gloomy, silent forest.
And the moment they exited the forest...
"Found them."
Federback spotted a group of soldiers passing over a white hill.
Houndred, riding alongside, spoke up.
"That's quite a number. Not a simple patrol. Looks like they're escorting an important figure..."
"Seems like the patriarch's guard."
As Federback said.
Behind the rangers were knights in heavy armor positioned separately.
They formed thick walls on either side of the procession, apparently to protect the man in the middle.
Soon, Federback spurred his horse toward the Frosange forces.
Right then.
One man at the front of the line turned to look their way.
Thwoong!
And without warning, he loosed an arrow straight at them.
Federback raised his shield to block it.
Thud!
The deflected arrow froze solid mid-air and plummeted to the ground.
The archer's eyes gleamed with interest.
Pew! Pew! Pew pew!
He kept firing arrows at Federback.
Not content with that, he even spurred his horse toward them.
Evidently trusting the other rangers arrayed on both flanks.
But.
"Shooting arrows right off the bat? Things are going smoothly."
Federback drew his sword from behind his shield.
His white horse charged toward the rangers.
The archer panicked and fell back, while the other rangers blocked the way.
Federback swung his sword sideways.
...Pew pew pew pew pew pew thwack!
Seven rangers floated up into the sky.
With only their necks remaining.
"Wh-what?"
The archer retreated in utter panic.
The heavy cavalry from behind rushed to save him, but it was already too late.
"So why'd you shoot first?"
Federback reached out his hand.
...Crunch!
The man, wheeling his horse to flee, was grabbed by the nape.
"W-wait a second!"
He flailed his hands desperately.
Thin, thread-like eyes with upturned corners.
He appeared to be in his mid-twenties.
"Sorry! Your procession looked so shabby, I thought you were bandits...!"
But before he could finish, Federback's sword moved.
The Dragon Fang Sword Adara severed his right wrist.
"Gaaahhh!"
The frozen stump prevented blood from spurting out.
But once it thawed, the entire cut surface would turn mushy, making reattachment impossible.
Federback casually tossed the wrist aside.
"Without a wrist, you won't go shooting arrows at just anyone. Hope this aids the Frosange family education."
Federback recognized the man's face.
His name was Pin Frosange.
The eldest son of the Frosange family.
Right then.
"Stop! What do you think you're doing?!"
A booming shout came from beyond the heavy cavalry that had closed in.
Where Federback looked was a middle-aged man with a long beard.
Serubreth Frosange.
This coldly impassive man, who seemed like he wouldn't bleed even if stabbed, was the head of the Frosange family.
Federback held his sword to Pin's throat.
"I'm Federback Meursault, eldest son of the Meursault House. Does firing first count as a declaration of war?"
Serubreth's expression hardened at Federback's bluntly direct manner, devoid of any circumlocution.
"Why is the Meursault heir here?"
"Answer my question first. Declaration of war?"
"......"
Serubreth furrowed his brow.
His son was held hostage right before his eyes.
And the Meursaults were, nominally at least, the lord house.
Serubreth swallowed his rising fury and took a step back.
"We have no intent to wage war, naturally. Seems there was a misunderstanding."
"Firing arrows at strangers on sight is a misunderstanding? Then I suppose cutting off this fool's wrist is one too?"
Federback shook Pin by the nape.
He was squeezing his eyes shut, sweating profusely to fend off the chill seeping to his bones through the severed stump.
Serubreth ground his teeth once before nodding.
"Indeed. A considerable misunderstanding, it seems."
"Then let's brush it off. Can't have discord between allies."
"......Understood."
Serubreth continued, glaring at Federback as if to kill him.
"With the misunderstanding cleared, send my son here. He needs treatment."
"Can't do that yet."
Federback cut off Serubreth's words sharply.
"I'm here to investigate a murder that occurred in Frosange territory. You lot, passing by the scene, will serve as witnesses."
"What nonsense? Murder?"
Serubreth feigned ignorance.
But Federback offered not a single word in response.
"Not knowing a murder in your own territory makes you either incompetent or cunning."
"......"
"I'll pray it's the former. Follow me."
Federback dragged Pin along, sword to his throat.
Pin tried to resist.
Thwack!
Federback's fist slammed into Pin's side, sending him tumbling off his horse.
"Twitch annoyingly once more, and the left wrist goes too. Got it?"
"......"
Pin nodded frantically, his face drained pale.
The smug, leisurely smile from before was nowhere to be seen.
Clank—
Federback fastened a dog collar around Pin's neck and yanked the chain.
"We're heading to the scene for investigation now. Follow."
Federback pulled the chain taut and turned his horse.
Serubreth shouted urgently.
"We know nothing of any murder! And more importantly, what insolence is this toward my son!? I said the misunderstanding is cleared!"
"Cleared is cleared. But I still deserve an apology."
"Didn't I apologize?!"
"You didn't apologize."
Serubreth momentarily fell silent at Federback's firm words.
True enough. He'd only admitted to a misunderstanding, not apologized.
Having never apologized to anyone in his life, he'd assumed he could gloss over it this time too...
"Until you give a proper apology, he'll beg forgiveness like this."
Federback showed no intention of releasing Pin.
As Serubreth followed behind, he spoke in a desperate tone.
"I'm sorry! As his father, I apologize instead! The boy is young and hot-blooded..."
"Hot-blooded enough to fire arrows willy-nilly at the lord house heir? Stay out of it, patriarch. I'll handle his northern-style family education today."
The fifteen-year-old Federback dragged the Frosange heir—nearly twice his age—like a dog.
Serubreth wanted nothing more than to draw his sword and slit Federback's throat right then, but Federback's blade was far closer to Pin's.
At that moment, Federback's gaze shifted to Serubreth's side.
There, a familiar-faced youth was riding awkwardly.
'Familiar face.'
Federback immediately asked.
"You there. Who are you?"
"Pardon? M-me?"
The singled-out youth floundered before glancing at Serubreth.
Serubreth turned away in irritation.
The youth finally spoke in a mosquito-wing buzz.
"Fr-from the Levarb House."
"Levarb? What's your relation to Viscount Bargo?"
"He's my uncle."
Only then did Federback recall where he'd seen the man's face.
Back during the hostage standoff at Levarb Castle.
Behind Viscount Bargo, who was gasping with a corkscrew in his neck, there'd been one scrawny wretch trembling.
The guy who'd met Federback's eyes, collapsed on the spot, and pissed himself.
The fool who'd begged for his life, claiming he was just a lowly servant.
Whether servant or not, he hadn't seemed worth killing, so Federback had ignored him.
Federback turned to Serubreth.
"Frosange and Levarb still seem close. Heartwarming."
"Enough drivel. Release my son. You think you'll get away with this unscathed?"
"......"
Federback pondered Serubreth's words briefly.
And then.
"Upon reflection, there is an issue."
"Of course there is! About time you realized. Release my son now...!"
"Don't use informal speech."
"...?"
Serubreth gaped blankly.
Federback tapped Pin's earlobe with his sword tip.
"Even a vassal patriarch must use honorifics with the lord house heir."
"What absurd—"
"One more short sentence, and this fool's ear gets shorter too."
"......Understood!"
Serubreth trembled, unable to contain his rage.
Regardless, Federback pressed the sword tip into Pin's back and spurred his horse onward.
Soon, the snowfield gave way to rugged cliffs stretching endlessly in columnar joints.
There lay churned snow and dirt, shattered wagon debris, and horse corpses strewn about.
It was the entry into Frosange territory.