Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: Counter-Pursuit (1)
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Furosange soldier Hassadin.
He stood guard at the front gate of the fortress with a bored expression on his face.
"Yawn—"
Hassadin let out a long yawn and promptly closed his eyes.
Whether his eyes were open or shut, the scenery straight ahead never changed.
Vast snowy plains, a white horizon, scattered flurries of snow, a gray sky.
Today, like always, he stood at the front gate, wondering only when his watch would end.
'After my shift, some fermented herring with that vodka I stashed away last time...'
Right then.
Whiiiiiing...
A foul stench rode in on the cold northern wind.
The unmistakable reek of unwashed men who hadn't bathed in days.
Hassadin wrinkled his brow and turned his head.
Soon enough, a ragged band of beggars emerged from beyond the white horizon.
Grimy faces caked with dried dirt and blood, clad in tattered rags.
Hassadin raised his bow to shoo them away.
"Scram— get lost, you filth. Do you even know where this is that you're begging..."
But he couldn't finish his sentence.
"Open the gates. Now!"
The man at the front of the beggar procession was none other than...
Serubret Furosange, patriarch of the Furosange house.
Crunch—
Serubret ground his teeth as he sat before the roaring fireplace.
Federback—that bastard—had killed half their horses, delaying their return march.
With too few mounts, most of their core ranger force had been left behind in the wilderness, and retrieving them would take twice as long.
To make matters worse, their reduced numbers on the way back had drawn monster attacks.
But amid the chaos, there had been a small gain: regenerating his eldest son Pinin's right hand.
It had been worth the steep price to recruit that mage.
"Damn it!"
Serubret slammed his fist on the table.
Boom—crash!
The hefty stone table shattered into pieces.
Meanwhile, Pinin sat before him.
"......"
His narrow, slitted eyes flashed with bloodshot fury.
He flexed his newly regenerated right hand repeatedly, as if still getting used to it.
Serubret spoke.
"We have to hunt that bastard down and kill him. No matter what it takes, we'll avenge this humiliation."
"Father, he knew from the start. He wouldn't have acted like that unless he was certain we were behind it."
"That's what's so strange. How did he find out? Our rangers' movements were supposed to be covert."
"Father, give me fifty rangers and three hundred soldiers. I'll make sure he dies."
"That won't do. I'll lead the sortie myself. We'll show them the might of Furosange."
Serubret called for his adjutant.
A veteran knight with a long beard stood at attention by his side.
"As you commanded, preparations for deployment are complete. Just give the order, and we'll begin the pursuit immediately."
"Not yet. We haven't received her prophecy."
"Her... you mean...?"
A flicker of displeasure crossed the knight's face, but it vanished quickly.
Serubret, oblivious, continued.
"Shedioldis. Has her prophecy come yet?"
"She hasn't left her room."
"Damn it. This is taking too long."
Shedioldis.
She was the mage Serubret had summoned as an advisor.
A few days prior, she had performed the miracle of fully regenerating Pinin's severed right wrist, earning her immediate guest status in the Furosange household.
She had long served as Serubret's advisor with her dubious schemes and arcane magic, but now she even acted as his spiritual mentor.
The Furosange veteran knights didn't seem fond of it, but Serubret paid no mind.
Serubret asked the knight.
"While I was away, did Shedioldis leave any particular instructions?"
"She ordered us to establish a beacon network for close communication with the outposts."
"As expected. I knew she'd foreseen this crisis."
Serubret clenched his fists tightly.
The Furosange were merely a minor martial house in the North.
But Serubret harbored ambitions.
To elevate Furosange to a great house that could rival those in the central regions, using Shedioldis's esoteric strategies.
And from there, to forge his own kingdom.
Serubret turned to Pinin.
"Pinin, go to the tower where Shedioldis resides. Ask her when we should deploy to crush that insolent Meursault whelp."
"Will the mage open the door?"
"Knock until she does. But whatever you do, don't be rude. Mages are especially prickly sorts."
"Understood."
Pinin rose from his seat at once.
He twirled his newly grown right wrist as he left the room.
The veteran knight said to Serubret.
"Patriarch, we've already lost too much time. We can kill that Meursault brat with our own forces. Do we really need the mage's counsel?"
"Don't be ridiculous. She possesses mystical powers."
"But blindly following an outsider who's only recently joined Furosange..."
"Enough. Are you more versed in magic than she is? If not, say no more. I've decided to trust her."
"......"
The knight shut his mouth.
Serubret fell silent as well.
Crackle—crackle—crackle—
The only sound in the patriarch's office was the firewood burning in the hearth.
Soon after.
"Father!"
Pinin returned from the secluded tower.
Whatever he had seen and heard, his face was flushed red, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"She approved the march! The Meursault scum haven't left Furosange territory yet! She said they're probably fighting monsters right now!"
"Perfect!"
Serubret shot up from his chair.
He strode out of the office, bellowing down the corridor.
"To arms!"
At the same moment, shadows melted into motion from the darkness.
The crimson sunset scattered ashes across the entire white horizon.
Darkness licked down the mountainside.
Swish-swish-swish-swish—
Furosange's elite rangers pursued their prey.
Pinin, at the forefront, gleamed with murderous intent through his slitted eyes.
"I'll kill him no matter what."
Whenever he closed his eyes, Federback's face—that bastard he yearned to slaughter—haunted him.
The moment his wrist was severed and he was leashed like a dog and dragged along replayed as a nightmare every night.
"I'll kill him with my own hands. I'll hack off his limbs, collar him like a mutt, and parade him around. I won't forgive him. Never."
Two hundred rangers followed in Pinin's wake.
Their horses were all black-coated, with bits in their mouths and thick cloths wrapped around their hooves to muffle sound.
Swish-swish-swish—
They glided through the coniferous woods and charged across the snowy plains.
Soon, a frozen wasteland of rolling hills came into view.
Once an ocean.
A landscape where surging waves and towering swells had frozen solid into hills and mountains.
Regular cavalry would slow drastically here, but Furosange rangers were unaffected.
"Found it. Their tracks!"
Pinin spotted the prey's traces even before their seasoned scouts.
He wasn't Furosange's eldest son for nothing.
Pinin eyed the half-buried pile of ashes in the snow.
They'd tried to cover it with snow, but too shallowly—half-burnt logs protruded, rolling in the wind.
"Heh heh heh— if you wanted to erase tracks, you should've done it properly, you fools."
Pinin followed the campfire trail.
Soon, something appeared at the base of a low hill.
Hard to spot against the white snowfield, but definitely tents.
A dozen or so makeshift tents of thick white cloth dotted the hillside base.
Pinin's eyes lit up with ecstasy.
'Federback, you rat! Camping right here!'
Deep into the night.
A defenseless encampment.
Enemies exhausted from grueling marches, dead asleep.
What easier prey could there be?
Pinin barely suppressed a cheer of triumph.
'Hold back. Even a stone bridge needs testing before crossing.'
He itched to charge down with his dagger and plunge it into a sleeping bastard's chest.
But that would defeat the purpose of a night raid.
'Better to be thorough.'
Pinin decided on a volley of arrows first.
Then scour the camp and finish off any survivors.
"Loose."
Pinin commanded.
The rangers instantly raised their bows.
Fwippfwippfwippfwippfwippfwipp!
Countless arrows thudded into the tent walls.
Pinin issued further orders.
"Keep firing! Don't stop until you're out of arrows!"
Now that the ambush was underway, stealth was unnecessary.
The rangers advanced, unleashing volleys of thick iron arrows.
Soon, the enemy camp came into full view, bristling with arrows.
Pinin grinned wickedly.
"Search the tents now. Capture any alive. Though who could survive this arrow storm..."
The Furosange rangers drew daggers and prowled through the arrow-riddled field.
Initially cocky and triumphant.
But soon, their faces stiffened.
"Young master, the tents are empty."
"What?"
Pinin's expression flipped.
He yanked open the flap of one tent, face grim.
Empty inside.
Not even a ground cloth—just crudely erected poles and scraps of fabric. No tent meant for habitation.
'Wh-what? A trap?'
Cold sweat beaded on Pinin's brow.
But he quickly regained composure.
"Ridiculous. Thirty-four men digging traps? We number over two hundred. Whatever pit they've set won't matter..."
Then, Pinin noticed something.
A white canvas wall twitched unnervingly.
Heave—heave—heave—
From the rearmost tent, something thrashed violently.
"?"
Pinin approached dagger in hand.
Whoosh—
He flung open the fabric door.
Something was inside.
[Kyaaak!]
A centipede the size of a massive python, chained in iron.
Manacles and chains around its neck wound tightly around large stakes driven into the tent floor.
Dozens of arrows from the Furosange rangers pierced its body, green blood dripping, emitting a foul, acrid stench.
"......! ......! ......!"
The agonized centipede writhed from the arrow wounds.
Pinin and the rangers paled instantly.
"F-Frozen Horror..."
The northern rangers knew what it was.
Frozen Horror.
......One of the ancient lords that once ruled the eternal tundra.
......The king of the ice lowlands, feasting on Yetis and Sasquatches.
......A colossal, savage primordial beast that even ice dragons shunned once fully grown.
And the centipede before them was one such monster's offspring.
And.
[Kya—ooooooo!]
Frozen Horrors were infamous for their terrifying maternal instincts.
How deep?
Rumble—rumble—rumble!
Deep enough to come sprinting from dozens of kilometers away at the cry of its suffering young.