Chapter 13
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 13. The Wolf's Fangs
History is the record of the victor. It is the sophistry of the survivor.
The dead have no words, and the loser has their tongue pulled out.
Then, between a cowardly victory and an honorable defeat, that the former is overwhelmingly superior is a self-evident truth that even a three-year-old child can know.
"A monster."
Ulfric Grombalt believed in precisely that cowardly victory.
The arena paved with hard ice was hideously cracked. The black armored knight standing in the center.
That monster, not content with crushing Brynjolf with his bare hands, even toyed with Freya, who is called the North's greatest talent.
Round 1.
Brynjolf. Winter Boar. Living legend of the North.
That Brynjolf was knocked out in a single blow.
Just one punch.
Kwaang!
That dull sound was still stuck in Ulfric's mind.
The sight of Brynjolf's massive body flying and crashing into the wall. The sight of the heavy mass writhing but unable to get up.
'Brynjolf was…… evenly matched with me.'
No, speaking honestly, Brynjolf might be slightly stronger.
Looking at pure physical strength alone, there was no one in the North who could beat Brynjolf.
Defeating such a Brynjolf in one blow. And with bare hands at that.
'Crazy.'
Round 2 was even more terrible.
Freya was defeated in a wreck.
Half-cut red hair. Blood-covered face. Torn armor. Broken twin swords.
The back of his niece exiting in a miserable state.
'That bastard is…… a psychopath.'
It is definitely so.
A pervert who enjoys making a mess of women. A monster with a hobby of toying with beautiful girls.
Otherwise, there is no way he would do such a thing.
The conclusion was clear.
A head-on confrontation is suicide.
"……Give up?"
A low laugh leaked from Ulfric's mouth.
"That cannot happen."
Then, there is only one remaining conclusion.
Wolves do not fight like lions. Wolves do not compete in strength like bears.
Wolves form packs, aim for the back, bite weaknesses, chase until exhaustion, and cut the throat at the most certain moment.
That is the method of Ulfric, called the 'Blood Wolf'.
Ulfric recalled the meeting with the Black Knight.
'Called a wolf, but tucks tail like a dog.'
One word that pierced his lifelong complex accurately.
Ulfric's mouth corners twisted up as if tearing to his ears.
"Right. The one who wins is strong."
He took out a small glass bottle from his bosom.
'This is for the North.'
Ulfric said to himself.
'Because I cannot hand over the Grand Duke's seat to an outsider, and a Princess's dog at that.'
Transparent liquid rippled.
The night before the finals.
A banquet was held.
Do not expect something like an elegant ball.
Nobles dancing waltzes while tilting champagne glasses? Don't make me laugh. This is the North.
The banquet of the North is like this.
Drink alcohol. Tear meat. Lay out tales of heroism. Fight. Reconcile. Drink alcohol again.
End.
"Kuhahahaha!"
Laughter and singing mixed together.
Someone threw an axe, hit the target, and cheered.
On one side, an arm-wrestling contest was happening. Boos burst out from the surroundings while betting money.
Rough vitality. Northern style banquet.
"Elder Brynjolf! Were you alive!" "I went to the threshold of the underworld, but the gatekeeper kicked me out saying I was ugly!"
Brynjolf laughed heartily.
He was drinking alcohol even while wrapped tightly in bandages.
"I still can't believe I was done in one blow! That black bastard! I flew in the sky for the first time in my life!"
Self-deprecating yet cheerful tone.
Surrounding warriors poured him consolation and alcohol.
"Win next time for sure!" "Elder is still hale and hearty!"
"Damn it, if only I was 10 years younger……!"
Brynjolf shouted waving his bandaged arm.
Puhahaha-!
Explosive laughter burst out.
Meanwhile, Freya──
"How is it, Sister? Does it suit me?"
Her hair had become short.
She had completely cut off the half-cut hair.
"Freya…… are you okay?"
Lucia asked with worried eyes.
"Of course I'm not okay. I lost miserably."
"……."
"Got flicked on the forehead, flew away, sword broke, rolled on the floor. In front of all the Northern warriors watching. It’s a complete disgrace."
Freya grinned.
"But you know, Sister. Strangely, I feel refreshed."
"Huh?"
"Because I got a goal."
Her amber eyes blazed.
"Until I beat that black bastard, I won't grow my hair."
"……What kind of revenge is that."
"I'll think of it every morning when I look in the mirror. Ah, I haven't beaten that bastard yet. I need to become stronger. Like that."
Freya shook her shortened hair.
"How is it? Pretty decent idea, right?"
"……."
Lucia looked at her cousin silently for a long time.
"The hair, it suits you well."
"Right? I think so too!"
Freya smiled brightly.
"Short hair isn't bad either! Maybe it's even more comfortable when fighting!"
As expected of a Northerner.
Lucia sighed and looked at the opposite side of the banquet hall.
There, the black armored knight was sitting.
Alone.
In a dark corner.
Without even holding a glass, just sitting.
'……That person.'
Lucia thought.
'What on earth is he thinking?'
Tomorrow is the finals.
A bout with Ulfric Grombalt.
If he wins, he gets the North in his hands.
If he loses……
Lucia shook her head.
She didn't want to imagine losing.
'……Please win.'
She prayed inwardly.
'Please.'
The banquet of the North is barbaric.
Axes fly, fists go back and forth, blood splatters, and teeth roll around.
Simultaneously, it is romantic.
Because after axes fly, fists go back and forth, blood splatters, and teeth roll around, they drink together.
This is the North. This is home. This is the world Ulfric will get in his hands.
Ulfric pushed through the crowd.
The target was the corner of the banquet hall.
A black shadow standing alone leaning against the wall.
The Black Knight.
Within a 5-meter radius around him, there was no one.
Warriors were consciously keeping their distance.
Northerners respect the strong, but even so, fear overwhelmed respect.
'Now is the chance.'
Ulfric took out a small glass bottle from his bosom.
Transparent liquid.
The deadly poison of the North, 'Winter Sleep'.
An extreme poison that freezes magic circuits and hardens the aura flowing through blood vessels like ice sculptures.
An item that makes even a Frost Bear fall asleep all day with just one sip.
Unless the opponent is some demonic beast of the Abyss, once drunk, it’s the end.
Ulfric opened the stopper of a liquor bottle and poured all the contents of the medicine bottle.
Glug glug glug.
The transparent liquid mixes with the alcohol. No color, and no smell.
After shaking the bottle to mix it completely, he closed the stopper again.
'……Good.'
Ulfric Grombalt is good at acting.
Having lived as his brother's shadow for 40 years, there wasn't a day he didn't act.
'I respect Brother.''I will fight for the North.''I have no greed for the Grand Duke's seat.'
All were lies.
He was jealous of his brother. He didn't fit with the North. He wanted to become the Grand Duke.
But no one knew.
Because Ulfric's acting was perfect.
He forced a hearty expression.
"Hey, Black Knight sir!"
And approached the Black Knight holding two liquor bottles.
Right hand poison. Left hand alcohol.
Must not get confused.
"What are you doing alone so pathetically? On this fine night! You should enjoy the night of the North!"
Beyond the slit of the helmet, crimson glint flashed and looked down at him.
"…Ulfric."
A low voice leaked from the helmet.
Just his name was called, but goosebumps rose on his spine.
The humiliation in the tent a few days ago came to mind, and his stomach felt like twisting.
'Endure.'
But Ulfric forced his cheekbones up and maintained his smile.
"Right, it’s me! Blood Wolf Ulfric. In the North, it is etiquette to treat a strong warrior to alcohol. To send Elder Brynjolf flying like that, it was the first time in my life seeing such an amazing spectacle!"
Suppressing his trembling hand, Ulfric thrust the poisoned bottle into the Black Knight's face.
Take it.
Take it.
Take it quickly, you damn bastard.
The Black Knight slowly reached out his hand.
A black gauntlet snatched the bottleneck.
And.
"Did you mix poison or something?"
Thump.
His heart stopped.
'……!'
The noise of the banquet hall was cut off in an instant, and only the Black Knight's red glint filled his vision.
Caught?
How? Smell? Color?
No, 'Winter Sleep' is colorless and odorless. An item difficult to detect even with magic. But at once?
Then was my expression awkward? Did my hand tremble?
Cold sweat poured down like rain.
'No. Stay calm. There is no evidence. I just need to deny it.'
Smirk.
Before Ulfric could make any excuse, the Black Knight snorted.
"Just kidding. Only a mutt would do such a thing."
'This crazy bastard…'
He has excellent talent for driving people crazy.
But thanks to that, he was certain.
This guy knows nothing.
It was just an arrogant joke to show off his overwhelming martial power.
"……Ha, hahaha! As expected! Your sense of humor is bloody too! I like it!"
Ulfric burst into laughter exaggeratedly.
Right. Arrogance is your grave.
Clank.
The Black Knight opened the lower part of his helmet. The revealed lips and jawline were unexpectedly young.
Gulp.
His Adam's apple moved.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
No hesitation.
The poisoned alcohol pours down the esophagus into the stomach.
Not one sip, not half a bottle, but shot the whole bottle.
'He drank it.'
Ulfric's pupils shook with ecstasy.
'He drank it all! This stupid bastard!'
The match is decided.
If it were a normal human, even one drop would lay them up for half a day. Even an outstanding Northern warrior cannot operate aura for 12 hours.
But a whole bottle?
A lethal dose that would kill even a Frost Bear instantly.
Even if he doesn't die, tomorrow morning the Black Knight's magic circuits will freeze solid and burst.
No matter if that guy is a monster, if the flow of magic power freezes, it can't be helped.
A Black Knight without aura is just a black tin can.
Tomorrow morning, the effect will reach its peak.
The Black Knight, putting down the empty bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Potent."
The Black Knight's glint narrowed.
"Don't you have one more bottle?"
"……What?"
"The taste is decent. Perfect for washing the mouth."
Ulfric doubted his ears.
Potent? Of course. Since it’s poison. But asking for more?
Is this guy's sense of taste paralyzed? Or is it bluff?
Ah, right. It must be bluff. A male's peculiar bluff trying to appeal his strength by pretending to drink strong alcohol nonchalantly.
Ulfric desperately held back his laughter.
"Kuh, kuhahaha! As expected, amazing! Sorry, but since it’s the last bottle. I should drink this one!"
He guzzled down the safe alcohol he was holding.
It was a toast to victory.
Sweet.
Today, the alcohol tasted incredibly sweet.
"Then see you tomorrow, Black Knight sir. I hope… you come out in good condition."
Ulfric shook the empty bottle and turned around.
"Try hard."
The Black Knight's voice came from behind.
"Because the audience will be disappointed if it ends in one hit."
Grind.
Teeth ground.
Arrogant bastard beyond measure.
Ignoring me until the end.
But Ulfric didn't look back.
Right, bark. Bark all you want.
Tomorrow, who is the wolf and who is the dog will become clear.
He disappeared into the darkness of the banquet hall and burst into the laughter he had held back.
"Kukuku… Stupid bastard."
Brother Valter. Are you watching?
Victory is something to be seized by any means necessary.
I will prove it tomorrow.
That this Ulfric is the true master of the North!
"……."
I stared blankly in the direction Ulfric disappeared.
It’s tasty?
Maybe because it’s Northern alcohol, the throat hit is very thrilling. This tingling feeling going down the esophagus. This refreshing sensation stimulating the tip of the tongue. This cool wave spreading the moment it reaches the stomach.
This is like.
'……Mint Choco?'
Ah, I'm moved. I feel like crying.
To think I would feel a nostalgic taste in this barren fantasy world, and in the North full of snow and ice at that.
But the system window…
What? Poison resistance? Is it treating MinCho as poison right now?
Haa, Anti-MinCho factions treating Mint Choco as food waste exist in any world.
Sad.
It’s sad.
Why can't humanity become one in front of Mint Choco.
……Well, anyway.
As expected, Northern people are magnanimous.
Approaching a competitor first to offer alcohol, and accepting jokes.
Even at the words 'Did you mix poison?' popping out suddenly, the composure to laugh it off saying 'Sense of humor is bloody'.
Maybe I misunderstood Ulfric a little all this time.
"I want to drink one more bottle."
Smacking my lips regretfully, I fiddled with the empty bottle.
Right. Excessive drinking is forbidden for the sake of tomorrow.
Since condition management is basic for a pro.