Chapter 9
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 9. Axe Festival
Festivals and Funerals.
These two words are fundamentally at opposite ends.
One symbolizes life and joy, while the other symbolizes death and mourning.
Just like 'Pure Love' and 'Harem'. Or 'Romance' and 'Black Knight'.
……Anyway.
Therefore, any normal, sensible human being would not call a party planner in a situation where their father is missing and his life or death is uncertain.
Calling an undertaker, a rescue team, or at the very least a fortune teller would be the logical sequence.
But this place is the North.
A frozen land where common sense has frozen and shattered.
"It’s noisy."
So, well, it is like that.
Frostgard's square was running wild with vibrancy, let alone mourning.
Sound of hammers. Sharp friction sounds of steel rubbing against whetstones. Smell of meat roasting whole huge beasts. Air mixed with shouts from sparring and strange excitement.
It was filled with anticipation rather than solemnity, and fighting spirit rather than sadness.
Is this what they call cultural relativity?
Perhaps Northerners have a unique way of sublimating sadness.
'The Grand Duke passed away, so let's have fun!'
Something like a custom of honoring the dead by dancing and singing.
Maybe the North has a concept similar to Ireland or Mexico.
"It’s strange."
But it seemed Lucia, walking beside me, thought differently.
She frowned while looking at the scene unfolding before her eyes.
"Freya, what is that?"
A circular arena being installed in the middle of the square. Silver Wolf flags fluttering everywhere. And the crossed axe symbol beneath them.
"Uncle is missing, yet they intend to hold a festival? What about the search party? Rescue activities?"
Freya looked at the stage being built with a bitter expression.
"They are preparing for the Axe Festival."
"Axe Festival? What is that?"
"As you know, Sister, our Grombalt family wasn't originally nobility of the Empire, right?"
Freya started explaining as she walked.
Grombalt.
The leader of the barbarian tribal alliance that ruled the frozen tundra of the North.
The 'Wolf Pack of the North' that crossed the Empire's borders and pillaged for hundreds of years.
It was only 150 years ago that they became citizens of the Empire.
The Empire's large-scale northern expedition.
The Imperial Army struggling against the extreme cold and the toughness of the Northerners. The Northerners tired of endless attrition warfare.
Eventually, a highly political and realistic compromise was reached: 'Let's harmonize rather than kill each other.'
Recognition of the Northern territory. Conferment of the Grand Duke title. Marriage alliance with the Imperial Family.
Whether the wolf wore sheep's clothing, or the sheep gained wolf's teeth.
Like that, the Northerners wore the clothes of civilization.
But wearing clothes didn't mean the barbarism in their blood disappeared completely.
"We submitted to the Empire, but we didn't discard the laws of the North. Especially regarding succession."
Freya stopped her steps. Her red hair fluttered in the northern wind.
"The North is ruled by the strong. It has always been so. Not blood, but strength creates legitimacy."
Honestly, I like it.
Strength is justice. Fists are law. Greatsword is the constitution.
A system where the strong simply win without complicated political maneuvering or backstabbing.
If words are also power, it’s a system advantageous to me. Finally, I met a fair world.
I should add a word.
It would be polite to express respect for such a rational tradition.
'I can feel the spirit of the North that reveres strength. I also like this clear method.'
"Just like barbarians."
……
Freya's eyes flashed.
"What did you say, just now?"
"N-No! Knight-nim is originally like that! It’s a compliment, a compliment!"
Lucia hurriedly intervened.
"He gives compliments in that way?"
Freya glared at me for a while, then continued her explanation.
"……Anyway. When the current Grand Duke dies or goes missing with no hope of return, and when a successor hasn't been clearly designated. The tribe's law is invoked."
The fluttering flags came into view.
Silver Wolf.
The crest of the Grombalt family.
And beneath it, two crossed axes.
"To newly select the strongest wolf to lead the family. That is the Axe Festival."
The name is a festival, but in reality, it is a venue for legal usurpation and a contest of blood.
The one with the strongest axe takes the throne.
Wait… they are barbarians.
"T-Then you mean they will fight for Uncle's position right now? When it’s not even certain he passed away yet?"
"In the North, disappearance means death. Father became Grand Duke like this too."
It was a cold answer.
Prepare for the next step during the time for mourning.
Cruel but rational.
Survivalism not swayed by emotions.
Freya pointed to a particularly large and splendid tent on one side of the square with her finger.
"For now, the most likely candidate is Uncle Ulfric. Father's younger brother. Strong, seasoned, and above all, overflowing with ambition. He is the person practically controlling the territory right now too. He is already going around declaring 'I am the only one who can lead the North now that Brother is absent'."
Ulfric.
Even the name is Wolf.
"Next is the collateral blood relative Brynjolf, aka Winter Boar."
Brynjolf.
I've heard that name somewhere.
Ah, the bear-skin commander we met at the castle gate yesterday.
"Besides them, great warriors from each tribe will participate one after another. If they are Northerners, they will never miss this opportunity. Because participating in the Axe Festival is a tremendous honor in itself."
"Then… what about you, Freya?"
"Me?"
Freya clenched her fist tight.
"Of course I have to participate too. Because I can't hand over Father's seat to boars or dogs."
Freya smirked. It was a sharp smile.
"……Father is alive. He must be alive. When he returns, there shouldn't be no seat for him to sit, right?"
Freya Von Grombalt. She was also a warrior of the North.
Although I called them barbarians.
Originally, barbarism has its own kind of loyalty.
"……."
Lucia remained silent for a moment.
Her green eyes rolled busily.
The Princess's small head must be running at full capacity too.
"Then… am I qualified too?"
"Of course. Sister is also Grombalt blood. You are Aunt Teresia's daughter. Qualifications are sufficient. But…"
Freya trailed off.
Her gaze scanned Lucia's slender forearm and wrist that looked like it would break if squeezed.
"Sister can't fight personally. You have to put forward a champion, but does Sister have such a person…"
Freya's gaze naturally turned to me.
And Lucia's gaze too.
Amber and Emerald.
Flame and Fresh Green.
Although completely different colors, the contained meaning was identical.
'Looks usable?'
A gaze with quite some ambition.
Good. Very desirable.
If I can help, I should gladly help.
I will become your sword and give you the winner's trophy.
I tried to nod lightly in affirmation.
But Lucia hurriedly turned her head away.
"N-No! I was just asking!"
Huh? Why is she suddenly tucking her tail?
Wasn't I quite reliable until now?
It seems trust is still insufficient.
"First… I will go greet Uncle Ulfric."
Lucia changed the subject.
A political judgment to approach the most likely candidate and current power holder.
Freya sighed.
"Sister, be careful. Uncle isn't the Uncle of the past. He is blinded by ambition."
"Still, we are family. Would he really treat his niece badly?"
Lucia tried to smile brightly.
She clutched her skirt and moved toward Ulfric's tent.
Naturally, I followed closely.
My job is a knight. Main duty is protecting the Princess.
If I'm not there, who will protect her?
"Knight-nim, wait here."
Lucia stopped and restrained me.
"Why?"
"It-It is a conversation between family."
She twisted her fingers and laid out excuses.
"If an outsider interferes, it’s a bit… you know."
"……."
"Uncle might misunderstand if he sees Knight-nim…"
"……."
"So, okay? I’ll be back soon."
Her eyes were desperate.
A silent plea saying 'Please do not follow'. I could feel a strong will wanting to detach me.
But I refuse.
Romance Fantasy Law Article 1.
Do not send the heroine into enemy territory alone.
The moment you send her, kidnapping, confinement, and threat events occur.
I decided to persuade her affectionately, very softly.
'Do not worry. I will always protect your side. Because I cannot send you alone to a dangerous place. I am your shadow. I will go together even into hellfire. Trust me.'
"Do not leave my sight without permission."
"N-No, but still…!"
"You don't need a leash, do you?"
"Hiek!"
Lucia's shoulders flinched.
She made a crying face and dropped her head as if resigned.
"…Okay."
She let out a deep sigh. Her drooping shoulders look pitiful.
But it can't be helped. Her safety is the top priority.
Even if the method was a bit rough, the purpose is pure.
Can the purity of purpose justify the cruelty of means?
……
Let's save philosophical questions for later.
Now is the time to go meet Ulfric.
We headed to the tent set up on one side of the square.
A roof made by covering it with a whole huge bear skin, huge double-edged axes stuck on both sides of the entrance.
At the entrance, bulky men were folding their arms and monitoring the surroundings with ferocious eyes.
"I came to meet Uncle."
Freya took the lead and spoke.
"Let’s go in."
The leather door of the tent opened.
With hot heat, the smell of beast musk and thick blood pricked the nose.
The inside was dark.
Beneath the flickering torch shadows, a red-haired man was sitting.
A middle-aged man with an impressive scar crossing his face diagonally on the left.
Draping a wolf fur over his shoulders, he was tearing into a chunk of meat the size of his own thigh.
Crunch, crunch.
The sound of chewing even the bones rang vividly.
That person is Ulfric Grombalt.
Valter Grombalt's younger brother, and the current power holder of the North.
And an ambitious man aiming for the Grand Duke's seat.
He stopped chewing the meat and looked at us.
Yellow eyes. Eyes of a beast.
Eyes where instinct is seen before reason, and desire before morality.
Lucia swallowed hard.
"Ulfric… Uncle?"
His eyes discovered Lucia, widened for a moment, then narrowed into crescents.
An expression recalling someone.
"Ohh! Look who it is!"
Ulfric bolted up from his seat.
The chair fell backward making a loud noise.
"Our precious niece! Isn't it Lucia! You were alive! I thought you were dead hearing that chaos broke out in the Imperial Palace!"
Lucia didn't step back and answered with a trembling voice.
"L-Long time no see. Uncle Ulfric."
"Right, right! Welcome! Very welcome!"
Family reunion.
Touching reunion.
But the problem was that the background music was a Thriller Movie OST.
Ulfric's gaze reached me over Lucia's shoulder.
"Ho-oh."
The corners of his mouth twisted.
"You brought something interesting attached, Niece."
Something interesting, he says.
The speech style treating people as objects is very Northern.
I should give a greeting too.
Fitting the etiquette of this place.
'Nice to meet you. Sir Ulfric. I am the knight escorting Her Highness the Princess. I look forward to your cooperation.'
I tried to bow politely, but naturally, my neck stiffened and didn't move.
Instead, a low voice flowed out from inside the helmet.
"Lower your eyes."
…Ah.
Today too, my snout refused peace and declared war.