Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Uninvited Guest (3)
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"Ivar's been talking about it for ages. He said he's held off on marriage because he wants to take you as his wife."
Harald had never been rejected in courtship, except by Olgen back when they were kids. He was an exceptional warrior, the perfect material to lead the tribe, and reasonably handsome to boot.
That might explain why he had zero tact. He probably thought he'd drawn a neat and tidy conclusion, one he could boast about.
In truth, after fighting tooth and nail against the Winter Witch all these years, it was impossible to believe she'd suddenly guarantee my safety now. For the steppe tribes, mixing blood with former enemies to enjoy peace was only natural.
The problem was his tact—or lack thereof. The humans beyond the walls never even considered marriage with barbarians. Nor did I. In the first place, bringing up Serath had been a stopgap measure to console Harald in his past despair.
"If you marry Ivar, your brother will be safe. You look to be at prime childbearing age—you wouldn't want to end up a widow, right? Am I not correct, brother?"
"……."
"Brother?"
We were sworn brothers. And soon, we'd be strangers.
"These barbarians and their loose tongues……!"
"How dare they covet the Supreme Commander!!"
Predictably, immediate backlash erupted from their side. It was killing intent laced with as much raw emotion as the Night Lord's death cry. Not a single soldier who had risked life and limb for their superior would sell her out to a barbarian.
"Everyone, calm down."
"But they're treating Lady Serath like some kind of war trophy!!"
In an atmosphere thick enough to ignite into battle at any moment, Serath alone remained surprisingly composed. She kept her cool, lightly rebuking her subordinates.
"You'd start a war over me? And what would you put in the report if you did? 'Drew swords to stop the Supreme Commander from marrying a barbarian'? The higher-ups would roll on the floor laughing."
"Even so……."
"Of course I'll refuse. Chieftain Harald, I appreciate the offer, but your way of life doesn't align with ours—in pace or direction."
"What do you mean by that?"
"To put it elegantly, men and women need time for such relations. But in exchange……."
I'll leave collateral to take your warrior—. With those words, she concentrated mana in her hand.
The chill enveloping the steppes condensed into a single, frosty ice flower. Serath handed it to Harald.
"It's half of the mana circuits I possess."
"Mana?"
"What you call Ancestral Power. If he doesn't return, feel free to smash it."
If I died, the Winter Witch would be as good as gone too. It was considerable collateral. Whether they knew that or not, Harald and Grak showed genuine interest.
It was a beautiful flower from a beautiful woman, but what captivated these rough men wasn't its appearance—it was the added perk.
"Ooh, it's cold? These days, it's so hot inside the tent at midday I can barely sleep."
"Ever since the Night Lord died, the sunlight's gotten fiercer."
"Winter Witch, can we stay cool even in summer with just this?"
"Well…… Keep it close, and it'll work as an air conditioner."
"Take him. Look after Ivar for me."
At some point, my opinion ceased to matter. I was sold off for what amounted to a free summer AC unit.
I'd planned to throw a bit of a fit and tag along if negotiations fell through, but I never imagined it'd go down like this.
On the way to the fortress, feeling half-encircled, I spotted Serath swaying unsteadily on her mount.
She'd brushed it off moments ago, but what she'd done was tantamount to ripping her heart in two and pulling it out of her chest. Her mana circuits torn from her body—it had to be excruciating. Guessing her condition, I asked cautiously.
"If you pull out half your mana, you won't be able to guarantee my safety, will you?"
"Hmph. Unlike a brute like you, my power isn't just raw strength. I have position, status—even my gender."
"What if I attack you instead?"
"That'd be perfect. Show your true colors inside the walls, and not just me—every soldier there will swarm you and run you through."
Serath then quirked her lips upward, glancing sideways at me.
"And didn't you say you adore me? Flip-flopping now would just expose the vile nature of you barbaric folk to the imperial gaze—your shabby, treacherous underbelly laid bare."
"I never said that myself."
Even if it was belated, she was the heroine from a romance novel. From her childhood in the capital with her father, she'd endured endless male gazes. She had quiet confidence in her own allure.
Come to think of it, one thing nagged at me. I matched my Karangal's pace to the warhorses.
"Never married?"
"What?"
"Having a partner would've let you turn him down more gently."
Harald's words were blunt, but not wrong. She'd left high society young at sixteen, but even by the novel's timeline, eight years in the Northern Defense Army was plenty of time to marry someone else.
But the moment I spoke, the soldiers who'd been surrounding us—close enough to prick with a spear—scattered in unison. As if desperate to flee as far as possible. They hunched low to cut wind resistance.
A small voice came from beside me soon after.
"……Out of line."
"Huh? What was that?"
The surrounding trees froze solid. Birds plummeting from the sky, snakes sunning on the sand dropping dead with mouths agape. No one made a sound.
I felt a chill and overwhelming presence rivaling the Night Lord's. From Serath, who'd just left half her mana behind.
"It's because of you pounding at our walls every winter that I'm in this mess!!!"
She had no man not for any other reason.
It was all because of me.
"We've arrived."
"Raise the green signal."
A minor incident—a midsummer snow on the open steppe with nary a proper hill in sight—but the Northern Defense Army's elite unit returned safely to Winterfall Fortress. With their original quarry, Ivar, in tow.
Wagner debated disarming the still-breathing barbarian. But Serath's judgment stood. Armed or not, he was a threat.
On another note, she secretly hoped the barbarian she'd brought wouldn't meet imperial standards. She just didn't want excessive casualties, so she advised in a low voice.
"Steel yourself."
"Why?"
"Everyone inside wants you dead."
She wasn't wrong. The moment we passed the walls into the inner keep, countless glares poured down. This fortress housed not just the Ninth Legion but their families and northern civilians too. Their lifelong enemy had walked in of his own accord. Tension thick enough to burst swept the crowd.
The Red Ghost terrified battlefields, but that fear hadn't fully trickled to civilians. And he was alone, without comrades.
If not for the eerie six-legged, headless mount, the enraged mob would've swarmed him on the spot. Even inside the walls, the north was the north—the people here were hardy by nature. Ivar was the most unwelcome of guests.
"……Tch."
"Filthy barbarian bastard."
"Seven of my comrades died. Because of that one……."
"Hey, quiet down there."
Even with soldiers enforcing order, grumblings inevitably leaked out. Serath stayed vigilant, watching Ivar's reactions. He seemed unfazed, but he could snap at any moment.
As they hurried toward the mansion as swiftly and smoothly as possible, someone suddenly burst from the crowd. A small boy.
"Hey, you! Don't cross the barrier!"
"Whoa, this kid?"
It happened in a blink. No one had imagined someone slipping under the safety barricade of wooden planks.
The boy drew a small knife hidden in his bosom. The Karangal menacingly raised a foreleg, but he didn't flinch, glaring at Ivar.
"Die, you barbarian! Roman's killer!"
"Roman?"
"……The original owner of that axe you're carrying. He was the scout captain."
The boy was an orphan Roman had cherished like a son. When Roman returned as a cold corpse long ago, no one had vowed deeper revenge.
Serath's heart sank. The Red Ghost she knew was a vile man who mercilessly beheaded fallen foes without hesitation.
But upon hearing Roman's name, Ivar dismounted the Karangal before anyone could stop him. Face stiff, he approached the boy.
Puuk—!
What followed was unbelievable. The boy's thrust—eyes squeezed shut instinctively—sank deep into his thigh.
No knight in the Ninth Legion, save Serath, had ever scratched the Red Ghost's skin. Let alone a child without developed muscle.
Ignoring the flowing blood, Ivar set his axe down before the boy. Then he knelt on one knee, meeting the boy's eyes, and spoke.
"I'll return it. He never gave me his name, but he was a fine warrior."
He scanned the crowd, then bellowed to everyone staring at him. His low, heavy voice echoed through the keep.
"My comrades, even those I only knew by face from fighting side by side—they died in droves. The stars that briefly descended to the steppe returned to Ishkar's side. Yet the light they left behind wasn't meaningless. It became a guidepost. So I choose to believe those deaths had value."
"……."
"The reason you're here is the same. You believe the sacrifices of men like Roman held meaning."
Serath didn't trust barbarians. Their words. Their actions. Grounded in the Imperial Edict of Isolation from the founding emperor, she denied their very existence.
"And your hostility toward me stems from not wanting to lose any more precious souls."
Even now. He was the strongest, vilest, strangest of the barbarians who'd eyed the empire for centuries.
"I'm the same. To turn the thoughts you hold—the thoughts you're having right now—into action, that's why I stand here."
No doubt. The words spilling from his bleeding mouth now were just a ploy to escape the moment. Same as claiming he wanted her as a wife. Lies. It had to be.
"I am Ivar, Great Warrior of the Steppe."
But the instant their eyes met, full of conviction.
"I came to end this age-old war."
For the first time, she wondered if her judgment of him might be wrong.