Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Northern Archduke (1)
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"I left the axe at the smithy. They'll replace the blade and send it back separately."
The magic bestowed by the Magic Tower meant repairs would take time. With that, Serath silently wrapped the bandage. The mansion felt dreary. No servants in sight, it seemed like nothing more than a place to crash after grueling work.
But her subordinates were on constant standby. In the midst of all that, for her to personally treat my wounds was quite surprising.
"It's a gift from me to the boy. No need to return it."
"Civilians—especially children—aren't allowed to carry weapons inside the castle by law. A kitchen knife that stabbed you might be one thing, but a proper dagger? Absolutely not."
"Then give it to him when he grows up and comes asking."
"Do whatever you want."
The treatment was done. My body was sturdy, so a wound like this would heal in a few days, but her expression remained grim.
It seemed she felt guilty for letting me get hurt right after entering the castle, despite guaranteeing my absolute safety. I knew she had hesitated the moment the boy slipped past the guards.
Her sullen look didn't suit her. To lighten the mood a bit, I decided to give her the gift I'd brought from the village.
"Serath."
"Hm?"
"Here, take this."
I knelt on one knee under the table, looking up at her like I was confessing my love.
"W-wait! You, you said you weren't like that, don't tell me...!"
She looked flustered for once. What I pulled from my pocket and offered her was another small pouch. Inside it sparkled not a gem-studded ring...
...but black soil.
"...What is this?"
"A gift, obviously."
"Why'd you bring something like this?"
"Well, I figured you'd need it. Want some?"
—A barbarian like you stepping foot on imperial soil beyond these borders? Not even after dirt's in my eyes.
I remembered her final words from the battlefield, before she came looking for me.
Northern tribal humor. Her reaction wasn't great, of course.
"Just let that wound fester and die. Wasting bandages on a barbarian like you."
"Ow, Serath."
Her slipper-clad foot pressed firmly into my thigh. Her long hair, reaching her waist, cascaded down.
Good to see her spirits lifting.
Surprisingly, she didn't toss the soil pouch I'd given her. She tucked it into a nearby box and spoke in a much lighter tone.
"Anyway, you did well holding back and not using force back there."
"Wasn't really holding back."
"Intentions aside, you handled it right. Keep doing that from now on."
For the next three days, I'd be invited to official events in the Shratma region.
Social parties, falconry hunts, and knight induction ceremonies. If I blended seamlessly among the imperials without issue, the Imperial Edict of Isolation would be lifted, and I'd receive rewards for slaying the Black Dragon.
I had no idea what the rewards would be, and I wasn't expecting much. The edict's repeal mattered far more than any payout. Avoiding war and opening trade with the empire meant no more bloodshed.
It might even lay the groundwork for pushing into the capital someday, to take down those special-grade magic beasts that could awaken and doom the continent. Some, like the Night Lord, were beyond what I could handle alone.
"Remember this, Ivar. The moment you act barbaric, the empire will deem you a threat."
"For example?"
"Plenty. First off, stop flicking the magic stone lamp in your room on and off. It's giving me a headache."
Impossible. I was reveling in civilization's comforts after so long. That satisfying click from the spring tension—how I'd missed it.
The marble-tiled bathroom even had shampoo, body wash, and a hot-water bidet.
"No yelling in the castle. No lighting fires without permission. No throwing punches if someone picks a fight. And don't pull out that stinking jerky you've been chewing from the start—especially not outside."
"The last one's tough. Gotta eat it before it spoils."
It was the last of the Black Dragon meat from the fridge. Serath, oblivious to my seventh rune, kept listing precautions.
Murder, arson, looting, unnecessary exposure...
Contrary to her misconceptions, all that was common sense to me as a modern man. Truth be told, I only acted "barbaric" in two cases: when earning the respect of steppe tribes, or when I just felt like teasing someone.
In front of Serath, it was usually the latter.
"And there's one most important thing left."
"What?"
"The social hall will have daughters from northern noble houses attending. They'll probably show up in droves tomorrow just out of curiosity about you."
The empire had a rigid class system. A hotbed of schemes for power, straight out of a romance novel. She knew tangling badly with noble families would be a hassle—her tone turned icy, unlike before.
"I'm warning you: don't lay a hand on them. Don't even get close or exchange glances."
"What if they approach me first?"
"Ha! You think that's possible?"
Serath let out a short laugh. She was convinced it would never happen.
Though she'd nearly eaten dirt from a minor misjudgment earlier, this time her confidence shone through.
To an ignorant me, Serath—the social circle veteran—shook her head and laid out cold reality.
"I guarantee you, unless every eye doctor in the empire goes blind, not a single woman will approach a barbarian like you."
*
"Kyaaah! A real barbarian!"
"I've always wanted to see one in person."
"May I have your name, sir?"
"Ivar."
"Ivar! He said Ivar!"
"Lord Ivar! I'm Flora from the Francis family."
I was a total hit. Had every eye doctor in the empire gone out of business?
Surprisingly, to women born and raised in the north, a steppe warrior was pure mystique. A high rate approached with genuine interest.
Having never seen real combat, what they knew of me came from knights' tales—mostly not Northern Defense Army vets themselves. They'd chewed those stories to fit ladies' tastes, so some embellishment was inevitable.
Like tossing a slice of white bread into a koi pond, I became the noble daughters' target. Couldn't even sit as they swarmed me with questions.
"What was that magic beast you rode in on? It looked so scary."
"They call it Satchpi. I'm its first master."
"That thing you've been eating instead of the refreshments—could I have a bite?"
"If you wanna die poisoned by dragon venom, sure."
"Eek! You even joke well."
The banquet hall buzzed warmly at center, but a chill wind howled at the entrance—like midwinter with doors flung open.
Serath, in uniform on guard duty, glared daggers my way. Assigned by the military to escort me, she wasn't allowed in a dress for the party.
"Um, Lord Ivar. You seem thirsty, so I brought champagne. Care for some?"
Flora, the lady who'd introduced herself, offered a clear glass. Golden liquid shimmered inside.
"Thanks."
"No, actually, I have something to tell you... Eek!?"
Coincidence or intent? As she approached, she tripped. Like a delicate flower, the beautiful lady... In my grab for her glass, Serath snatched and flash-froze it. Soldiers suddenly appeared, dragging Flora from the hall. The pace was too fast—I couldn't process it.
"Don't drink it."
"Why? I'm thirsty."
"Poison."
"Really?"
Crash!
No way to check now that she'd smashed the glass instead of answering. Probably not. At most mid-twenties, she'd likely abused her power out of jealousy at a younger woman fawning over me.
Time's inevitable stains shouldn't uglify the heart too. Though past marriageable age, I trusted Serath's beauty rivaled these teenage girls here.
"High society is a desert riddled with buried needles. You never know when assassins might strike from the sands—every step demands caution. Among them, be extra wary of this place's lord, Marquis Marc—"
"Gotta hit the bathroom."
"Ivar!"
I slipped away quickly. Truthfully, for her sake.
Serath was on edge for sure. The earlier vibe had irked her, and crowds made guarding harder.
"Isn't it chilly in here?"
"You didn't know? The 9th Legion's commander is here."
"Commander? The Defense Minister's daughter?"
"Yeah, someone who doesn't show at places like this, and suddenly... Gasp, barbarian!"
She'd been emanating cold since yesterday. Keeping me in her spell's range. With half her mana circuits gone, it was reckless overexertion. Her face looked paler too.
"Where's the bathroom?"
"D-down that hall, end, left—er, yes sir!"
Alone, she'd get a breather. With consideration Harald couldn't match, I headed there.
Spotless, not a speck of dust. As I stood at one of thirty-plus urinals, someone entered.
Footsteps from behind drew nearer, stopping right beside me. Skipping a stall—past or present life—meant a declaration of war. Or publicly outing some weird fetish.
"Ah~ Sneaking in was a pain. They hate me so much, those 9th Legion kids. Just wanted a word, but they blocked me hard."
The man muttering casually wasn't gay. In the original story, he loved women plenty.
"Wanna know something, barbarian? Or was it Ivar?"
Marquis Marcus. Margrave guarding the border, future Northern Archduke and original story's sub-male lead. He said this upon meeting me:
"Serath is deceiving you."