Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Frostfang Imir
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Whoosh!
"Hoo…!"
When the morning sun had just peeked over the eastern wall,
the training grounds were already filled with my ragged breaths.
Whoosh!
The old me would have swung the sword clumsily,
in a wild, haphazard way with no real knowledge of swordsmanship.
But now, I was different.
Even though I was just slowly swinging the sword while staring straight ahead.
Every motion contained the essence of sword mastery.
Like a warrior who had swung it thousands, tens of thousands of times.
The family knights would have fainted on the spot if they saw it.
There were no flaws or feints in my movements now.
…The Black King's power is truly something else.
To turn a sword newbie like me into this.
No, not just the sword—recalling the memories, the Black King had reached mastery in other fields too.
How I used it would determine endless possibilities.
While inwardly marveling nonstop, now habitually swinging the sword, Borin appeared before me, kneeling silently.
He emerged as if seeping from the shadows, his eerie first impression now familiar.
"I told you not to show yourself anywhere but my room."
Borin shuddered involuntarily at my low, casual murmur.
He knew my words weren't thoughtless, so he hurried to speak.
"S-sorry, my lord! But it's urgent…"
"Hoo."
With a sigh, I stopped my swing, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and turned to him.
"What is it?"
"Yes!"
Borin lifted his head smoothly and began explaining what he'd observed.
"The stalemated front with the Frost Giant Tribe is collapsing. The Dreadnote forces are retreating with broken morale."
"Retreating?"
Crack.
The unexpected answer made me grip the wooden sword tighter for a moment.
Unable to control my strength, the handle cracked under the pressure.
I pondered what to do.
I'd expected a collapse, but not this fast.
They shouldn't have been pushed back so easily.
…Did the Family Head fall too?
Heron Dreadnote.
The kingdom's guardian, the shield of the north.
It was shocking that they'd been pushed back despite him being on the front lines.
In the game I'd played, the Family Head never had a major role,
but that didn't mean he was weak.
Assuming the story followed canon, he ultimately lost to Imir after she formed the tribal alliance.
Until then, he'd been a capable commander holding the border without issue.
For a man like that to retreat against just the Frost Giant Tribe, even with the outlier Imir?
"Explain in detail. What happened?"
"Yes. According to Tundra… she's gone berserk."
"Slaughtering the Dreadnote troops at the vanguard, charging this way without caring about her tribe's losses."
"…What?"
I almost spat that it was nonsense, then shook my head.
Borin's report was shocking,
but thinking it over, it wasn't impossible for her.
A berserker charging forward, smashing everything in her path toward her goal.
That was Frostfang Imir.
"That damn bitch…"
I muttered a curse under my breath.
I knew her strength all too well from dozens of playthroughs—disgustingly so.
In the original story, even against her, the tens of thousands of barbarian alliance troops were mere backdrop.
Annoying as they were, victory or defeat hinged on Imir alone.
Defeat her, and the war ended.
And now, it wasn't even the full alliance—just the Frost Giant Tribe.
That made it even easier. Sure, their warriors were strong, but barbarians at heart.
Unarmored fools yelling "charge" could be picked off from afar.
But that also meant failing to stop her would drag the war on forever.
Tap, tap.
I idly tapped the ground with the wooden sword.
"Taking her down isn't the issue."
Facing her wouldn't be hard.
With the Black King's power, I was confident I could handle her with room to spare.
The wrinkle on my forehead came from her speed.
Even with the bait, this is half a year ahead of schedule.
In the story I knew,
Imir's full southward push came after completing the tribal alliance.
She should have built strength through a prolonged war of attrition with House Dreadnote first.
But now, she'd skipped it all, pouring everything into one goal.
"Tch."
Had I underestimated her obsession?
I clicked my tongue.
With Imir rampaging on the front lines, the Family Head had no choice but to retreat.
No matter how much of a "shield of the north" Heron Dreadnote was, one man couldn't block an outlier whose personal might overwhelmed tactics.
I'd known that. It wasn't even a real problem.
House Dreadnote weakening was actually ideal for me.
I harbored no fondness for the family that sidelined me.
Let them fall, whatever.
I could protect myself amid any raid.
The real issue was something else.
"I haven't decided yet."
I tossed the broken wooden sword aside and muttered.
"W-what do you mean, my lord?"
Borin looked puzzled at my sudden soliloquy.
His face clearly said, What decision is left in this crisis?
I smirked at him.
"I was deciding where to go today."
"…Pardon?"
I waved off Borin's confused retort.
Not hiding it, just too lazy to explain.
Maybe head out further today, hit that food spot I missed.
Heard it just opened.
…That aroma wafting by wasn't messing around.
Recalling the tantalizing scent made my mouth water.
"…?"
With my anxiety somewhat eased, I'd picked up a hobby:
escaping this damn mansion to sample street food.
Celine had improved meal quality, but noble cuisine's blandness still left me wanting.
Not noble food, really. Just upgraded from inedible to barely edible.
Anyway, my infamous face meant I couldn't go out as is,
so minor disguise plus Shadow Step got me out undetected—perfectly.
And it filled my always-hungry belly. Ideal.
Nodding to myself, planning today's culinary hunt,
footsteps approached my ear.
"Borin."
"Yes."
Slither.
No orders needed; Borin melted into the shadows, perceptive as ever.
Crunch. Crunch.
Heavy steps on the dirt, yet restrained, no excess noise.
Who's here this early?
I trained at dawn before others rose,
so no one should visit now.
Curious, I looked toward the entrance.
There, a very familiar figure approached haughtily.
Silver hair shimmering in the morning sun.
Her icy elegance clashed with the sweaty training grounds.
"…Lin?"
Celine Dreadnote.
My supposed sister,
now walking here voluntarily—a place she'd normally shun as filthy.
"…I told you not to use nicknames."
Her cold voice cut the morning air.
She stopped a few paces away, arms crossed, glaring.
Her sapphire eyes still burned with blatant contempt.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Murderous Intent']
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Love-Hate']
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Confusion']
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Fear']
Yeah, yeah. Come to deliver premium emotions first thing in the morning.
Some kind of service visit?
I had no idea what she wanted, showing up here so early.
"I'll acknowledge the effort. So, what's up this early?"
In this sweat-filled training ground.
Of all places, yours?
I casually picked up the discarded wooden sword, slung it over my shoulder, and asked back.
Something about my nonchalance clearly irked her.
Celine's brow furrowed deeper as she stared daggers.