Chapter 22
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Taming the Wild Horse
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"..."
Srrrrk.
The only sound in the room was the rustle of turning pages.
How long had it been since he'd last known such peace?
This was the room in the family estate he'd once despised being confined to.
Yet after all the hardship in those damned mountains, he was now grateful for it.
Srrrrk.
'How long has it been since I last enjoyed this silence?'
If he'd been in the mountains, the relentless blizzard would have roared without end, deafening him with the howl of the wind and snow.
The fact that he could savor this quiet made him offer another silent thanks to whatever god might be listening.
"..."
"..."
As he basked in the silence, his finger paused just before turning the next page.
[My lord. Shall I say something?]
"...No need. She wouldn't listen anyway."
With that, he gave up on reading altogether, letting out a sigh as he slowly closed the book.
He simply couldn't focus, thanks to the persistent gaze boring into his back from behind.
"Imir."
"What is it, Master?"
"Stop staring. It feels like you're drilling a hole in my face."
"You complain even when I'm just looking. And when the hell is dinner?"
She protested while lying on the bed, swinging her sturdy legs like a child.
With every movement, the taut fabric of her short dress rode up, blatantly exposing the taut curves of her thighs and calves—like those of a wild horse.
His gaze lingered for a moment on those smooth, ripe, healthy legs, but he quickly turned away.
He couldn't give that beast any unnecessary openings.
It would only lead to headaches.
'So much for some quiet rest.'
He rose from his chair as he replied.
"The maid will be here soon."
"Maid? That girl in the black-and-white dress? You southerners live in real luxury."
Imir's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Ever since arriving at the estate, everything must have seemed like a fascinating new toy to her.
He couldn't blame her. There were no maids in the mountains—just survival or death.
"So. What am I supposed to do now?"
"...Are you seriously asking?"
At the foolish question, his gaze—which he'd been trying to avoid—snapped back to her.
What did she think she was supposed to do? She already knew.
Had she already forgotten what they'd discussed in those damned mountains?
"Can't remember. Is it just shacking up here with you, Master?"
"...Act according to the contract we made."
"Can't even take a joke. You bastard."
Imir pouted and muttered in dissatisfaction.
Yes, that was why he'd gone out of his way to heal his former enemy. Because he'd made a contract with her.
She hadn't fully recovered yet, so he'd dragged her along to a small cave shielded from the blizzard.
Crack.
He snapped some snow-soaked branches and piled them up, then used the Black King's power to force flames to life.
It wouldn't have been easy otherwise, but he marveled once more at the magic that turned the impossible possible.
"Much better."
Crackle, crackle.
As the fire bloomed in the cave, the bone-chilling cold seemed to ease a little.
"Hey. What the hell are you thinking?"
"I told you. I want you."
"You mad bastard."
He turned to her, her face twisted in disbelief as she spat curses.
"I want your tribe. And your life."
"Cut the bullshit and kill me. I'm not begging for my life."
He hadn't expected her to yield easily.
She was no pushover.
He slowly raised his hand toward the woman who cursed so freely.
"...Huh?"
Involuntarily, her eyes followed his hand—and when she saw the ring on it, her pupils shook violently, like an earthquake.
"Y-You! That ring... how do you...!"
"Is this what you were looking for?"
He deliberately turned the ring slowly before her eyes.
The faint engravings gleamed eerily in the firelight.
Her intense reaction confirmed it.
This Black King's Ring was the artifact she'd sought.
"Hey! Give it here! That's mine!"
"If it's yours, why's it on my finger?"
"Before I rip that dog mouth off...!"
She looked ready to lunge, but her mortal wounds wouldn't let her.
He gazed down at her coldly and continued.
"You've tasted this ring's power, so you know. If I wanted, snapping your neck right here would be nothing."
"...Kuh."
"So I'll give you a choice."
Biting her lip until it bled, she watched as he held up two fingers.
"One: You die here, and your tribe scatters—enslaved or absorbed by others, wiped out."
"Of course, I'd revive you. With black magic."
"You son of a bitch...!"
Imir's face turned ashen at his words.
For the Frost Giant Tribe, who saw death as honor, revival was no light matter.
"Two."
He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his, and whispered.
"Be mine, Imir. Swear loyalty to me—you and your tribe. Then I'll spare you both."
"W-Why would I...?"
As expected, she refused, but her defiance had weakened.
The ring she'd desperately sought was in his grasp. The despair she'd felt.
Even the dignity of a proud death denied—terror must have gripped her.
"I'll let you taste the power you craved. Even a fragment of it."
Her red eyes shook fiercely.
"Why serve a bastard like you...?"
"Because I'm this ring's master."
After a long silence, she finally bowed her head in resignation.
"...Fine. I'll do as you say."
"Then fix how you address me. I'm your master now."
"M-M-Mas... Master... Argh, fuck it! Just kill me!"
'It took quite a while to get that damned title to stick.'
Master. It had taken two days of grueling effort for those rag-soaked lips to get used to it.
And that was just the honorific—god knows how long full proper speech would take.
...His head was already throbbing at the thought.
"What? Why are you staring, Master?"
"...Nothing."
Knock knock.
As he massaged his aching neck, a knock came at the door.
"Dinner, Young Master."
"Come in."
Anna entered, face now familiar. A far cry from their first meeting.
She wheeled in the cart with far more deference, carefully setting the food on the table while stealing glances at him.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Imir on the bed, then dropped hastily to the floor.
"The quality's improved."
"Pardon? Oh. The Young Lady said to take extra care."
"Celine?"
An unexpected answer.
He'd vaguely known she was looking out for his meals, but not to this extent.
The table now held a feast fit for a fine restaurant: glistening steak, steaming soup, fresh bread, crisp salad.
Worlds apart from the slop before.
"Hm."
He eyed the spread, arms crossed.
A slight exaggeration, but it rivaled the main estate's fare.
'Trying to saddle me with debt? Or just goodwill?'
Either way, it didn't matter.
He'd only be here until the academy—no point in changing now. No affection left for this house.
Her intentions wouldn't sway him.
If anything, delicious food was welcome.
"Ooh, so this is southern food!"
At that moment, Imir sprang from the bed like a coiled spring and lunged at the food faster than light.
No time to stop her—she grabbed the massive steak with her bare hand and tore into it ravenously.
Stuffing her cheeks to bursting, she looked less human than a starved beast.
"...My goodness."
Anna's face paled in horror at the sight.
For a trained estate servant, this was beyond culture shock—a catastrophe.
"Huh? Wha?"
Mouth full, she mumbled, sensing the stares.
He waved her off silently.
"...Finish eating first."
"Mmph!"
Impossible to understand.
He wanted to smack her head and scold her, but lacked the energy watching her devour it so gleefully.
Munch munch. Gulp.
Imir swallowed the huge chunk whole and cried out in delight.
"Master! This is amazing! Weak southerners, but damn good cooks!"
"Shut up and eat."
"Yes!"
With permission, she dove back in.
Ignoring her possessed eating, he addressed the frozen Anna.
"Anna."
"..."
"Anna?"
"...Y-Yes?"
Her shoulders jerked; she snapped back.
He smirked at her tense face.
"That glutton. Once she's done, take her and give her maid training. She'll be my personal servant from now on."
"...Pardon?"
"Wha?! Noo, I don' wanna be a maid?!"
Incomprehensible garble.
Anna blurted dumbly, while Imir—mouth stuffed—protested wildly.
"...Tch."
He clicked his tongue.
"That's why I said finish first."
"Mmph...!"
At his arched brow glare, Imir glared back innocently but resumed chewing.
"Didn't you hear?"
"I did, but... isn't she from the mountain barbarians?"
He got her implication from her hesitant words.
What good is training someone whose head's full of nothing but fighting and food?
"She's my maid now. Cleaning, serving meals, odd jobs—all her."
"Teach her the basics."
Even Imir could handle fundamentals with training.
Nothing complicated.
"But..."
"That's an order."
Her firm tone brooked no argument.
Anna bit her lip, unable to retort.
"...Understood."
She bowed limply. He liked that.
Yes, proper attitude.
No tolerance for a bastard maid's nonsense, blood or not.
"Wait outside."
"...Yes."
She left head down, leaving him alone with Imir.
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve after emptying the plates and confronted him.
"Master! You lied! No maid work, you said!"
What nonsense? When did he say that?
"When?"
"In the mountains! Swear loyalty with tribe, and you'd let me taste power!"
"And I did. That steak was power incarnate."
Her face blanked at his shameless reply.
Funny she was even pondering it.
After chewing it over, fury reddened her face.
"...That's not it, you con artist!"
Her shout echoed as she lunged. He dodged her grasp, seized her collar smoothly, and slammed her down.
Bam!
"Agh!"
The floor dented slightly with the heavy thud.
Pinning her groaning form, he leaned in close.
Lips nearly brushing.
Locking eyes with her ragged breaths, he spoke.
"Don't rush. I'll let you know when the time comes."
"Eeeeek!"
She thrashed to escape, teeth gritted.
But his grip held like stone.
"Learn what I tell you until then."
He eased his hand slightly.
"Cough cough... Keep your promise, you bastard master!"
"I will."
A grudging reply.
Finally releasing her fully, he stood.
"Now get out."