Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: 53. Fill the Goblet with Blood (1)
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No one spoke first, given the gravity of the situation.
Rather than being crushed by the pressure, their faces showed they knew this moment had finally arrived.
Vincent broke the long silence.
"Take the Black Spear Cavalry with you as well."
He proposed handing over not just the cavalry, but half of Winter Castle's forces, including the Rangers.
I refused, saying it would leave too great a gap in the castle's defenses.
But Vincent wouldn't back down.
"We've monitored the monsters in the mountains, and the consensus is there won't be a large-scale invasion this winter."
"According to the Rangers, most of the survivors from the last battle fled beyond the Blade Mountains into the Frost Mountains."
The commanders, who had been silent until now, backed their lord's opinion.
They all chimed in agreement.
Winter Castle would be fine.
Vincent said firmly,
"Winter is over."
His words likely just meant the harshest part of this winter had passed.
But that's not how they struck me.
Crack.
A hallucinatory noise like something shattering pierced my ears.
It was the sound of the thick ice that had blanketed the walls all winter finally splitting,
and also the sound of the unbreakable chains linking my past and present lives snapping apart.
My heart pounded. My temples throbbed wildly.
Heat shimmered before my eyes like a mirage.
The conference room, filled only with chill air moments ago, grew stiflingly hot.
"Your Highness?"
Vincent called out to me with concern.
His face, fretting that I might have been injured in the recent battle, looked just as it always did.
Utterly unaware of what had just happened.
From beyond the conference room windows came the clang of dwarves hammering away.
The Rangers' lively curses and shouts rang out.
In my mind echoed the [War Poem - Ode to Spring].
How perfectly it all fit together.
Whether we accepted the old orc's vile proposal had never truly mattered from the start.
When we won the war, when countless monsters fled in terror—that was when winter had already ended.
Even with the cutting winds and blizzards lingering in the mountains, and the cold still encircling the fortress.
Spring had crept up stealthily, like a thief in the night.
I realized it now.
There had never been any grand peace to begin with.
All we needed was time for the frozen snow to melt and new buds to sprout.
This belated realization filled me with such joy that I burst out laughing without thinking.
"Your Highness, did you perhaps hit your head in the last battle?"
The upright man who had chosen bondage and strife over freedom and peace at that critical juncture still hadn't noticed spring's approach and was spouting nonsense.
But they would learn soon enough.
When the snow piled on the walls melted,
when the damp furs and armor dried crisp,
they would realize winter was truly over.
That spring had finally arrived.
The meeting ended, and night fell.
As I strolled the walls, a familiar face appeared in the distance.
Vincent, holding a bottle of liquor.
"Vincent."
"Couldn't sleep."
Spotting me, Vincent held up the bottle.
I didn't refuse and took it, chugging straight from it.
"Just a little, just a sip. It's a pain to go fetch more."
It was absurd for a castle lord to act stingy over cheap rotgut like this. So I gulped it down until the bottle was empty.
My insides warmed up.
I handed back the empty bottle with a deliberate belch. Vincent grimaced.
He tossed the empty aside carelessly and reached into his bosom.
Pop.
His hand emerged with a fresh bottle.
I scowled fiercely.
Pretending it was his last one, and here he had more.
Feeling somehow cheated soured my mood.
But since I'd been the petty one, I had no grounds to scold him and just smacked my lips.
Vincent ostentatiously uncorked the bottle and took a swig for my benefit.
Gulp.
His face flushed bright red as he drank. He'd clearly had a fair amount before I arrived.
I held out my hand. Vincent hid the bottle behind his back.
"This is really the last one now."
"Stingy for a castle lord."
"If you want it that bad, go fetch it yourself."
"Too much hassle."
"Same here."
The Rangers glaring over the walls at our childish bickering shook their heads in disbelief.
I ignored them and plopped down beside Vincent.
Then gazed at the distant mountains rising beyond the snowfields.
Beside me came the sound of Vincent gulping down his drink.
For a long while, I just sat there silently listening to the glugging.
Pop.
The cork of another bottle being opened.
I turned to see Vincent with a new bottle to his lips.
"You said it was the last."
"Aah. This really is the absolute last."
Despite his words, a clinking came from his bosom.
He'd apparently hauled up every last drop from the castle kitchens.
I silently turned away.
Vincent's flushed face was filled with anguish.
Whether from regret over his past choice, or worry about the future, I couldn't tell.
Vincent didn't open up about it either.
And I had no intention of prying with clumsy comfort or encouragement.
I just sat there beside him.
For a very long time, until he drained the final bottle.
He staggered to his feet.
"I'll head down first."
"Yeah. I'll stay a bit longer."
Vincent bowed his head and turned away.
He wobbled unsteadily at first.
But as he walked the walls, his back gradually straightened.
By the time he was far off, he strode without a hint of sway.
No sign of drunkenness anywhere.
No trace of anguish either.
Just the solid back of a man like unyielding rock.
"Brr. Cold."
Once he vanished from sight, Ranger Jordan snuck up and handed me a bottle.
"Don't tell the lord."
"Got it. Thanks."
I shared Jordan's foul rotgut with the Ranger captains.
The last drop I poured onto the snowfields beyond the walls.
Thinking of the men who fell in the recent battle.
I descended the walls.
"Your Highness."
The one-eyed cavalry commander greeted me, then frowned.
He'd caught the whiff of liquor on me.
"The wind is biting. Hurry inside and warm up."
The commander cleared his throat awkwardly and climbed the stairs to the walls.
"Oh. Jordan."
As I passed him absentmindedly, I belatedly remembered the boozers still on the walls.
I offered a silent prayer for their future upon crossing paths with the straitlaced commander.
The next day, I rose late and immediately summoned the knights.
I checked their achievements one by one.
What they had gained in the last battle, and how the war poems had affected them.
Arwen showed little change.
Her solid swordsmanship and presence had simply matured further.
I quietly gauged her aura.
Among the ring masters I knew, the strongest had been my uncle in his prime. The silver lion from the central regions and the Royal Knight Order captain paled in comparison in many ways.
And Arwen, if I dared venture a guess, was in no way inferior to my uncle at his peak.
Her steadfast character, stable ring, and countless real battles had forged her into a knight more solid than any other.
I felt immense satisfaction at the unyielding strength hidden beneath her delicate frame.
"An aura befitting the nickname 'Steel'."
"I merely strive to improve."
Arwen glanced sidelong at the knights beside her, her face flushed red.
I followed her gaze to Adelia and Ilai.
Their changes, unlike hers, were dramatic and striking.
The greatest shift was in their caliber.
After clashing with the great army lord of the dark green tribe, they had finally transcended the extraordinary to reach heroic stature.
Though that so-called lord's presence had been sorely diminished, making their gained caliber imperfect and limited, the fact remained they had grasped it.
Thus, Ilai could now craft one more verse for his [Martial Prowess Poem], and Adelia could wield one additional verse from her [Genesis Poem].
A tremendous leap forward.
I proposed a test spar between the masters.
Ilai stepped up first.
The man who usually couldn't even tread in Arwen's shadow suddenly nominated her as his opponent.
I watched their bout with keen interest.
It was a clash between a ring master and a heart master.
Each time their swords met, chunks of Ilai's aurablade chipped away. Judging by his pale face, he was barely holding back from vomiting blood.
Doubt flickered across his features.
He was debating whether to use his [Full Moon Poem].
But in the end, it was a pointless deliberation.
Before he could decide, Arwen's sword reached his throat.
"That's enough."
Arwen sheathed her blade with a soft gasp.
Ilai hung his head low.
He had much to say but swallowed it all, unwilling to show ugliness before the woman he admired.
Of course, the usual him might have whined that the match was invalid since he hadn't used his [Martial Prowess Poem].
"Even if you'd used your Martial Prowess Poem, the outcome wouldn't have changed. The gap in experience and technique embedded in that sword is vast."
At my words, Ilai bit his lip, then bolted from the clearing.
Next was Adelia's turn.
Her sword still reeked of unrestrained killing intent, so I prepared to intervene. But Arwen requested to face her first.
Her eyes held a hint of competitive fire.
"Fine. But if it gets dangerous, I'll step in anytime."
I placed my hand on my hilt, said so, and called for the match to begin.
Adelia was usually dim, but a rare genius with the sword. She certainly hadn't watched Ilai and Arwen's bout idly.
She had likely already grasped why Ilai lost.
My hunch was right.
She had devised her own way to counter Arwen based on his defeat.
The problem was, her method was far more reckless than I'd imagined.
"I shake off a single sword strike."
As the match began, Adelia recited from her [Genesis Poem], her blade glowing yellow.
"You madwoman!"
I spat a curse and rushed to block Arwen's front.
I angled my sword and let golden aura flow off it slantwise.
Krreeeech!
With a grating noise, Adelia's sword veered off along the deflection.
Boom!
The wayward force of genesis crashed into the clearing.
Even after glancing the poem's power aside, I was pushed back several steps. Staring blankly at the footprints I'd left, Adelia hurled her sword aside and ran to me.
"Your Highness!"
Her face brimmed with worry and self-reproach, fearing I'd taken even the slightest scratch.
Glancing at her kind expression, I looked to the ground.
The deep crater could easily bury a man.
I clicked my tongue in annoyance.
Shaking out my tingling wrist, I mentally ranked the masters.
Adelia first, Arwen second. Ilai last.
And none of them were inferior to the kingdom's other silver lions.
Satisfaction brought a smile to my face.
The inspections continued.
I summoned all the other knights as well.
The roughly five hundred knights assembled in the clearing stared at me intently.
Some with eyes sharpened by old grudges,
others gleaming with anticipation.
Gazing at the royal broken blades and silver foxes, I pointed straight ahead.
"Antoine. Step forward."
The middle-aged mercenary, once leader of the Silver Fox Mercenaries but now just one knight among many in Winter Castle, stood before me.
I commanded the confident Antoine.
Show me what he'd gained from the last war.
I hoped this time it wouldn't be some absurd ditty like "The Blade that Cuts Blades.".