Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: 13. Finally, I've Found the Place Where I Belong (2)
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A biting gale howled around them, snowflakes dancing wildly in the air. Every breath released a plume of white vapor.
At some point, winter had fully enveloped their surroundings.
Whether it was simply the passage of time or the shift in climate from heading north, he couldn't tell. But one thing was crystal clear.
"Ugh, it's freezing my ass off."
It was damn cold.
"If you can't stand it, why not get back in the carriage?"
His uncle's words made him shake his head.
This was weather he'd have to get used to eventually. He couldn't rely on the carriage forever—he needed to adapt to the cold. Besides, the damn thing felt too stuffy.
"Looks like this old fool's meddling has caused Your Highness some trouble."
Right on cue, the carriage window slid open, revealing the culprit who'd dragged him out in the first place. It was Nicollo.
"You know that, so get down here."
"If this decrepit body keels over with some illness mid-journey, wouldn't that cause even more trouble?"
"Then why'd you tag along in the first place?"
"Half-learned knowledge is worse than none at all. Unrefined insights could poison Your Highness, so how could I stand by and watch?"
Nicollo prattled on with a theatrical flair, claiming that with his remaining days numbered, this might be his last chance to witness the harsh northern wilds.
His words flowed like a mountain stream.
"Besides, the book I'm writing this time will surely benefit Your Highness too."
"Yeah, right."
"Come now, instead of that, why not join me inside for a chat? The more versed a commander is in strategy and tactics, the less hardship his soldiers endure. This book I'm working on covers the very advantages of—"
If he let that go on, he'd be stuck listening to the rambling all the way to camp. Pretending not to hear, he cut the old man off mid-sentence.
Moving to the front of the column, he spotted Arwen.
Draped in gray fur over her royal knight's crimson coat, she rode a pure white warhorse, her red cape billowing behind her.
She looked like a figure from a painting.
Even as the vanguard cavalry urged their mounts forward, they stole glances at her. Clearly captivated by her beauty.
The subject herself, however, was suffering terribly from the biting cold.
"Arwen. You okay?"
"I'm fine!"
Her speech was slurred from the chill—almost comically so. Her flushed cheeks could have been from the cold... or embarrassment over her mumbled words.
"Switch out anytime if it's too much."
"How could a knight seek personal comfort?"
Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm. Ever since leaving the capital, she'd been overflowing with vitality. The prospect of real combat must have ignited her drive.
But not everyone shared her zeal.
He glanced back.
Trailing somewhat behind Ballerhard's troops were the thirty royal infantrymen and ten cavalry sent from the capital. Their faces were grim, like cattle herded to the slaughterhouse.
The soldiers and riders who met his eyes quickly bowed their heads. In that fleeting moment, he read the emotion flickering in their gazes.
Resentment.
Pulled from cushy lives in the capital to this frigid, unforgiving north—it was no wonder they blamed him.
If Kals and the royal knights had been here, they might have rallied the men even in his absence.
Unfortunately, Kals and the royal knights weren't with them.
The king had permitted his journey north but refused to lend his personal knights.
You've got your own knights, don't you?
He'd only mocked his habit of appointing women as knights. In the end, he'd sent just these token thirty infantry and ten cavalry as a formality.
"Petty old bastard."
Muttering about it, he was interrupted by his uncle.
"His Majesty probably couldn't rule out the chance that his royal knights might be swayed by Ballerhard influence."
His uncle was right.
The king was openly checking him—or rather, his uncle.
It was strange.
No matter how much of a wastrel the original owner of this body had been, he was still blood. After he'd possessed it and started showing some diligence, the king's hatred felt excessive.
There had to be something he didn't know.
Lost in thought, he suddenly looked at his uncle's face.
No joke—his uncle looked awful. The once-vibrant eyes were sunken, his strong jawline sharpened to a harsh edge.
His heart demon had worsened.
Even seeing it, he played dumb.
He'd let it fester a bit longer. Until the pus burst through the skin on its own. He'd watch just a little more.
"Just wait a bit."
His uncle frowned at the cryptic words, wondering what nonsense he was spouting now.
"Blessed are those who wait."
"You smell like booze from marching."
He ignored the uncle's scolding.
They pressed on for hours more.
By day they marched; by night they found suitable campsites to rest. Braving the swirling snow, they pushed northward.
About two weeks in, a massive mountain range loomed on the horizon.
"The Blade Mountains. The border our house has guarded for generations."
With those words, his uncle quickened the column's pace.
"Ballerhard's climate shifts unpredictably. Linger too long, and we'll be trapped in a blizzard, unable to move."
He was right.
After two straight days of marching without rest, they finally spotted Ballerhard Castle—just as a ferocious blizzard erupted.
If not for the soldiers who'd come out to greet them from the castle, they'd have been stranded, just as his uncle warned.
The soldiers and uncle gestured wildly, shouting over the roar.
"...!"
"......!"
The wind drowned out their words completely.
"Leave the carriages—we'll retrieve them later! Grab the horses and move on foot!"
Only when his uncle bellowed using mana did the group stir back to life.
Dismounting, he handed his reins to a nearby soldier and headed straight for the carriage, flinging the door open.
"Grab my hand!"
Adelia, fully geared up, took his hand with reverent gratitude. He ignored Nicollo's sour glare from behind.
Terrified by the raging blizzard, Adelia clung tightly to his side. She hardly looked like a woman who'd surpassed Sword Learner and neared Sword Expert.
But what could he do? She was timid at heart. At least she wasn't a bloodthirsty war maniac.
As he tended to Adelia, Nicollo emerged late from the carriage.
Arms spread wide, he shouted something with an ecstatic expression. No doubt waxing poetic about the majesty of nature and this mighty storm.
He scanned the surroundings.
Horses panicked by the blizzard bucked wildly; Ballerhard soldiers struggled to calm them. Royal troops scurried about chaotically. It was utter pandemonium.
His eyes, though, were drawn to the royal soldiers.
Despite their "elite" status, they flailed about helplessly. The Ballerhard men's disciplined movements only made their disarray stand out more.
Well, shit.
One tumbled alone; others got bowled over by the wind, tangling in heaps. It was a pathetic sight.
And these were the men he'd have to lead from now on.
A sigh escaped him.
"Arwen!"
"Your Highness!"
Amid the chaos, Arwen somehow heard him and rushed over, her steps unflinching—mana surging through her, no doubt.
"Look after Adelia!"
"Right away!"
Handing Adelia off, he charged toward the soldiers.
He grabbed a soldier staggering backward in the gusts by the collar and hauled him up.
"Y-Your Highness?"
Roaring at the still-dazed man:
"Idiot! Drop the shield!"
Those wide shields were catching the wind like sails.
Hearing his mana-infused shout, the soldiers finally snapped to attention and moved with purpose.
They'd looked sloppy in the sudden mess, but they weren't total incompetents.
The scrambling soldiers unslung their shields and buried them under the carriages.
"You there! Yeah, you big guy! You're point! Everyone form up behind him! No, no! Not a mob—single file! You morons!"
"Ditch anything cumbersome except your swords! We'll come back for it! What? Royal issue gear? I'm a prince, you idiots! Can't find it? I'll get you new ones—just drop it!"
Ballerhard soldiers turned at the shouts piercing the gale.
The young prince who'd arrived with their commander was bellowing orders.
Not particularly imposing in build or looks—like some pampered court pretty boy—he commanded the troops like a battle-hardened veteran.
Awe-struck, the capital dandies hustled with newfound vigor.
"No need to step in now."
Truth be told, the Ballerhard men had planned to let them flounder a bit before stepping in to save face—a little hazing ritual. Royal elites strutting about needed their egos checked. But the young prince had ruined their fun.
As they watched him stand tall against the storm, the soldiers exchanged glances.
He's not what we heard.
Got real combat experience?
They murmured quiet admiration. But it was short-lived.
He was still a green princeling who'd never endured a brutal winter.
They figured that bluster wouldn't last.
Plowing through a blizzard was grueling even for seasoned knights.
But they were wrong.
One of the dandies lagged. The prince hoisted him over his shoulder.
An arrogant noble—no, an even more arrogant royal. The notorious wastrel first prince, carrying a common soldier? Shock rippled through them. But something else stunned them more.
The snow dragged at ankles, sapping strength; poor visibility gnawed at the mind. Protecting someone in that was no small feat.
Even tough knights faltered in their first blizzard. Yet here was the prince, soldier on his back, keeping pace effortlessly.
That took more than a bit of mana.
They'd prepped with snowshoes and gear, but the prince had barely managed cold-weather basics.
The soldiers eyed their commander.
What the hell did you bring from the capital?
Where'd you pick this guy up?
His lips twitched under their borderline insolent stares.
See for yourselves.
The ferocious blizzard died as suddenly as it had begun.
They reached Ballerhard Castle right on cue.
"Damn it, couldn't it have stopped sooner?"
After enduring every misery the storm could throw, arrival felt anticlimactic.
"Y-Your Highness."
As he cursed inwardly at the clear sky, someone approached.
"Th-thank you so much."
It was the soldier who'd ridden on royal shoulders.
He waved him off. The man bowed repeatedly before slipping back into formation.
"Prepare quarters for the royal troops."
The instructed Ballerhard soldiers led the royals away.
"Did you have to make such a scene?"
Brushing snow from his shoulders and eyes, his uncle approached.
Handing them off or lending an arm would have sufficed. Why go that far? Before he could answer, the exhausted but ever-talkative Nicollo chimed in.
"What His Highness did will spread far and wide through your count's soldiers and the royals. Winning hearts by lending a shoulder for half a day? That's a bargain."
He scowled at Nicollo's words.
It made him sound like a cold calculator.
Which... wasn't wrong.
His uncle eyed him, silently questioning if it was true.
"Call it a twofer. Isn't that the fun of rolling in the field together?"
With that, he looked up.
The structure was more fortress than castle, backed by endless walls. Countless gazes from atop the battlements fixed on him.
Ballerhard soldiers.
Their overwhelming military aura crashed over him.
A savage presence forged in endless battles, reeking of blood. That familiar, nostalgic thrill set his heart pounding.
It felt like 400 years ago.
The only difference? Back then, it wasn't aimed at him. Now it was.
That fact elated him endlessly.
Turning from his troops, his uncle faced him—wearing the face of a soldier, not a knight.
"As rightful lord of Ballerhard and commander of the 3rd Legion, I welcome the first prince's visit!"
The 3rd Legion's commander welcomed him.
"We heartily welcome you to Winter Castle."
The soldiers atop the walls roared in response, their aura surging.
His heart raced.
Finally, he'd found where he belonged.