Chapter 97
Chapter 97
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: 32. Fisherman's Gain (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Before accepting Turka's proposal, I called Vincent and explained the situation. No matter what anyone said, the lands around Winter Castle belonged to the Ballerhard family, and I couldn't make the decision on my own.
"With orcs already as our neighbors, what's a few dwarves?"
Vincent granted me full authority, telling me to proceed however I saw fit if I had a plan in mind.
"Make sure to squeeze them for a hefty rent."
I promised to repay his complete trust in kind, then immediately began preparations to depart the fortress.
"Yorden. I've got a mission for you."
"Suddenly?"
Ranger Yorden, who had been enjoying the standard rest given to those returning from long patrols or similar duties, recoiled in horror.
"Everyone else gets time off, so why me..."
I gave the fidgeting ranger a nonchalant reply.
"You ditched us midway. Time to make up for it."
I mimed downing a drink, and Yorden's face twisted like he'd just bitten into something foul.
"Hey, who said I ran away..."
"Then what was it, if not running?"
Yorden mumbled, then scowled fiercely.
He had his reasons, but couldn't voice them.
I burst out laughing at the sight.
"Alright, 17th Squad's on the job then."
"Urgh."
Whatever that male pride of his was, he wouldn't admit—even on his deathbed—that he'd passed out drunk. Yorden just groaned in misery.
"We leave tomorrow."
Leaving Yorden behind, I met Turka again and informed him of the schedule.
"Nice to see things moving so decisively."
Just days ago, Turka had been droning on about booze, but now he brimmed with enthusiasm, as if it had never happened.
The night before departure, we gathered with the rangers to plot the route and timeline. Turka pulled a map from his bosom and pointed.
"We'll start by sweeping this area."
His thick finger jabbed at a spot on the map, covered in unfamiliar symbols. And so our destination was set.
The next day, we set out from the fortress at dawn, with Yorden and the rangers leading the way.
"We'll follow the cliffside."
Leaving the fortress, we headed west along the cliffs bordering Winter Castle.
To guard against any snow, ice, or rocks tumbling from above, we kept a safe distance from the cliff face and trudged on for hours.
A blizzard whipped up midway, but Yorden spotted the shift in weather early and guided us into a cave along the cliff, sparing us a face-off with the storm in the open snowfields.
"Yorden, you never disappoint."
"You owe me a full ten days off when we get back."
With most veteran rangers lost in battle, Yorden was now Winter Castle's finest. Dragging him along despite his rest had been worth it.
Once the weather cleared, we emerged and pressed west again.
About a week later, we reached the northwestern tip Turka had marked on the map.
"We're here."
Turka shook his head as he surveyed the surroundings at Yorden's words.
"No energy signatures here."
Turka demanded we push further west.
"A bit more and we'll hit the kingdom's border."
Yorden glanced at me, asking if we should proceed.
"Let's see how far we can go."
At my approval, Yorden and the rangers led on with reluctant faces.
The dwarves trailed behind, frequently halting to dig into the snow, press ears to the ground, or sniff the air.
"Further west."
Turka spoke with the air of someone onto something, and Yorden shot me another look.
"One more day out, and we're truly beyond the kingdom."
"What's past that?"
"No idea."
Yorden's face hardened as he added,
"No ranger who's crossed the border has ever returned."
"Let's at least reach the language line."
"If it gets dangerous, I'll drag you back by force."
The usually playful, upbeat ranger's tone was unyieldingly firm.
We marched another day.
The lead rangers halted in unison and turned to me.
Beyond their shoulders fluttered a tattered flag, half-torn and thrust slantwise into the snowfield. Farther still lay a bleached-white forest.
"This is as far as we go."
As I frowned at the rangers' words, Turka and Surka suddenly surged to the front of the line.
"Feel it?"
"Clear as day."
The dwarves stopped dead before the ragged flag, exchanging cryptic words.
Before I could ask, they yanked shovels from their packs and began clawing at the snow.
They moved like men possessed.
Layer upon layer of ancient snow peeled away, finally exposing bare earth.
Turka plunged his head upside-down into the pit and stayed there motionlessly for ages.
"No clue what they're doing."
Yorden, bow and crossbow at the ready, grumbled while eyeing the flag and beyond. He itched to leave, but the dwarves' bizarre antics grated on him.
Flail, flail.
Suddenly, Turka's legs thrashed wildly in the air.
"Nngh!"
Surka grabbed his clansman's stubby legs and yanked him out like a radish.
Flushed red face, bloodshot eyes, beard and features caked in snow and dirt.
The old dwarf, fresh from headfirst burial, looked utterly wrecked.
Yet in that mess, Turka grinned ear to ear.
"Found it!"
"The records were spot on!"
The two dwarves clasped hands and jigged in delight.
"Let's hear how this plays out first."
Only then did Turka release his kin and turn to me, face still alight with joy and excitement.
"The records were right! Massive fire crystal deposits right below us! Enough to last not five hundred years, but a thousand!"
Turka bubbled over.
"This is the place I've been searching for!"
"No dungeon."
I told the dwarf, whose fervor showed no sign of waning.
"What do you mean all of a sudden?"
"What else? We renegotiate the terms."
Turka sobered, opening his mouth.
"After all this..."
"You said you'd lease barren land."
I glanced yonder.
The eternally white forest, eyes gleaming vividly amid unnatural darkness.
Gazes devoid of hostility or malice—transparent, and all the more chilling for it.
I knew those who bore such eyes.
"Didn't say anything about shielding you from elves, either."
Swoosh.
No sooner had I spoken than elves materialized like phantoms, without a whisper of presence.
And at their center stood a millennium-old mad elf.
"Not here to claim a bride, I hope."
Elder High Elf Sigrun's gaze skimmed me, lips curved in a pristine smile, before fixing on the dwarves.
The dwarves, overly thrilled, belatedly realized their carelessness; their faces stiffened.
"No idea what that betrothal gift might be."
Sigrun beamed as if unwrapping a grand present.
But her smile held only the irritation of a beast at territorial intrusion—no true joy.
She looked back at me, her eyes demanding explanation.
The false affection and favor were gone.
Just icy detachment. I sighed.
I'd known of the elven forest in the kingdom's northwest. Just hadn't realized it had expanded over four centuries to hug our border.
As I pondered, Sigrun vanished from the spot.
Boom!
An explosion rang out.
I whipped around toward the sound.
There stood Sigrun, sword drawn, facing him who held his axe like a shield.
"A pity. I meant to sever an arm at least."
"Savage folk, then and now."
Turka spat and regripped his axe.
No hint of intimidation before the ancient elven monster anywhere on him.
As expected.
A Prima Meister bowed to no Elder High Elf.
But the situation was poor.
Even fully prepared, dwarves were untouchable to elves—but caught off-guard like this, they were at a disadvantage.
Especially against dozens of sentinels plus a millennium-old Elder High Elf, with only two dwarves.
Left alone, they'd likely die to the elves nine times out of ten.
That wasn't what I wanted.
As elves and dwarves' auras swelled, the rangers ground their teeth.
Their souls, tempered battling warlords, resisted—even if just the tip of the iceberg—against the transcendent duo.
The sight filled me with delight and pride; I laughed.
At that instant, the presence coiled within me unleashed.
"Loose."
At my command, the rangers released bowstrings and crossbow prods.
Thwack.
Sigrun and Turka swept aside the incoming arrows with sword and axe. Azure gleams flashed in their eyes.
As they turned fury toward the innocent rangers—
Whoooosh!
A streak of light plunged between dwarf and elf.
Step, step.
I strode through their midst. Far off, I yanked Dusky from its snow mound and shook off the flakes with a flick.
"Seems you've both forgotten."
I turned to them, reminding of what they'd overlooked.
"This isn't elven land. Nor dwarven."
They startled, looking at me.
"This is my kingdom."
I declared to them.
In my mind rang [Ode of the Tyrant].
The land I'd claimed by felling the olive-drab warlord.
The usurper's presence that toppled a king proved my ownership—and right—to this soil.
"Withdraw."
I commanded them, infusing presence and will.
Clink.
Sigrun sheathed first.
She gazed at me with deep satisfaction, like beholding fruit ripening lusciously on a bough—unsettling, yet without defiance.
Turka followed.
He didn't fully lower his axe, but the imminent charge was gone.
Having separated Elder High Elf and Prima Meister, I continued, presence unyielding.
"No reckless acts in my kingdom."
The elf smiled; the dwarf cleared his throat awkwardly.
We'd narrowly averted clashing blades, but the tension didn't melt into warmth.
Sigrun was a madwoman who might draw steel anytime; Turka, a stubborn fighter who'd welcome battle.
Mediating them was no easy task.
But not impossible.
As long as Sigrun held no immediate enmity toward me and Turka sought no forcible seizure of kingdom soil, they'd heed me.
"That far is elven territory."
I pointed to the mistletoe-choked forest.
"From here is the kingdom's."
My border-tracing finger dropped to the ground at my feet.
"Below this land is dwarven."
I declared to the watching Elder High Elf and Prima Meister.
"From today, this is the tripartite border zone."