Frost Flowers and Roses
I opened my eyes a week after that day. I received the report that every single one of the soldiers who had shared life and death with me had perished without exception.
The moment I rose from my sickbed, I brushed off those trying to stop me and set off immediately.
'Gotta fulfill my duty to the end.'
Without even a chance to compose myself, the place I headed to was the cemetery where they lay sleeping beneath the cold soil.
Through the rattling carriage window, the stunning snowy landscape of Valenvalt Territory whisked by—the same view I'd seen on that reluctant departure for the goblin subjugation.
The world seemed utterly indifferent to the deaths of mere extras, shining brilliantly and peacefully as ever.
People think of the North as nothing but barren, rugged land, but in truth, this place was developing more modernly than anywhere else. It was rich in high-quality minerals, and relatively cheap compared to other regions. That drew in droves of dwarves honing the finest gear and mages seeking rare catalysts.
The heat billowing from the smithies lining the streets, the eerie beams leaking from the mages' labs. Looking down, stout dwarves with broad shoulders hurried along under massive loads. Among them glided mages in robes emblazoned with the Frost Tower's crest.
Watching it all, it hit me anew.
"This is a real fantasy world..."
I murmured softly at the passing scenery. I had no desire to lash out at them, no reason to glare with resentment-filled eyes.
If I, transmigrated into a romance fantasy novel, hated them just for existing in one—or for living their peaceful daily lives—that would be the act of a madman.
On the contrary, they were the backbone of Valenvalt. The wealth that made our margrave the North's hegemon, the force blooming civilization in this harsh land—it all stemmed from those dwarves' and mages' hands.
The territory's prosperity meant better gear for soldiers, thicker walls. I knew full well their labor and research upheld our house.
Still, it stung that my soldiers' lives had been consumed like frictional heat to turn those massive gears.
Shattered sunlight pouring through tall conifers, the distant silver ridges of eternal snow. But the more beautiful the scenery, the colder a corner of my heart grew.
To protect this peace, someone had to crumble like a rose beneath a monster's fangs.
I stared blankly at the northern landscape from the jolting carriage for a long while.
The views blurred by, and soon we arrived. The rattling stopped as the carriage came to a full halt.
The squire across from me dismounted first, opening the door and courteously escorting me out.
It had only been a week, yet having someone other than Kalia—who always shadowed me—by my side felt strangely off.
'Kalia, who'd stand guard all night... no wonder it feels weird.'
Unavoidable due to her injury, but it didn't quell the hollow ache.
Under the new squire's protection, I slowly stepped down from the carriage. My attendant followed, carefully holding the pre-prepared bundle of frost flowers.
Frost flowers, blooming against the North's biting winds. Their pure, chilling petals.
Only our footsteps echoed regularly over the silent graveyard as the attendant and I walked.
Not far from the entrance, the tombstones engraved with the names I sought came into view.
'Hans, Ron... and the others.'
I stopped before those cold stones.
Just a week ago, they'd guarded me with crude jokes; now, they were mere handfuls of earth beneath.
I took the frost flower bundle the attendant offered gingerly.
In the North, there was a long tradition of honoring fallen warriors with these cold blooms, commemorating their souls.
I paused at each stone, placing a single flower delicately.
Engraving the familiar names in my eyes, I offered all the flowers, then stepped back and bowed deeply.
"May your nobility find fulfillment in the heavens."
My quiet eulogy scattered into the chill air.
To dismiss their deaths as mere novel extras would cheapen the hot blood that had splattered my cheek.
That heat had seeped through my skin, branding my heart indelibly.
This world was no longer words on a page for me—it was harsh reality forged in blood and tears.
'Romance fantasy...'
Maybe I'd clung unconsciously to optimism just because it was a "romance fantasy."
After transmigrating, I'd spent four months as a loner without real conversation partners.
Just a stranger adrift in an alien world, unable to find a place to belong.
But in that short week of goblin subjugation, I'd savored sweeter times than I deserved.
Soldiers who approached politely, sometimes like friends despite the rank barrier. Time with them had been genuinely enjoyable.
Grumbling about romance fantasies and hassle while slaying goblins, but deep down, syncing with those good folks felt good. No—pretty fun, actually.
That joy hadn't even faded before cold tombstones brought home the weight of this world I'd tried to ignore.
After a moment's bow, I raised my head.
One last look at the names carved in stone, then I turned away cleanly, leaving no regrets.
The squire and attendant followed in heavy silence.
Back at the carriage, Squire Khan cautiously asked,
"Young master, it's been mere days since you left your sickbed. Shall we return to the mansion now?"
Worry and respect laced his voice, but I shook my head.
One more thing left to do.
"No. We'll proceed as planned."
"Understood. But if it becomes too much, please say so at once."
"Got it."
With that short exchange, Khan opened the carriage door.
I boarded with steady steps, as if this courtesy and authority were second nature.
We rode on, arriving before a flower shop in the bustling district.
Having finished the cemetery rites, any other flowers could be left to the attendant.
But regrettably, I hadn't come here for flowers.
As I stepped down, nearby gazes flicked to me briefly.
They quickly averted upon spotting the Valenvalt crest on the carriage—instinctive deference, avoiding rudeness to the North's lords.
I ignored it, grasping the shop door's handle.
Ding-a-ling.
Clear bells chimed as I entered, a profusion of floral scents tickling my nose.
The busy clerk amid vibrant blooms spotted me and bowed politely.
"Welcome. How may I help you?"
Her bright greeting came from a warm, brown-haired beauty.
"Hello. Do you know someone named Mary?"
"Pardon? That's me... What brings you here...?"
Caution and doubt flashed in her eyes as her words trailed off.
A noble young master with a knight in tow—no wonder. I fell silent a moment, then broached awkwardly,
"It's not... bad news, per se, but not good either. Anyway."
I drew a deep breath and got to it.
"Do you know a man named Ron?"
Wondering if it was one-sided love from a stranger Ron. But at his name, Mary's face clouded visibly.
She knew already. The near-death incident involving Valenvalt's second son was big news; with so many casualties, families had been notified.
She fiddled with a red rose in her hand, silent a beat before speaking.
"I do."
Her voice was surprisingly steady, yet brimmed with irrepressible sorrow.
I bowed first.
"...May the departed find peace."
"You're Kasian Valenvalt, right?"
"Yes. Just call me Kasian."
Mary nodded faintly, returning the wish for Ron.
"I as well—may he find peace."
Surprised by her grace, my eyes widened briefly, then I smiled faintly.
Kind-hearted. Ron was similar; how might their future have been together?
I closed my eyes briefly.
We shared a silent moment of final respect for Ron.
Opening my eyes, I met hers.
"It's awkward talking here—follow me this way."
Mary started guiding me inside but glanced at Khan and the attendant behind me, looking troubled.
Likely sensing private talk ahead. I turned to Khan considerately.
"Mind waiting here a moment?"
"That's..."
He frowned. Fresh from death's door, me going alone worried him.
As his hesitation stretched, Mary offered a compromise.
"What if you wait by that door? You can see everything inside clearly."
Khan pondered long, then nodded reluctantly.
Mary led the way to the inner parlor, and I followed her back.