Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 2: In the Helvid Northern Territory (1)
The city within the Count Rivan territory was busy as usual.
The sound of carriage wheels scraping against the stone pavement, the shouting of merchants, laughter flowing out of taverns. Everyone was living their own lives, and in the midst of it all, the name Edom Rivan was surprisingly light. After all, Edom was an existence whose presence or absence made no difference in this city from the start.
I stood in a narrow room of an inn at the end of an alley. On the bed lay a coat engraved with the Count family's crest, a longsword, and a single ring, all arranged neatly. All things belonging to the "Rivan Count Family."
Expensive, decent, and things that had never once protected me.
As I picked up the coat, a heavy texture remained in my hand. When I wore this, people treated me as a human of the Count family.
Not with respect, but with gazes filled with comparison and contempt.
I folded the coat and placed it on the bed. The sword was the same. A sword more valuable as a decoration. A weapon never expected to be used in actual combat.
Finally, I put down the ring.
An object proving the family name.
The moment I put it down, strangely, my chest felt lighter.
Edom Rivan ended here.
Some might say it's a hasty and extreme decision.
They might say that if I just gave up my obsession with the female lead and stuck to the family, I could at least live with a full stomach and a warm back.
I understood that.
Just giving up the obsession with the female lead would guarantee the right to survive, and if I just developed the guts to endure the family's vicious persecution and contempt, I could maintain the life of the Count's youngest son.
But the current decision was largely to not miss an opportunity that might be the first and last.
The Northern War is a future only I know.
I know the beginning and the end, and while I may not be detailed, I remember quite a bit of helpful information.
A barren land, but a land with opportunity.
Although life and death would come and go, I decided it was a hundred times better than living like a walking corpse in the Rivan Count family.
I strapped a newly bought dagger to my waist. It was made of cheap iron, something that could be found anywhere, and instead of the coat, I threw on a plain grey cloak and roughly tied my hair.
The man in the mirror no longer looked like the young master of a Count family.
Just a young man you could find anywhere.
Leaving everything behind in the inn room like that, I left the inn.
A young master abandoned by his family receives no treatment even in his own land.
Even if the innkeeper sees what was left in the room, nothing will change.
Because upon hearing the news, the Rivan Count family will close their ears.
It was better to leave things like this.
If I threw the Count family's items on the ground or in the bushes like trash, it might needlessly offend the family head and attract pursuers.
Anyway, I arrived at the city gates like that.
The guard asked for my occupation.
"Occupation."
"I am a wanderer."
The words came out without a moment's hesitation. A nameless occupation, neither mercenary nor merchant. A person who drifts and looks for work. A title that asks neither for past nor roots, and fits anywhere without feeling out of place—it was suitable for hiding one's identity.
"Name?"
I paused for a moment and answered with the name I had thought of.
"Iden."
That name existed nowhere in the original work. A name unrelated to the Rivan Count family, unrelated to the pathetic villain, unrelated to Romance Fantasy—a name born in the back alleys of this city today.
Because I had bought an identification plaque engraved with the name Iden from a black market dealer in the back alley.
"You may go."
"Thank you for your hard work."
Before the ink on the documents could dry, I left the city. I didn't look back. There was nothing left to leave in my departing footsteps.
I wasn't Edom anymore anyway.
There was no hateful affection between family members, nor any lingering regret of the loser who had persistently courted the female lead until now.
Just one man taking a step to seize an opportunity.
Helvid Northern Territory.
A land destined to be devastated by war.
Leaving the stage of Romance Fantasy far behind, I headed to the ruthless land where the story of the war only I knew would unfold, the battlefield of the North which was a land of opportunity.
The entrance to the Helvid Northern Territory was silent.
The cold wind brushed my cheeks, and the soil beneath my feet was frozen. Passing the marker indicating the border, I paused for a moment. From here on, it was a land where romance was pushed to the background, and war stood at the forefront.
Naturally, the past three months came to mind.
When I left the Rivan Count territory, I was definitely weak. I lacked stamina, and because I didn't know how to live in the wild, I had to go through countless trials and errors. My legs trembled after walking for just a day, and at night, my hands would stiffen, causing the summoning circle to scatter.
Still, I did not neglect training my Summoning Arts.
Due to a lack of mana and operational ability, maintenance was unstable at first. The camp sentries couldn't last past dawn, and the summoned beasts carrying luggage scattered after a few steps.
Whenever I failed, I didn't despair but summoned them again, and each time, it got a little better.
Just a little bit.
But the speed at which that 'little' accumulated was faster than I thought.
The sensation of handling mana became increasingly distinct. I felt like I knew where the power was leaking and which lines needed to be reduced.
I hadn't learned it professionally, but it felt like my hands reacted first.
Like sending a command directly to the fingertips drawing the summoning circle without the brain processing the thought.
At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me.
That Edom, while in the Count family, was always conscious of someone's gaze.
That he was the very definition of living on eggshells, unable to even stretch once without permission.
"It's a cursed talent. Don't wield it carelessly and disgrace the name of Rivan."
"What do you intend to do with that kind of thing?"
"Kukuku, why don't you summon a few ridiculous creatures and open a circus?"
The siblings' mockery and contempt.
The blatant pressure of having no expectations.
Thinking about it now, it was like an invisible limiter. The fear that I shouldn't use it wrong, the habit that I shouldn't stand out—these things always attached hesitation to the fingertips using Summoning Arts.
That disappeared.
Here, there were no siblings to compare with, no family to walk on eggshells around. There was no one to laugh even if I failed, and no one to evaluate the depth even if I succeeded.
The result revealed itself slowly but clearly.
The summoned beasts carrying loads lasted longer than before, and the surveillance spirits monitored a wider range.
The time it took to set up camp also decreased noticeably. It wasn't flashy, but it was a useful change.
Of course, it wasn't easy.
There were times I stayed up all night in the rain, and days I collapsed in despondency when the maintenance broke.
But the more that happened, the more stable the next summon became. As if a blocked place was being pierced little by little.
I was still frail.
But I wasn't stopped.
And now, standing at the entrance of the Northern Territory, I could be sure.
That this Summoning Art would at least not hold me back on the battlefield.
Catching my breath at the entrance, I moved my steps again. Inside the Helvid Northern Territory. The war hadn't started yet, but the flow was already moving.
Now, the only thing left was to confirm for myself how far this growth trend would continue.
As I entered the city at the entrance of the Northern Territory, the air was different.
The word cold wasn't enough. A feeling that the inside of my lungs cooled chillily every time I inhaled. The wind picked and dug into thin skin, and even though the sunlight was clearly shining, there was almost no sensation of warmth.
A few steps were enough to physically accept that this was the harsh land, the North.
The people on the streets were also different from the South. Their clothes were thick and simple, and their words were few.
Wariness was visible before laughter. Even though the shadow of war hadn't reached yet, everyone had faces as if they were already prepared.
I pulled my cloak tighter and first walked inside the city.
The option I thought of first while coming here was to have an audience with the Grand Duke of the North.
If I could properly convey the information I knew to the key figure commanding the war in this land in the original work, I could change the board significantly.
But I soon shook my head.
A mere wanderer meeting the Grand Duke of the North?
And then saying, "The Northern War will break out in 3 years, so you must prepare"?
It was perfect for being treated like a crazy person. No, before that, the possibility of being chased away near the castle gates was greater. No evidence, no status. There was no reason here to believe the prophecy of a nameless drifter.
Revealing that I am a person of the Rivan Count family could be one method, but I wasn't desperate or troubled enough to pick up again what I had discarded.
Then there was one path left.
Prove it first. Gain power in my voice through proof. And make that power resonate in the place where the war starts.
"They say the Red Mane Corps is recruiting additionally."
"Seems the Northern Barbarians are running wild these days."
In the middle of the city, people were gathered in front of a bulletin board with mercenary recruitment notices. The North always lacked troops, and it was a place where disputes never ceased even without war.
If disputes don't cease, mercenaries' work overflows.
Especially if you have skill.
In this place where skill takes precedence over origin, the plan so far is to steadily build experience and skill, apply for the Northern Regular Army, rise to a position where I can meet face-to-face with commander-level figures, and then plausibly preach the information I have to build merit.
Vague and cheeky, but for the current me, there was no better option.
Just arriving here with the body of a noble young master who lived frailly until now is a miraculous thing.
If I had no talent, I would have long since become a nameless corpse on the roadside.
I decided to trust what I experienced and polished during the 3-month journey.
Unexpectedly, this Edom Rivan was a guy with talent for survival and growth.
I pushed through the crowd and scanned the notice.
My gaze stopped.
Summoning Arts are useful here too.
No, rather, this place was like a stage where its true value could be displayed.
There are no nobles acting snobbish, saying Swordsmanship and Magic are the only truth and that things like Summoning Arts are gloomy curses used only by the lowly.
In this barren land where survival is the highest virtue, practicality is more important than snobbishness, and efficiency is more important than debating high or low status.
Join a famous mercenary corps.
Build experience and skill there.
And apply to the Regular Army with the captain's recommendation letter.
There are 3 years left until the war. It's a time longer than thought and shorter than thought, but at least not a time where the reason to jump in blindly needs to be considered.
If you get impatient, you ruin your judgment.
I caught my breath and took my eyes off the bulletin board.
And after asking around, I headed to the building of a mercenary corps called the 'Blue Wolf Corps'.
It was a mercenary corps that attached the condition of preferring Summoning Arts users, and perhaps the saying that there is opportunity where there is a will isn't wrong; the Blue Wolf Corps was a group briefly mentioned in the original work for achieving the feat of capturing the Northern Barbarian Chief alive.
As I entered the somewhat shabby building, a woman who appeared to be a receptionist greeted me.
"What brings you here?"
"I would like to apply to join."
"Did you come after seeing the bulletin board notice?"
"Yes."
"Please fill out this application form here, and enter the 'Admission Room' over there."
I accepted the paper from the receptionist and sat in a seat where a quill pen was placed.
I picked up the quill.
Immediately, I began to fill in the blanks of the admission application.
Strangely, rather than worry and fear, a rash sense of elation and anticipation fills me.
It might be a reckless and childish emotion, but it would be better than getting scared in advance.
The war is still far away.
From now on, it was time to survive and build up.