I Picked Up an Imperial Princess 2

Rofan.

Romance fantasy.

It was a genre that encompassed a fairly wide range of works.

But there was no ambiguity about which side of the line this world fell on.

World with air conditioning, macarons, and trains.

A soft, fluffy kind of world, surely.

'And here I was cursing the medieval folk for believing strange rumors — turns out I was the ugly barbarian all along.'

To think his own life had been a case of mistaken genre.

But it wasn't bad.

In fact, it was great.

It meant this grimy, gore-soaked dark fantasy zone was only a small corner of it.

The moment Caric registered that fact, he completed his mental preparations to abandon his homeland.

As it happened, a distinguished guest who could help him emigrate was standing right in front of him.

"Annette de Belgarde."

It was a name he vaguely remembered.

She was the female lead of a romance fantasy, an imperial princess, and she had some kind of special talent, didn't she?

The details escaped him.

Well, he had been reincarnated for a very long time.

But he'd seen this coming, which was why he had a vast trove of notes written in Korean stashed away somewhere.

He would surely be able to dig the original story's information out of them.

'I'll have to stop by my hideout.'

That said, even going off memory alone, what he needed to do right now was perfectly clear.

Rescue the female lead. Enter the rofan empire.

"So, what, what are you planning to do now?"

Annette asked, trembling with anxiety.

From her perspective, the situation was deeply bizarre and terrifying.

Out of nowhere, a barbarian had appeared drenched in monster blood, muttering her name to himself.

Fortunately, this was a good barbarian.

"You're going to die."

"Pardon?"

"Your enemies."

Caric rose, hefting his axe.

Then he pulled off his fur-lined top and handed it to Annette.

"Cover up. You're making me cold just looking at you."

Annette accepted the leather garment in a daze.

Softer than she'd expected, it wrapped around her bare shoulders.

But what actually captured her attention was something else entirely.

Caric's upper body, bared the moment he shed his clothes.

It was so massive and so densely packed with muscle that she wondered if it even belonged to a human.

Perhaps because of the shamanic tattoos covering it, even stripped of his clothes he seemed to be wearing some lumpy, uneven armor.

"Lord Caric, what exactly are you doing right now?"

the one-eyed man said.

He could hardly fail to notice that the atmosphere had turned ugly.

"I'd advise you to come along quietly, if you know what's good for you."

Only, the man's tone had shifted oddly.

The reason was obvious.

He'd positioned archers somewhere in the meantime, or pulled out a magic scroll, or something along those lines.

Not that it would change anything.

"If everyone just quietly comes along, who's going to deliver social justice?"

Caric strode toward the human hunters, lecturing them with grave severity.

"Someone has to do what needs doing."

The one-eyed man's lone eye twitched.

"Di—."

The word —irty never got the chance to be finished.

CRUNCH!

Somewhere along the way, Caric's knee had already planted itself in the man's mouth.

'When?'

He had missed the movement completely.

When the hell had he leapt?

That was the one-eyed man's final thought.

CRACK!

Came the sound of something that should never break, breaking.

The one-eyed man flew away as if struck by a siege ram and slammed into the snowfield, face-first.

His face reduced to a pulp of blood, he slumped where he'd landed.

"Crackdown on bad language: success."

Caric murmured with satisfaction.

"AAAAGH!"

The man standing beside him screamed.

"You insane bastard!"

Another one spat out a curse.

But that man would come to regret it almost immediately.

'Ah.'

Because his eyes had met the mad barbarian's.

Amid all the flailing and scrambling, Caric had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picked him out with perfect precision.

When it came to bad language, Caric caught every single utterance with uncanny accuracy.

The man launched straight off the ground and into the air.

"FLYING BARBARIANNNN!"

Come to think of it, was this a jump attack?

An inefficient move that left every weak point wide open.

Especially when facing multiple opponents.

But the targeted man had frozen solid, body and all.

'Shit.'

He couldn't help it.

What was flying at him was a two-meter-plus wall of muscle, a lunatic barbarian.

Worse, he wore an expression that said you're caught dead to rights.

Eye contact this murderous was not something a man got to experience often.

BAAAM!

Another spine-chilling sound rang out across the snowfield.

The Flying Barbarian Knee Kick had claimed its next victim.

"Gahk!"

His face too became a bloody pulp as he went flying off to land somewhere far across the snow.

Caric touched down with a thud, spraying blood across the surroundings.

He wore a satisfied smile.

Not only had he successfully delivered character education to two people already, but the situation itself was exactly the kind he loved best.

'Enemies on all sides!'

He'd charged blindly into the enemy ranks to reach the second victim, after all.

He'd walked himself right into the encirclement.

But.

"All the better!"

Didn't people die just from him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swinging his axe around carelessly?

Wasn't this the whole fifty-fifty water-and-fish deal?

Caric's knees, bent from the landing, sprang open again with elastic force.

Before the little blizzard he'd kicked up had even settled back to earth.

Through its swirling veil, the axe swept around in flashes of light.

"Kuheoaaak!"

The human hunters were cleaved apart like paper dolls, toppling one after another.

Blood sprayed. Limbs sailed through the air.

And when the blizzard finally settled.

Only Caric remained standing.

"Hmm."

Caric tilted his head.

"What gives? Arrows, magic — when are those supposed to fly? I was braced for them and I feel let down."

The answer presented itself at once.

"Hhh, heeek."

There was a man hiding behind a tree.

He'd dropped something like a staff and collapsed on the ground.

Why do you piss yourself like it's the most natural thing in the world?

That was what he wanted to ask, but Caric barely stopped the words from leaving his mouth.

He was secretly a rather timid soul himself, so he more or less understood.

"Looks like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you were too scared to fire."

Caric commented, with great magnanimity.

Come to think of it, the men he'd just felled had dropped quite a few scrolls around the area too.

Had he somehow ended up dealing with the rear guard first?

Apparently his mindless jump attack into a whirling axe spin had produced an unexpectedly effective result.

"S-spare me."

the pants-wetting mage said.

"Why?"

Caric asked, in all seriousness.

"Wh-what do you mean, why—"

"That."

Caric nodded at the bone ornaments hanging at the mage's waist.

Going by everything he'd seen so far, they were almost certainly made from the finger bones of children.

A very dark-fantasy-resident kind of accessory.

"Ah, right — it's not dark fantasy anymore, is it."

Caric muttered as he trudged over.

"I-it's just—"

"There, there. It's fine. No need to make excuses."

Caric knew all too well how mind-numbingly boring this world could be.

"You needed some stimulation, that's all. You just needed something like a 4D Netflix."

Caric raised his axe.

"So think of this as a subscription fee."

The mage's head parted company with his body.

Scarlet drops of blood stained the snow-covered forest floor.

The sound of his body collapsing was the last noise before silence fell.

Not a single living enemy remained.

Caric shook off his axe and turned around.

There sat Annette, dazed, having watched every moment from beginning to end.

"Hmm. Was that too gruesome?"

She hurriedly shook her head, trying to deny it.

But in Annette's mind, the limbs flying through the air still lingered like afterimages.

The severed necks spouting blood. The heads rolling about with terror frozen on their faces.

"Ah…."

Her lips had gone blue.

"You've got a face like you're about to throw up."

"Urk, mm. N-no. I-I'm f-fine…."

Needless to say, she looked anything but fine.

"If you're going to puke, just let it out properly."

"No. You mustn't."

Annette's body swayed even as she sat.

She seemed to be experiencing vertigo.

'She's about to pass out.'

Shock and relief and exhaustion must have crashed over her all at once.

Chased across half the wilderness, she'd long since drained her stamina and mana to the dregs.

Holding on this long was admirable, really.

But instead of fainting outright, Annette clenched her fists tight.

"Still… um, over there."

Clutching the fur garment Caric had given her like a lifeline,

she forced the words out.

"Thank you for, for saving…."

Annette's trembling voice grew smaller and smaller.

And yet, as if she absolutely had to get this one thing across, she pressed on desperately.

"Thank… you… gurgle."

Annette keeled over face-first into the snow.

She lay sprawled across the snowfield, still as death.

Whatever she'd meant to say, she never finished it.

But the meaning had come across well enough.

'And I was wondering what she was going to say.'

A thank-you, apparently.

Looking down at the little crown of her head, Caric gave a small smile.

"Her character doesn't look bad."

He'd have to keep watching to be sure, of course.

But the first stitch on the journey to the rofan empire seemed to have been sewn decently enough.

To put it another way—

'The stage is set beautifully for me to spend this summer as the imperial princess's benefactor, blasting the AC at full power and living it up on rofan-empire Korean food.'

Only, not everything was perfect.

Somehow, the thing that should have happened ages ago still hadn't happened.

"Hmm."

Caric deliberated.

'Should I wait here a bit?'

The rofan female lead, stranded in the middle of a snowfield?

Or being pursued, no less?

What would the next plot beat be?

Out of nowhere, a barbarian shows up and kills everyone?

Obviously not.

No — it should have been the black-haired, black-eyed, coldly handsome Grand Duke of the North, despite being nominally a northerner himself.

And then… he kills everyone anyway, doesn't he?

Either way, there wasn't the faintest sign of such a pretty-boy showing up.

Had something gotten bent out of shape?

Why wasn't he coming?

If he doesn't show, the barbarian's just going to scoop up the female lead and make off with her, you know?

'Well, not that I have any intention of handing her over politely even if he does come.'

Even as he mused, Caric's hands were busy at work.

The journey to the empire was one thing, but he couldn't skimp on the looting.

First he put on a spare top he'd scavenged.

Then, in rather fine spirits, he rifled through the corpses that had been hacked apart or blown apart all over the place.

The results:

Unfurling the contract, he found Annette's name and physical description written out in detail.

It certainly looked like someone had indeed tried to have her killed.

But, hmm.

"Haven't the foggiest."

Was the culprit the stepmother-concubine? The half-brother? He had absolutely no idea.

Which was only natural.

As if anyone could recall the plot of a novel they'd read in their past life, over twenty years ago.

He really would have to go to the hideout and check the notes he'd scribbled as a kid.

"Annette's coming with me. Late-to-the-party Grand Duke of the North — you're disqualified from male lead."

Caric slung Annette over his shoulder, chattering away to no one.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Hours later.

Caric arrived at his hideout, a solitary cabin in the wilderness.

It was a house he had hauled here and built himself, piece by piece, thanks to the harsh and dangerous environment.

Thanks to which, it had gone five hundred and seventy-seven days without an intruder, and its insulation was flawless.

Built from somewhat unconventional materials, perhaps, but a magnificent sweet home all the same.

From the outside, it looked perfectly decent and cozy, too.

In a place like this, poor Annette would recover her strength in no time.

Even once she woke, she'd surely enjoy the finest rest of her life.

Caric laid Annette down on a bed draped in a whole hide.

After tucking the blanket in snugly around her,

he lifted up one of the floorboards.

"Now then — let's find out what the original story is before Her Highness wakes up."