Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 041
Chapter Title: End of Winter (2)
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The expedition arrived back at the fortress just half a month after setting out.
"The lord has returned. Open the gates."
Creak.
As the massive gate woven from thick logs rose, the trainees in the camp lined up to greet them.
"Victory! Victory! Victory!"
"Arun! Arun! Arun!"
The trainees slammed their shields against the ground, chanting Arun's name in unison.
Neigh, neigh.
The warhorses whinnied at the familiar fervor, and even the weary soldiers straightened their backs, drawing renewed strength.
Clop, clop.
As they entered the streets, residents poured out to line the roadsides. The first thing that caught their eyes was the pile of orc hides stacked on the wagons—a merit that needed no explanation.
"Ooh, the lord has wiped out the orcs."
"Waaah."
"Congratulations on your victory."
Arun offered no particular response. Expressionless atop his horse, he merely gave a slight nod from the waist as he pressed forward.
And then, finally, the wagons carrying the fallen passed by.
Crunch, jolt.
"Look at that."
"Sigh, well, war always claims its sacrifices."
"At least it's a relief that there aren't too many."
The cheers soon turned to solemn silence. As the wagons rolled past, the residents made the sign of the cross or bowed their heads in respect.
The expedition headed to a plaza that preserved part of the old barracks, where Westguard's sole priest stood waiting before the opposite building, accompanied by the bereaved families.
"Hic, sob."
"Ugh, honey."
A few could no longer hold back and burst into sobs.
Click.
Arun dismounted and turned to glance at the wagons behind him.
"I've come to entrust our comrades who went ahead first."
"Welcome. I shall guide them safely to the Lord."
"Unit, form ranks."
Over two hundred cavalrymen arrayed themselves in the plaza, while the residents stepped back and observed a silent vigil to see off the fallen.
"Carry our comrades."
"Gently now, take them inside the temple."
Under the priest's direction, the fallen were carefully lifted from the wagons.
The soldiers bearing the coffins followed the guidance into a building too modest to call a temple. Yet its stone foundation supporting a vaulted ceiling with massive logs lent it a majestic air.
As they entered the temple, the fortress's key figures came to greet Arun.
"You've worked hard for the council."
"Congratulations on your victory."
Creep Yansel and the other advisors and refugee representatives offered quiet greetings, and given the occasion, Arun responded with only a slight nod.
Starting with Arun's seating, the bereaved families and mourners took their assigned places.
"Today, we gather to bid farewell to those who have fulfilled their duty. Our sons, our fathers, our brothers—it is an honor to answer the Lord's call..."
The priest's voice carried through the temple's interior and exterior via the copper amplifier on the podium. A remnant of lost magic adapted through alchemy, it had consumed half the temple's construction budget.
"Just as the Lord's love descended upon this land that day, so it does now and forever unto us..."
The soldiers lined up outside the temple, along with many residents, listened to the priest's eulogy, making the sign of the cross, wiping away tears, and sharing their grief. In doing so, they became one.
At their forefront sat Arun, eyes half-lidded.
'Convenient.'
Back in his days as Brad, funerals had been communal efforts relying on neighbors' aid. Now, the Aimsel Church handled them, while he attended as lord.
This elevated the proceedings and drew praise.
"Boldrun Amset, Hampton Slemer, Madison, German Wolverent..."
As the fifteen fallen were named, the crowd's sorrow swelled. Families and comrades echoed the names with the priest or wept as they let go of their loved ones.
Next, children around ten years old, dressed neatly, ascended the podium.
The priest clapped to draw their attention, then raised both arms in rhythm, and the children sang in clear voices.
"I thank the Lord who loved a sinner like me, I offer my life to You who gave it, I give my love to You. Oh Lord, lead us..."
"Ooh."
The children's pure voices roused those drowned in grief.
The song echoing through the copper amplifier was like the whisper of angels.
The solemn rite, attended by many mourners and capped by the children's song, made for a fitting farewell.
"With this, we conclude our parting from these heroes."
Westguard's only priest, Jang Mare, declared the ceremony's end. His face brimmed with pride at having pulled it off.
"Dismissed."
The soldiers, who had held their exhausted bodies upright, finally headed home.
And so the funeral concluded. The bodies were cremated and interred in the columbarium, and Arun showed his respect with a generous donation to the temple.
Compensation for the families was largely covered by Baron Bendel Mirramount. This avoided criticism while subtly displaying his wealth.
'His political instincts are sharp, that's for sure.'
Arun gave a wry smile, then faltered in surprise.
"I want to be the lord's squire. I'll do laundry or shovel manure—anything."
"Hm?"
The bright eyes of young Schmidt Mirramount left Arun flustered.
Suddenly, a chill touched his nose. Looking up, he saw snowflakes drifting down.
The moisture-laden flakes heralded the coming spring.
Falling snow obscured vision, and piled snow hid the terrain.
Unable to check one's footing spelled disaster for safe movement. But humans always found a way, even if it meant halting.
"Huh? What's that?"
A soldier guarding Westguard's south gate shaded his eyes with his hand.
"Something's approaching fast from the southeast."
"Yawn, what, a mirage? Nothing's coming in this weather."
The yawning soldier narrowed his eyes at the horizon. Soon, he spotted it slicing through the snow like a boat cutting water.
Splash.
Rumble rumble rumble.
A sled pulled by four massive reindeer glided over the snow.
"Hya!"
A figure wrapped head to toe in furs whipped the reins to urge the reindeer on. Over ten more sleds followed behind.
"The outsider village is just ahead, Master."
"I see the palisade. But Alto, could you drop the 'Master' bit? I'm begging you."
"If I don't call you Master, what should I call you?"
The fur-clad figures, with only their eyes peeking out, bantered loudly.
"Master. How's that?"
"Isn't that what 'Master' means in outsider tongue?"
"Don't call them outsiders anymore. We're allies now."
"..."
It was all annoyingly spot-on. The young master understood the changing world perfectly and led the business. Alto, head of the slaves, inwardly scolded himself for nitpicking.
"Alto, are you sulking?"
"How dare I. Master, I'll slow us down."
The man called Alto pulled hard on the reins.
"Whoa, whoa."
Kii-hii-hing.
The reindeer, emitting a horse-like cry, widened their spacing before halting. The trailing sleds slid a bit farther before stopping.
Crunch crunch.
Only then did the snow scream under the sleds' weight.
As the twelve sleds came to a stop, a voice called from atop the palisade.
"Who goes there?"
"Paulina Merchant Company. Supplies from Noksen."
"A merchant company?"
Transport chief Alto shouted from before the palisade.
"That's right. As you see, just sleds and drivers."
"Ugh-cha. Ow, my back."
A late dismounter from a sled rubbed his waist. His hood fell back, revealing red hair cascading down.
"And the company owner is with us."
"Hm, that fellow looks familiar."
Paulina Mad waved with a smile.
Creak.
The palisade gate opened, but the sleds couldn't enter. Unlike the snow-blanketed plains, the bustling fortress had cleared paths.
"Greetings. Long time no see."
"Ah, you're that..."
His furrowed brow as he tried to recall was endearing.
"Formerly Brad's herald. Call me Metson."
"Nice name. I'll remember it next time."
"First time seeing sleds for transport."
"Right? Lets us move even in blizzards."
She regretted the time wasted overcoming opposition after building them.
The good reception made next winter promising. Copycats would come, but taming reindeer and spike-shod hooves weren't easily replicated—no big worry.
"A small greeting gift..."
Paulina Mad, granddaughter of the great chieftain leading the southern alliance and owner of the company, pulled out gold coins.
Metson shook his head.
"Even for Brad's sake, I must politely decline."
"Then how about this? Sleds can't go farther, as you see. Hiring laborers to unload is a hassle. Help us out?"
"Well, we've got ten lads on rest..."
"Ten men, half a day for one gold. Not bad."
Paulina's blink sealed the deal.
"Alto, handle the rest."
"Yes, Master."
Satisfied with his reply, she headed inside.
"Wow, so much has changed already."
Tall, dense buildings narrowed the streets to fit just two carriages. A new village had sprung up where the barracks once stood, and the shrine to the high god loomed grandly.
"Is this the progress he spoke of?"
Recalling the fortress from two months ago, Paulina clicked her tongue in amazement.
"Just as he said. When the fortress fills, they scout new sites and build more. Then trade across the growing cities for even greater profits."
One block off the main road lay a permanent market.
"Leather shoes here! Bison hooves five bronze, oak five two bronze."
"Brennenton mountain linen, cheap! Come see."
"Freshly tanned orc hides yesterday—one sheet two silver."
"Bulk deals possible?"
The merchant eyed Paulina's attire slyly.
"With the company?"
"Yes. Usually five hundred sheets round trip to Noksen."
"One extra per hundred."
"Five hundred tomorrow, plus ten more. I'll drop by evening for the contract."
"Wait, miss? No, sir."
"I'm busy—I'll come before closing."
Paulina melted into the bustling street with a smile. The scent of life after the quiet plains was intoxicatingly thrilling. Her steps lightened.
"Tempted to sightsee more, but business first."
At the lord's residence, Paulina straightened her attire. Still bundled in furs, though.
"Paulina Merchant Company owner. Here to greet the lord."
"...Wait here."
The haughty servant eyed her and curtly left.
"Hm. First time in a lord's house."
The waiting room was a square chamber with windows on three sides, offering a panoramic view of the city below the hill. Another spectacle.
"Grandpa's place is on a hill too, but different scale."
Against the crimson sunset, white smoke rose from chimneys one by one, yellow lights flickering on.
"Oh my, look at those lights. So pretty!"
"Um..."
Turning, she found the servant standing awkwardly.
"Yes? Oh, yes."
Paulina, glued to the window in rapture, composed herself.
"Ahem. The lord grants an audience."
The girl who played so contentedly alone, without boredom or nerves, flustered squire Pendersen. Somehow more polite than at first.
'She's a beauty. Well, the lord's in his prime.'
"To the second-floor receiving room."
"Thank you."
She sprang up and followed. Past the central hall and up the stairs, a maid opened the door to a balcony-adjoined parlor.
Pendersen pulled out a chair.
"Wait here; the lord will come."
"Thanks. You're kind."
Paulina's positivity had already erased his initial cold gaze. She only recalled his manners and the maid's poise.
"Have a pleasant time."
Pendersen bowed with hand to belly and withdrew. A maid entered with a teapot.
Pour.
"Your outerwear, miss."
"Ah, thanks."
Shedding her coat, the fireplace's warmth finally reached her.
Alone again, Paulina cradled her teacup and approached the balcony. The darkening view brimmed with countless lights. A red-cheeked face stared back.
Recalling the maid's grace.
"Knees like this? Tch, not a skirt? Doesn't look pretty."
Click.
The door opened, the window mirroring the entrant.
"Ah, Paulina Mad of Paulina Merchant Company."
"Kept you waiting. Make yourself at home."
"It was fun. The view from the window's gorgeous."
"Glad you think so. Haven't eaten yet? Like meat?"
"Yes. Well done."
"Perfect."
The lord clapped, and the maid entered.
"Tell the cook: lady wants well done, I want rare."
"Yes, my lord."
As she left, another entered to brighten the candles.
The fireplace crackled merrily.