The Execution
Deep in the mountains beyond Bayorn Castle lay a shabby training ground.
When the snow fell, the place sealed itself off on every side—easy to isolate, easy to forget.
In a location this closed off, crimes could be committed or suffered without a soul ever knowing. So long as the people inside agreed to keep it that way.
And in that place, some two hundred men were scattered across the grounds, swinging their blades.
These barbarians were the Huscarls—the elite corps that stood as the pride of Bayorn.
Even the shortest among them stood a full six feet; the tallest towered at seven and a half. One look at the dense slabs of muscle packed onto their frames, at the hideous scars carved across their skin, and anyone would understand just how savage a breed these warriors were.
Unless a man was actively seeking death, provoking their temper was not a wise choice. Even the knights of House Surdland—rivals to the Viscounty of Bayorn—feared crossing blades with them.
They were living weapons, tempered over long years in this isolated training ground. Aside from the occasional leave they were granted, they had to forage and survive in the wild on their own.
For them, being sent on a campaign or to war was practically a holiday. At least then someone made sure they were fed properly.
The reason the Huscarls endured such brutal training was simple enough: honor, money, and women—and last of all, that barbarian essence that worshipped strength itself.
Only two people in the world could summon a pack this rough.
Baron Doston, chieftain of the Huscarls—or the lord of the territory himself, the Viscount of Bayorn.
And of the two, the man they truly followed was the former. Blood, after all, ran thicker than water—and loyalty ran inward.
At the center of the training ground, a red-haired man stood with his arms folded, surveying his surroundings. He was waiting for the new lord who would arrive soon.
Baron Doston had been harassing the Grand Madam when word came that the new master of Bayorn Territory wished to see him. He had gone straight to the office.
And what he found waiting in the lord's study was not the Viscount of Bayorn at all, but the chief butler, Alred.
"Viscount Bayorn has issued a summons to you, Baron—and to every barbarian under the Huscarl banner."
A summons…
Just what reason did the young family head have for calling up the Huscarls? Not that Doston and his men were obliged to obey the head of house without question.
If he makes some unreasonable demand, I'll ignore it. Still—he's about to become my stepfather. I suppose I can afford to listen a little.
The family head did hold the authority to summon the Huscarls, but that authority did not extend to binding force or absolute command. The Huscarls were a brotherhood of the most honorable warriors alive, and freedom of choice was the greatest right they possessed.
It can't be a trap.
A man's life was full of unknowns, so Doston had considered even the slim possibility of an ambush. But no matter how he turned it over, he could find no reason for the new family head to make enemies of the Huscarls.
An elite corps he could not fully control might rankle, yes—but their raw power was nothing to dismiss. Trying to replace them would mean civil war, or the self-destruction of the territory itself. For a green boy who had only just claimed the viscount's seat to take that kind of risk was nearly unthinkable.
So it's for unity, then. Mediation. If he has any sense, he might even lower his head to get on our good side.
Baron Doston's assessment of his lord, Kael, was simple: a young, formidable hero. That was all.
The last time he had seen the boy was four years ago, when Kael's martial strength had been roughly on par with his own—Master Knight level. Now that the Demon King had been slain, Kael might have grown stronger still. But the gap would not be large. The heights of martial mastery did not rise and fall so casually.
Unless you're a genius like Lady Piel, that is.
In truth, even the word "genius" fell short of Piel. She was a peerless demigod in all but name. Against a woman whose single self could match the military might of an entire nation, schemes and stratagems meant nothing at all.
Even the Northern Grand Duke—famed as the Empire's greatest sword, the Martial God himself—could not guarantee victory against her. The Iron-Blooded Empress was not a being any mere territory could hope to contain.
I feel for the young lady, but her disappearance is for the best.
From Baron Doston's perspective, her vanishing was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The brother left behind is nothing but a green boy—a drop of blood beside what his sister was.
And it was not as though Doston lacked a hidden card of his own. The world believed the Huscarl corps numbered two hundred, but he had been secretly raising another hundred elite soldiers. Given their monstrous strength, they were Huscarls in all but name—the only difference being whether they stood in the light or the shadow.
A third of Bayorn Territory's military power? No—by now it approached half. And so Baron Doston was prepared to consider open rebellion if things went sour. There would be a bloodbath, certainly, but if he succeeded, the territory would be his in time.
My lady…
And the greatest treasure that would come with it was, without question, the Goddess of the Orange Trees. If it came to that, he would at least spare the life of her son, the family head. Someday, after all, he meant to claim her love for himself alone.
Say whatever you like. Come, young lord. Hostility or persuasion—I don't care which.
That was why he saw no need to bow his head to the family head. If anything, he was the one holding the stronger hand.
Even counting only the forces visible on the surface, the young lord had no reason to treat him carelessly. The late Viscount of Bayorn himself had regarded Doston as an equal.
Unless, of course, the boy had truly gone mad over his own mother.
And then—
BOOM!
The vassal's impious thoughts were cut short as a deafening roar tore through the forest.
"What was that…?"
Baron Doston asked the aide at his side—the same Huscarl who had delivered the summons while he was with the Grand Madam.
"Something in the shape of a human has fallen into the forest."
"Something…?"
"The speed of the descent was extraordinary. None of us, myself included, could make out its exact form."
Baron Doston nodded. It might not even be human—perhaps some demon that had lost its way.
But that was no concern. Living weapons like these men—himself included—could hunt even a dragon if they had to.
That way, then.
Given that he himself had not witnessed the shape, the object had clearly come down on the opposite side of the grounds. He shifted his gaze, and the sight that met him was of countless trees torn apart or half-shattered, hanging limp.
No natural disaster—not a landslide, not an earthquake. That much is certain.
Fully armed Huscarls gathered toward a single point, intent on identifying the source of the roar. Yet all they felt was the chill of the winter wind.
If there was anything different, it was this: a forest that had moments ago carried the intermittent calls of winter birds now lay unnervingly, deathly still.
Fortunately, uncovering the identity of that human shape did not take long.
"Baron—something is approaching."
"I know."
From beyond the trees, a massive figure with pure white hair walked slowly toward the Huscarls. Faintly luminous blue eyes swept indifferently over several shapes that had already become corpses.
No—those are…?
The bodies sprawled in the snow were grotesque beyond description. A banquet of ruined flesh and blood that had no place on that clean white field. And the baron knew exactly what those bloody heaps had once been.
I didn't even hear them scream. How—?
They were the remains of the Huscarls who had been posted throughout the forest on watch. Judging by the number of bloodied lumps scattered across the ground, there had to be dozens of them at the very least.
"V-Viscount Bayorn?!"
And the one who had bloomed this flower of slaughter was none other than their new lord—the Viscount of Bayorn himself.
Crunch. Kael brought his foot down and crushed a skull that had caught beneath it, shattering it utterly. The wind blew in the direction he stood, and with it came the spray of blood as the head burst apart.
Save for those noble blue eyes, the blood-soaked giant looked every bit a murderer.
Kael thought: the scent of blood was cooling the heat that had been rising in his head. Yes. He should have done this from the start. Leave the vermin who lusted after his mother free to crawl about, and both he and she would only keep finding reasons to weep.
"Have you lost your mind?! How do you intend to answer for this—this idiocy?!"
With every passing second the atmosphere grew more savage. A host of heavily armed barbarians began to close ranks around the head of House Bayorn. In a struggle for survival, rank meant nothing.
And these veterans of long wars felt it in their bones: the blue eyes of that young lord burned with nothing but pure killing intent.
Kael said nothing in answer to the baron's furious protest. He merely wore a strange little smile as he looked over the barbarians seething with hostility.
Perhaps he simply saw no point in conversation with a man who would soon be a corpse.
"You insane bastard—!"
Realizing talk would get him nowhere, the baron drew his massive battle-axe. He had clearly not expected the new family head to do anything this sudden; the shock was plain on his face.
But that changed nothing about what had to be done. The boy had snapped—fine. There was no way elites of this caliber could fail to put down a single Master Knight. No need to panic overmuch.
Dealing with the aftermath, figuring out why Kael was doing this—all of that could wait until after they had put the family head down.
"…Hhk!"
The baron lifted his head, and his gaze locked directly onto the murderer's blue radiance. A short, involuntary gasp tore from his throat.
Those blue eyes, gleaming with naked hatred, crushed the treacherous vassal beneath their weight. The fierce will to slaughter contained within them was aimed at every last barbarian present. He had walked alone into the heart of an enemy force, and still he stood there as if he owned the ground.
I—I'm being overwhelmed by sheer presence? Me? How—?!
The baron nearly took a step back before the unnatural aura. He was only a baron by title, but in raw martial power he ranked among the top ten in the entire Empire.
A whelp who still has milk on his lips, daring to—!
But the moment of weakness lasted only a breath.
"Brothers—!"
In the barbarian world, to show your back to an enemy out of fear was a disgrace worse than death itself.
"Tear apart the lord who has betrayed our loyalty!"
The moment the baron bellowed the kill order, hundreds of Huscarls surrounded Kael. Then came the charge—a wave of death riding a thunderous war cry, more than any single man should have been able to withstand.
Yet the man facing it was utterly calm. All he did was wipe his twin axes clean of blood against the snow.
Then Kael fixed his gaze on the vermin swarming before him.
The moment the head of House Bayorn set down his axes would be the moment he butchered these beasts and offered his mother a flower of blood.
And had his mother not always said it herself?
Trash was something you took outside the house to throw away.
In that case, this place would do just fine.
Clank. Clank.
The white-haired man walked without hesitation toward the hundreds of barbarians, ready to deliver judgment.
"Resist with everything you have."
Even so, as their lord, he ought to offer a final courtesy on their road to the end.
"I'll make sure to kill you as painfully as I can."
Along with the gift they loved best of all—the gift of struggle.