Chapter 39
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Red Giant Mountains (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
'A troll! No, how could it be a troll...! Uuugh!'
It had been more than half a day since the battle with the troll ended, but the thrilling sensation that had coursed through his fingertips when he pierced its heart refused to fade easily.
Lindelmann had no doubt that Blake could have taken down the troll single-handedly, even without his help.
And that was on a whole different level from knocking out three knights in a duel of honor without breaking a sweat.
They called him Dragon Slayer or Ogre Slayer, but he had never even heard tales of humans slaying dragons or ogres, let alone trolls.
Moreover, those who encountered a troll in these mountains almost always met the same fate.
Annihilation.
With strength enough to rip a bear apart bare-handed, skin as tough as armor, and the ability to survive even after losing body parts, slaying such a monster was nearly impossible for humans.
Even mercenaries who lived for battle and killing would struggle to stay sane at the sight of a ferocious beast incomparable to ordinary wild animals roaring before their eyes.
In the end, nearly everyone who faced a troll froze up, unable to act, and met their doom—a common testimony from the rare few survivors who miraculously made it back alive.
Yet someone had felled a troll alone?
It wasn't even worth joking about.
Blake's feat today was monumental, and the tension and excitement from that fight lingered even as the sun dipped low, forcing a reevaluation of the man.
When they first met, Blake had been just a shady discharged soldier.
By the time they passed through Headgates, he had become a fairly skilled companion.
But during the journey through Polt Forest and Dunprees, that skilled companion had transformed into a swordsman of extraordinary prowess.
And today...
To Lindelmann, that extraordinary swordsman was now recognized as one of the most terrifying powerhouses in the entire empire, someone you could count on one hand.
He had no doubt that if Blake had made his name in the central or southern regions instead of these harsh Northern Great Mountains, he would be a legendary figure by now.
"We'll camp here tonight."
Blake's sudden voice snapped Lindelmann out of his thoughts.
"Ah, I'll get the fire going."
"I'll go fetch some water and edible wild greens."
Rubens, who had spent most of his life in the mountains, took the initiative to handle his share.
'Come to think of it...'
As he gathered firewood, Lindelmann glanced at Rubens.
He too was an impressive figure, if not quite on Blake's level.
For one, he knew a lot.
"I've added some crushed croga berries to the stew. It's a spice that masks the gamey smell of mountain beast meat. Tastes great and restores stamina wonderfully. Have a bowl, everyone."
He was also a highly capable apothecary.
"Ah! Sir Zaroph, you've got a wound there. Try rubbing this on it. It's an ointment my master made—it'll heal by morning."
Of course, his utility as a mage was invaluable.
"I've cast a detection spell around the area. Anything heavier than me entering within thirty meters of camp, I'll know right away."
In short, Rubens was incredibly useful and competent.
Not only did he pitch in with camp setup and meal prep, but when it was just Blake and Lindelmann, he enabled all sorts of things they hadn't even considered.
Lindelmann was thrilled to catch a break from the chores, and Blake was equally satisfied.
Especially after the troll fight earlier that day—Rubens had solved the night watch issue, which Blake had always handled solely by his own senses, and that impressed him greatly.
"Once we get through this forest, we're in the central region, right?"
"Yes. The woods are pretty dense, but finding a watercourse shouldn't be too hard. Once we do..."
Blake watched Rubens chat idly with Lindelmann, his gaze indifferent, as an old memory of a mage surfaced from long ago.
The old mage, with a face so cold it went beyond mere detachment, had only ever spoken to Prince Henrik, who was then the legion commander and subjugation force leader.
He wouldn't even glance at other humans, as if they held no value whatsoever, yet no one dared complain.
From the reactions in the pub a few days ago, it seemed he was still the same, but back then, mages were enigmatic beings evoking both fear and awe.
Yet that mage had spoken to someone other than Prince Henrik exactly once.
To Blake himself.
—Do you know what I had to sacrifice to perfect that spell that slew three thousand?
After unleashing a terrifying spell that forced the entire legion to stare wide-eyed at the mountain where Kelkard's remnants hid, the exhausted old mage had addressed Blake, who served as Prince Henrik's sword-bearer and always fought at the forefront.
Like everyone else, Blake had been staring blankly at the mountain when he startled and turned, only to hear the mage's voice filled with regret.
—One person. One soul.
A strange smile on the wrinkled face that was always so stern.
Blake hadn't understood it then, but the emotion in that smile was sorrow.
Even now, he couldn't fathom why the old mage had seemed both joyful and sad.
Nor why, after nearly twenty years, he now realized that smile had been "sorrowful."
Perhaps it was because Rubens' smile, when speaking of his master during conversations with Lindelmann, resembled the old mage's.
"Heavens! I see. You've been through a lot yourself. Well, I suffered plenty training for over ten years to become a knight, learning all sorts of things, but compared to what you went through, Rubens, it's a bit lacking."
"No, no. It was tough learning back then, but looking back now, it all feels like my master's sacrifices and care to make me a proper mage. I... didn't realize it until he passed."
Rubens bowed his head with a sorrowful smile.
Seeing this, Blake again recalled the old mage from the past, while Lindelmann smacked his lips, at a loss for words.
The silence born of memories of the departed hung poignantly in the cold, damp night air of the forest.
"By the way, Sir Zaroph, you said you want to become an imperial knight? I'm no expert on knights, but I hear there are many paths to knighthood. Why specifically an imperial one?"
Rubens broke the quiet with forced cheerfulness, but Lindelmann hesitated before answering.
"Well, that's..."
He paused awkwardly, then forced a smile.
"A true knight, by ancient tradition, places loyalty to his lord above all. For an imperial subject, there's only one to swear fealty to: His Majesty the Emperor."
"Ah, I see."
Rubens nodded with his usual innocent smile.
But as a mage with the insight to discern truth from lies, he knew Lindelmann's words weren't entirely honest.
Blake, impassively poking at the campfire, sensed it too.
Not through any special ability like Rubens', but from nearly a month traveling together, it came naturally.
"..."
Blake narrowed his eyes upon realizing Lindelmann was lying.
Not because of the lie itself.
But because he had noticed it—without even trying.
He hadn't scrutinized Lindelmann's expression.
Nor paid special attention to his words.
It just... came to him naturally.
'What is this...?'
Blake's hands stilled as he poked the fire.
He couldn't make sense of it.
How had he known Lindelmann was lying without any observation?
Even subordinates like Rickbear and Damian, with whom he'd fought for years, or Prince Henrik after two decades—even they required close observation of eyes, face, and voice tones.
'Should I ask?'
Blake looked up abruptly.
"Eek!"
Lindelmann, who had been watching warily since Blake's eyebrow twitched and his poking stopped, jumped in surprise.
'I-I did lie, but it wasn't about anything involving him, right?'
He quickly composed his guilty expression and lifted his head.
But when Blake's stubbled lips twitched, Lindelmann couldn't help shrinking his neck like a turtle.
Blake stared at him oddly for a moment before turning away.
"We leave at dawn tomorrow. Get some sleep."
"Y-Yes, let's."
Lindelmann sighed in relief at Blake's words, yet felt an inexplicable unease.
Wise enough not to show it, he hurriedly draped his cloak over himself and leaned against a rock.
'That's weird. It felt like he was about to say something...'
'Is Sir Zaroph's little lie really worth fretting over? Strange.'
Lindelmann and Rubens each tilted their heads in separate doubts.
But they paled compared to Blake's own bewilderment.
'This is odd. Really odd.'
Even with eyes closed, his thick brows twitched restlessly as he pondered the unfamiliar sensation.
He didn't yet realize it was an emotion naturally conveyed from equals or friends based on camaraderie—and that tonight, it wasn't just the moon's phase that had changed.
The three rose before dawn, packed up, and entered the forest as the thick mist began to lift.
It was hard to believe they'd crossed the frigid gorge against biting northern winds just a day ago; the forest was lush and warm.
Insects buzzed annoyingly, but traversing the flat woods was easy.
The troll hide still warded off threats, and Rubens' precise guidance avoided other mages' territories.
Thus, before half a day passed, they found a narrow stream of clear water, and for the next three days, they followed it downstream.
Walking tirelessly, they covered nearly twenty kilometers each day.
Finally, on the third day.
Around noon, as the sun hung high, the stream they'd followed widened into a massive waterfall.
Cascading fifty meters down, creating a long rainbow, the falls revealed below: a vibrant green plain in spring's embrace, cradling peaks great and small to the horizon.
And weaving proudly through that vast, verdant expanse—a silver ribbon of river.
After five days and nearly a hundred kilometers since leaving Silverlake, the three finally faced the empire's lifeline, the Bran River.
(To be continued)