Chapter 4
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Northway (1)
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“...!”
Lindelmann felt a sudden chill run down his spine.
A faint gleam of pale blue light leaked out from the shadows, eerie and unsettling, reflecting off the weak sunlight filtering through the gray clouds.
Only when the man stepped out of the shadows did Lindelmann realize it was the glint of eyes.
But what was truly astonishing wasn't the eyes.
'H-Huge...'
Lindelmann's mouth fell open unwittingly.
The man, with a thick beard covering his jaw and mouth, and unkempt hair hanging down to his shoulders, was incredibly tall.
His arms and legs were long, too.
And it wasn't just height and length—he was massive.
A black cloak made from the pelt of some beast—bear or wolf, it was hard to tell—patched together at the shoulders fit him so perfectly that his enormous, intimidating build seemed made for it.
'I-Is that... a sword...?'
Lindelmann stared with wide, daunted eyes at the sword slung diagonally across the man's back.
The plain, crude blade was far larger and longer than any standard soldier's weapon.
It fell just short of a two-handed greatsword over 180 centimeters, but it dwarfed the roughly one-meter longsword of a knight.
That monstrous thing, with an area three times that of a normal sword, looked too heavy even for two hands.
Yet Lindelmann and the guardsmen somehow felt that the man before them could wield it freely with one hand.
“Should I load my gear here?”
A low, emotionless voice seeped out through the thicket of his beard.
Guard flinched at the voice, which matched his rough appearance all too well in the worst way, and nodded hastily.
“Y-Yes, sir.”
The man loaded his gear onto the wagon. It was a combat pack designed by the emperor himself before his ascension and distributed to major legions.
Stuffed to the brim, it included a strangely shaped iron shield, a small hand axe, and a pair of dark, mace-like weapons of some metallic material—altogether, it looked incredibly heavy.
But the man lifted it effortlessly with one hand.
“...!”
This stunned the guardsmen even more.
“Ready to depart?”
The man asked, his expressionless face meeting the stares of the guardsmen directed at him.
“Y-Yeah, heading out now. Everyone ready?”
Guard, who had answered, climbed onto the wagon. The other guardsmen hurriedly followed suit.
“Um, Knight Zaroph?”
Guard, gripping the reins, called out to Lindelmann, who stood frozen like a statue.
“Huh? Oh, right. Let's go.”
Lindelmann mounted his horse with an awkward expression.
For a moment, he had been overwhelmed by the man's presence and intimidation, but lacking experience, he couldn't quite recognize it for what it was.
'Odd.'
The man riding in the back of the wagon nagged at him, but Lindelmann pushed down his curiosity and urged his horse forward.
Kr-r-ring! Clank!
The fortress gates rose.
With Lindelmann at the lead, the single wagon, a few sheep, and about a dozen guardsmen slowly passed through the gates and drawbridge.
'Farewell for now.'
Lindelmann turned to give one last look at Northernrocks Fortress, standing amid the dark gray peaks.
On the tallest of its towers, which somehow looked lonely, two figures flickered faintly.
Lindelmann squinted, but couldn't make out who they were.
Not that it mattered who they were, he thought with a shrug, and turned his horse's head.
“Hyah!”
Lindelmann soon pulled his cloak tight against the biting wind and spurred his horse's flanks.
Neigh-hi-hi!
The wind of the gray mountains howled with a chilling wail, seeing off the group: one knight, sixteen guardsmen, and a single regular soldier from Northernrocks Fortress.
Whooo!
The wind blew toward the two men on the tower, watching Lindelmann's party depart.
Both in full knightly armor, they were the fortress commander and Luther.
The commander, with his hair neatly combed and beard trimmed, looked like an entirely different man from a few days ago.
Perhaps due to the imposing peaks looming behind the fortress, an indescribable dignity emanated from his somewhat pale face and sturdy frame.
“...”
The commander silently raised one hand.
Luther turned to watch what he did.
Unlike what he had told Blake, the commander had come out after all to see the group off. He moved his hand, raised to shoulder height.
As if grasping something small, he curled his fingers and lowered it slightly into the air.
It was as if he had just moved a piece on a chessboard, his fingers aimed toward the wagon Blake rode in.
“Pawn advancing alone—quite amusing, isn't it, Darlington?”
Knowing it wasn't directed at him, Luther stood silently.
The commander's lips curved faintly.
“Now, what's your next move, Darlington?”
The commander's eyes, emitting a piercing chill, gazed toward the distant southwestern sky where the imperial capital lay.
“How about we camp here for the night?”
“Sounds good. Whoa! Whoa!”
At Lindelmann's suggestion, Guard brought the wagon to a halt.
“Set up camp!”
The guardsmen prepared with practiced efficiency.
Soon, windbreaks were up, a fire roaring, and one of the lambs provided by the Northernrocks commander lay split belly-open on a spit.
The three-day return march felt nothing like the grueling trip to the fortress.
No deadline loomed, no prisoners meant no need for constant vigilance.
Days grew longer, fierce winds and blizzards rarer. Aside from the bone-chilling cold day and night, it was a fairly comfortable journey.
The guardsmen were even tearing into lamb, sipping light drinks, and swapping crude jokes.
But the easy atmosphere hadn't been there from the start.
It was all because of one man.
The regular soldier from Northernrocks Fortress.
He was utterly silent.
On the first day, after his initial “Should I load here?” and “Ready to depart?”, he hadn't uttered a word until evening.
The guardsmen didn't dare speak to him.
Even setting aside the dark, fearsome tales of Northernrocks soldiers circulating in the north, no one had the guts to converse while meeting those emotionless deep-blue eyes.
Lindelmann was different.
To him, the soldier's dark, intimidating aura wasn't frightening—just unpleasant and awkward.
With expectations high, his disappointment was all the greater; far from fear, it irked him.
A man who looked barely thirty, beard notwithstanding, couldn't possibly have joined the punitive force against Rebel King Kelkard's remnants twenty years ago.
So Lindelmann's first words to the discharged soldier were blunt.
“What's your name?”
“Gasp!”
Not just Guard driving the wagon—every guardsman froze as if their souls had fled.
Regaining their wits, they inwardly cursed the 'stupid capital knight!' and shot Lindelmann sidelong glares.
Oblivious, Lindelmann looked down at the soldier with a what're you gonna do about it? stare.
The discharged soldier gazed up at Lindelmann for a moment, then his beard twitched slightly.
“Blake.”
“Blake, huh... Right, Discharged Soldier Blake. I have a few questions. Sir Luther Isaac said you'd fought in the commander's legion for fifteen years—is that true?”
“...”
Blake, silent for a beat, nodded slowly instead of answering.
The attitude soured Lindelmann's mood further, but curiosity won out, so he pressed on.
“Hmm! Then tell me—did you take part in the subjugation of Rebel King Kelkard's remnants?”
“Heavens!”
One hapless guardsman gasped at the question to Blake.
The others felt much the same, though less bluntly put.
The Kelkard subjugation was legendary among all who wielded swords, guardsmen included.
“...”
The guardsmen waited, eyes wide and mouths agape.
But after a brief silence, Blake's response dashed their hopes.
“Even as a noble, you're not my direct superior, so I have no obligation to answer. And since you're not an official imperial knight, I won't.”
“What...”
Absurd, yet irrefutably correct—Lindelmann was speechless.
Blake was a freed commoner who had completed imperial service, entitled to respect anywhere. Even nobles had no right to coerce them.
Besides, in a sense, Lindelmann wasn't a true noble, and making a scene here would only make him look foolish.
“Y-You insolent... Hmph!”
Pride wounded, Lindelmann flushed red, turned sharply, and rode back to the front of the wagon, muttering about how Northway knights and soldiers alike were all disagreeable...
Unlike Lindelmann, the guardsmen—commoners no different from Blake—reacted differently.
Fear lingered, but admiration and curiosity crept in.
From that exchange, Blake wasn't just some criminal-turned-discharged soldier.
He was genuine imperial army, having followed the fortress commander over a decade ago.
His service suggested scout duty for sure, and perhaps even participation in the legendary Kelkard remnant subjugation.
Afterward, guardsmen nodded subtly when their eyes met Blake's, saved seats near the fire for meals.
His behavior over the past few days showed he wouldn't lash out if left alone without pestering.
Thus, aside from Lindelmann—who avoided even looking at Blake after day one—the guardsmen continued their return march to Gateway City Headgates with lighter hearts.
“Hey, your shift.”
“Yawwwn!”
The other guardsman, just woken and stretching hugely, shivered.
Whiii!
The night wind still too cold, he wrapped himself in his blanket and rose.
The campsite was shrouded in darkness, nothing stirring, but night watch couldn't be skipped.
Gray plain wolves were hungriest now, and they still had two sheep left.
Someone had to keep vigilant watch.
“Huh?”
Rubbing his eyes on the way to the wagon, the guardsman halted.
A pair of deep-blue eyes stared at him from atop the wagon's leather cover.
He knew whose they were, but a chill still prickled his spine.
Discharged Soldier Blake.
(To be continued)