Chapter 127
Chapter 127
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 127
Chapter Title: On a Business Trip: Your Nightmare Has Arrived (1)
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Clang, clang—the metallic ringing that had echoed for so long finally ceased. Kurak spun the gleaming silver axe this way and that, then nodded in approval.
"This should do it."
He flung the axe toward Rak with a whoosh.
It might have looked rude and dangerous at a glance. But Rak didn't mind a bit. He caught the axe effortlessly and flashed a satisfied smile.
"Thanks, Kurak."
"Looks like you've been cleaving monsters or something. Been off to the battlefield, have you?"
"Battlefield? Oh, I stopped by briefly for a field trip. Fought some monsters there. Felt just like a warriors' training hall."
It had been a good experience.
Kurak's expression turned profoundly ambiguous as he watched Rak mutter proudly to himself.
"...Warriors' training halls don't send trainees to actual battlefields."
"They don't?"
"Nope. Looks like Aphria... teaches its students with some real fire in their veins. Well, I've sharpened it good and proper, so it should hold up until your next visit."
Kurak waved his hand lightly.
A clear dismissal. Just as Rak and Lania turned to leave the smithy...
"Oh, right, young master."
Kurak spoke up as if something had just occurred to him.
"I heard the warriors are preparing a 'festival.'"
"Festival?"
"You know, the usual. The northern welcome."
"Ah, that. I know about it."
Rak nodded as if he more or less got it.
Kurak eyed him dubiously.
'Does he really understand?'
If he did, that wouldn't be his reaction.
Kurak questioned him again.
"You're used to it, young master, but... is the young lady beside you really okay with it?"
Kurak glanced sidelong at the woman standing next to Rak.
She looked about Rak's age at first glance. Her aura was mature... but purely by appearance, she seemed girlish.
'She's an Aphria professor, right?'
It suited her. In other words, she didn't look like a warrior.
"Doesn't seem like she'll handle it well, to me..."
A prim, refined girl with a gentle air.
She seemed utterly far from anything combative. A dress at a social ball would suit her far better. Kurak narrowed his eyes.
'Doesn't wield weapons. No battle-trained muscles. Looks like she'd topple at a tap.'
As a blacksmith who'd forged arms for years, Kurak could tell. There were no traces of long-term weapon handling on her. Not a scar, not even a callus.
As Kurak sized her up...
"...Festival?"
The girl tilted her head slightly.
They were discussing something directly involving her, yet she showed not a hint of alarm.
'Grown up in a greenhouse, no doubt.'
Kurak shook his head slowly.
"Hey, miss."
"Yes?"
"Let me give you a bit of advice."
Kurak said,
"If you were expecting royal treatment up north like in the capital... best shelve that idea. Northern warriors only show respect to the strong."
Sincere advice, in his own way.
"Underestimate them, and you'll get hurt bad."
With that, Kurak watched her reaction.
She blinked, then opened her mouth.
"Ah, sure."
An utterly apathetic response.
'...This is maddening.'
Kurak clicked his tongue inwardly.
2.
Seasons mean nothing in the North.
Just degrees of cold: a little less, a little more. Snowstorms rage without regard for time of year. That's the North.
'The frozen land.'
Those who live there have no choice but to toughen up. Survival demands self-forging.
"Summer's still milder, though. When the real blizzards hit... even warriors hesitate to venture beyond the walls."
So explained Rak.
Snow was falling steadily now, but Rak acted like it was nothing.
"A brisk flurry like this is refreshing, isn't it? Warriors wipe post-hunt sweat with the wind, roll in snowfields to sluice off blood."
...Isn't that going a bit far?
The thought crossed my mind, but recalling the northern warriors from the battlefield made me nod despite myself.
'Yeah, those guys would.'
They'd do anything.
-Ashen!!!! Mage!!!! Sir!!!!!
Thunderous roars.
Exclamations jammed between every syllable, a ridiculously boisterous tone.
-A great warrior! Needs fitting garb! How about adorning yourself in the Guardian God's hide from the snow peaks?! That's the true symbol of a 'warrior'!!!!
-But it's the guardian god, right? Is it okay to skin it and wear it like that?
-The Guardian God! Watches over warriors! Stands with warriors! Surely the God rejoices!!!!
Their image—shoving bear pelts while bellowing—remains etched deep in my mind. Such overflowing personalities aren't easily forgotten.
'Great warriors, but... what can I say, a bit much...'
I glanced sidelong at Rak.
Unlike those beasts who walked on two legs and barely spoke human words... Rak at least had some intellect. I muttered softly.
"...Don't get too much like them."
"Pardon?"
"Just... you know."
I could only hope he kept that intellect.
I peered out the window. After a brief city stop for resupply, the carriage plunged deeper north.
Rumble.
Even this luxury ride jolted over brutal paths. Past walls, through sheer gorges. Everywhere breathtaking vistas. The capital offered no such vast nature. Not my first time, of course...
'No time for sightseeing on the battlefield.'
Nature's grandeur turns to 'trap fodder' in extremis. We'd often collapsed terrain to block paths against disasters too mighty to fight.
'Trapped Ganikalt in one just like that.'
Blew the whole gorge to bury it.
Had to, to stall that monster even a second longer. Useless in the end, but anyway.
"Ah."
As I pondered, Rak spoke up, pointing outside.
"They're out to welcome us."
Beyond the gorge, a vast snowfield. Snowy peaks behind, northern capital walled ahead drawing near. Following his gesture, a crowd lined up before the walls.
'Quite a few.'
A welcome party?
The thought halted as I blinked. Something off caught my eye.
"...What the hell is that?"
"The capital's warriors. Or guardians of the snow peaks, winter hunters, as they're also called."
"No, not that."
I pointed at those before the walls.
As the carriage neared, their figures sharpened.
"Why are they all bare-chested?"
Snow poured relentlessly.
Yet they stood bare-skinned against it, flashing white teeth in grins.
"In this weather, why...?"
Not a flicker in their smiles.
Arms crossed behind, unmoving till our arrival.
"...They're hot-blooded folk."
The butler answered my question.
As he opened the halted carriage door, he continued.
"To northern warriors, honed bodies are treasures. They're proudly displaying their most prized possession to our guests."
The butler wiped his eye corner.
With a long sigh, he added,
"They look wild, but they're good lads at heart. Please... overlook the unseemliness."
Clearly not a first-time occurrence.
He looked utterly drained, so I nodded reluctantly.
"Ah, sure..."
As I listened, Rak hopped out first. The moment he met the warriors' eyes...
"Young Master Rak!!!"
A thunderous cheer.
Some twenty voices overlapped in a roar. They thumped left pecs—clang like striking iron plates—and bellowed.
"It's been ages!!!"
The echo reverberated.
I couldn't take it, plugging my ears with both hands. But I was the only one. The butler sighed in weary familiarity, and Rak...
"Good to see you, warriors!"
"ROOOAR!!!"
Grinning with perfect teeth just like them, he charged toward the group. I blinked vacantly at the sight.
'What am I even watching.'
Utterly avant-garde scenery.
As I struggled to process, the butler beside me spoke.
"That's just how they are."
With utter familiarity.
Thinking I'd misheard, I asked back.
"...That's normal?"
"We don't 'select' guests for the North lightly."
"...Uh."
That's everyday life?
"Hmm..."
I eyed them coldly.
Undimmed fervor amid the blizzard. A scene that made me desperately want to stay away.
3.
The Northern Duke, Eryahol van Grace.
His castle perched on the snow mountains encircling the capital. The northerners hadn't built it there. It had always been.
'Ancient ruins.'
From a kingdom reduced to ashes.
An ancient fortress deemed such.
'White Night Castle.'
So named, it gleamed with pristine white walls after eons since construction—as if time had passed it by.
"White Night Castle, pride of the North. Even in darkness, it emits a soft white glow like stars in the night sky. That's the origin of the name."
So said the butler walking beside Lania.
"White Night Castle symbolizes the unchanging. For warriors, constancy is hard-won, yet a value to uphold."
Leading warriors explained thus.
"Well then."
At the path's start, the mountain mouth, the warriors halted. One stepped forward.
"As representative of the warriors, I'll explain. I'm 'Oyakal,' Third Stone among the Grand Duke's Thirteen Warriors."
The warrior who named himself Oyakal.
He addressed Rak and Lania.
"We've prepared a modest welcome for you guests and young master. A necessary rite to enter White Night Castle."
The butler smacked his forehead.
As if to say, here we go. Naturally, no warrior minded. Not one.
"Though a welcome, it ties to your treatment during your stay."
The butler whispered in Lania's ear.
"Warriors—or equivalents—will test the young lady. Their regard will shift by her demeanor. Minimal courtesy assured, but..."
The butler asserted.
"In the North, you're judged not by capital status, but your own worth."
Explanation done.
As if awaiting that, Oyakal spoke.
"Young master goes without saying. The usual route, right?"
"Naturally. Heard you prepared extra hard this time. Looking forward to it."
"Of course. We started a full month ago."
Oyakal grinned, flashing pearly whites.
With a refreshing smile, he whipped his head toward Lania beside Rak.
"Now, for our remaining guest."
Oyakal regarded Lania.
"From the capital, no less—Aphria Academy professor, they say... Not knowing your preference, we've two options ready."
He splayed two fingers.
Folding his middle first, he said,
"One: Pit knowledge against the Mage Tower mages. The White Tower Lord, Lady Seri Debela, will judge your worth personally."
"And the other?"
"Similar to young master Rak's."
Oyakal pointed at the snow peaks.
"Ascend the mountain to White Night Castle. Most traditional path. The climb won't be easy, mind."
He thumped his chest.
"We prepared it special."
Oyakal emphasized 'special.'
Yet he held little expectation.
The girl before him wasn't a warrior. An Aphria magic professor. A mage. Expecting warrior bravado from such was folly.
'She'll pick the first, obviously.'
No need for details on the second. Oyakal awaited her answer.
"Hm."
At length, she nodded faintly and spoke.
"Simple's best."
Her reply defied Oyakal's prediction.
"Second option."
The girl smiled as she answered.
Not a trace of hesitation.
"Whew."
Warriors behind Oyakal whistled and clucked tongues. Their eyes sparkled. Warriors adore challengers. Always.
"Fitting teacher for the young master."
"Suits his choice."
Ignoring the whispers, Oyakal narrowed his eyes. Low-voiced, he asked her again.
"...In earnest?"
"Simple's best."
No bluster in her tone.
Utter conviction, as if stating the obvious. Oyakal's lips twitched.
'Bold one.'
First impression: splendid.
Oyakal nodded vigorously.
"Unexpectedly hot-blooded guest! Excellent! We'll guide both of you!"
Oyakal led.
Lania and Rak followed. The butler's face drained pale watching their backs. Unlike the foreboding butler, Rak and Lania's steps were feather-light.
Yet none knew.
That Aphria's nightmare had descended upon the northern snow peaks.