Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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The wooden palisade was sturdy.
It wasn't just crudely woven from logs and ropes; the timber had been interlocked so tightly it resembled a fortress.
And the gate now swinging open wasn't a solid slab either, but a lattice like iron bars.
The iron reinforcements spaced along it suggested they'd planned for fire attacks.
This confirmed it.
The village had been locked in confrontation with external enemies for quite some time.
And in stark contrast, an exceptional leader capable of weathering the worst crises was governing it.
"Come in!"
The gate opened fully.
Even then, the vigilant militia scanned us from prime archery positions, bows at the ready.
A sidelong glance showed about ten of them.
That was a hefty number for constant watch.
I set my weapon on the ground as I carefully assessed their condition.
"- - - - - - -."
Gulp.
One of our recruits swallowed dryly.
He was intimidated before these seasoned militiamen.
The village's atmosphere was sharp as a honed blade, after all.
But that tension dissolved in an instant at a voice calling from afar.
"Arrow Feather!"
"Oh! Low Grass!"
An elderly man in casual clothes hurried over, as if summoned abruptly, and called to Arrow Feather.
She responded in kind, addressing him as Low Grass.
The moment they saw each other's faces, they embraced like long-lost friends.
The elder called Low Grass beamed broadly as he asked,
"This guy's still alive! Everyone, lower your bows! He's an old friend of the Village Chief's too!"
The word "Village Chief" melted away the wariness prickling my nerves like snow in sunlight.
It was the slash-and-burn folk's trait of blindly trusting their own playing out perfectly.
Still, as if refusing to drop the last shred of suspicion, the militia collected our weapons before slowly withdrawing.
Low Grass asked,
"So, what's this about anyway? I figured after retiring, I'd never see you again."
"Well, you see..."
This was enough.
We'd navigated what could have erupted into arrows flying to this point smoothly.
I shot the reticent old woman a final pleading glance.
"I'd like to see the Village Chief."
"The Village Chief? You?"
"No, them."
Her eyes sharpened.
She'd taken us for mere young villagers or traveling companions, but now she called us "them" with respect.
Before prolonged silence could breed misunderstanding, I spoke up directly.
"I have something crucial to say."
"...We have nothing to discuss with outsiders."
"It's about the barbarians."
This time, their expressions shifted.
No matter how composed they tried to appear, they couldn't hide their instinctive hatred for the barbarians.
This was the turning point. To drive it home, I told them plainly,
"Another village has vanished. Arrow Feather's village fell too."
Isolated as they were, they wouldn't know.
While they clung to the status quo, what had befallen other villages.
One, then two.
Who would be next?
Low Grass pondered gravely before replying,
"Wait here just a bit."
I nodded quietly.
And in my heart, I prayed they'd make the wise choice.
The tattered flag atop the village watchtower began whipping fiercely, as if foretelling storms ahead.
The sun that had hung midday sank below the horizon.
We'd arrived at dawn and waited till dusk; it hinted at the heated debate raging inside.
But I didn't grow impatient.
I used the time to teach Snow-Covered and the recruits basic tactics, turning boredom into productive respite.
An hour later, the firmly shut gate creaked open.
Kiiiek, clunk.
"...The Village Chief will see you."
The militia had come.
Unlike before, they neither thrust weapons at us nor barked threats.
The day's fierce deliberations had swayed positively.
"You two wait here."
Too many people wouldn't help.
I took only Snow-Covered and the old woman, following the militia outward.
Sabak, sabak, sabak.
Murmur, murmur.
Dusk had fallen, cloaking the village in shadow.
Torches burned minimally, and residents had all gone home.
It felt like bracing for a threat that could strike at night.
But they couldn't conceal the thick despair undulating like sea fog.
Last season, as winter loomed, they hadn't planted the seeds of hope.
Sabak, sabak, sabak.
About five minutes later, amid wooden buildings, the village hall emerged.
Unlike the rest, built of stacked stone, it doubled as a shelter or final bastion.
We followed the militia through the door they held open.
Kiiiek, clunk.
"Village Chief, I've brought them."
"...Good work."
Nothing fancy.
The spartan interior reinforced the hall's practical purpose.
Save for the Village Chief seated at the center and a young swordsman beside him.
The Village Chief smiled first at his old friend.
"Arrow Feather, it's been ages."
"Y-yes..."
The Village Chief was advanced in years.
Yet his sturdy build and seasoned aura marked him no ordinary man.
A closer look revealed:
Keenness, grimness, faint whiff of blood.
I realized at once—this Village Chief was a former Veteran Soldier.
"You wanted to see me, I hear."
After chatting with the old woman, he turned to me, face hardening.
Gone was the initial warmth; now a wall stood between us.
I ignored it, stepping closer as I asked,
"Time's short for both sides, so straight to the point?"
"Agreed."
Raiding barbarians, villages vanishing one by one.
As their leader, he knew better than anyone what this portended.
So I cut the fluff and stated our purpose bluntly.
"Planning to die holed up in this palisade?"
"...Impatient. What are you getting at?"
"You already know."
He'd built the palisade to shield his people from barbarians.
But isolation meant stagnation, endless deadlock.
Having witnessed such downfalls countless times, I said firmly,
"This is isolation."
"...Better than going out."
"You'll just die miserably instead."
Winter would be fine.
With cold and the palisade, they could hold off barbarians.
But come spring,
then summer—what then?
To eat, they needed to sow seeds, which meant venturing out.
Yet the palisade that sheltered them through winter had long become a cage.
His face twisted in displeasure, beard quivering as he shot back,
"Do you know what drove me to build that palisade? An outsider could never, ever understand!"
"........"
"Not going out means death? You think the villagers will accept that? No! They'll curse and blame me!"
Uncertain times, dwindling food, people awaiting solutions.
The leader's pent-up stress exploded at me like arrows.
But instead of raising my voice, I locked eyes with him.
"Yes, they'll curse and blame you."
They strong, us weak.
Limitations, disadvantages, lack of skill and forces.
I understood his plight and anguish better than anyone.
This was humanity's eternal dilemma, the towering wall we'd fought our lives against.
Yet I asked the Village Chief,
"Is that scarier than their deaths?"
"I..."
Something caught in his throat.
The fuming Village Chief and his glaring companions fell silent.
As if swallowing the brutal reality they'd ignored.
I lowered my voice.
"It's not too late."
No clever tricks before war.
No weapons? Forge them. No elites? Train them.
Only rigorous preparation weathers fierce storms.
His eyes wavered.
Time to offer real solutions.
"You saw the weapons we brought."
"I did."
"Impressions?"
"Sturdy and sharp. If we'd had them, things wouldn't have come to this."
Red Iron's spears outclassed their crude arms.
Against bone-wielding barbarians, they were perfect counters.
Competent militia plus Red Iron's razor-sharp steel spears.
If united perfectly, subjugating barbarians wasn't a dream.
I said candidly,
"Share troops and weapons with us."
"...You're saying submit to you?"
"No, fight together."
From my brief observation, the Village Chief was upright and righteous.
I trusted he wouldn't bend to profit or desire.
For our survival alone.
For family, friends, neighbors, all oppressed humans—join hands.
I stared into his shaken eyes, awaiting his answer.
"You... who the hell are you? Who are you to make me this offer?"
The mood shifted.
His tone turned polite.
He'd already sensed in his heart: no other way.
Instead of pressing advantage, I introduced us for the future.
"Northerners, like you."
'Give me time to consult the villagers.'
Negotiations proceeded smoothly.
But the Village Chief needed time to convince his people, so we ended up staying the night.
He assigned us a guest wooden building—serviceable, with a decent hearth warding off winter chill.
After a simple meal, night deepened.
"- - - - - - - -."
The group, laughing and chatting animatedly, soon drifted to sleep.
The fatigue and tension from the march melted away at once.
But Snow-Covered poked at the fire, unable to settle.
Something was bothering her.
"Master."
"Something on your mind."
"...Yes."
Fighting well and killing well doesn't make a king who rules all.
The Knight King was the finest knight, but also a silver-tongued persuader uniting people under one banner.
Yet Snow-Covered was still too green and inexperienced for all that.
She asked me,
"Wouldn't it have been easier if you'd given your name, Master? The Village Chief surely knew it."
"Because he's a Veteran Soldier?"
"Yes."
How I'd spotted the Veteran Soldier—her insight deserved applause.
But I was gladder she'd drawn inspiration from the day's events.
"Maybe so."
"...And he wouldn't have spoken down to you."
"Haha."
She'd been quite miffed at my first taste of condescension.
Mature beyond her years, yet still a child—I found it admirable and joyful.
Before praising her, though, I explained the true reason.
"The start was easy."
"Just the start?"
"Yes. If I'd led and commanded everything, that would've sufficed."
Simple command and training structures are best.
Easier to convey, easier to manipulate as I wished.
But one thing I'd have missed:
"We wouldn't have won the villagers' hearts. Right now, they trust only the Village Chief, no matter who we are."
"Ah..."
"And the Village Chief? He'd chafe inwardly. He's spent more years with them than as a soldier."
War isn't chess.
Allies, aid—every action weaves tangled causal webs.
Forcing them apart always brings backlash.
A king endures to the end.
Yielding the best outcome only when the majority is satisfied.
I hoped the growing Snow-Covered learned that distinction well.