Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: The Weight of the Fallen
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[Over the pure white millet, I send off my brothers and sisters. From the water, the earth, the sky—may our mother watch over them for all eternity.]
Orcs regard death as an honor.
Elves see it as an eternal cycle.
But for us humans, death is simply profound sorrow, stripped of any flowery rhetoric.
The weight lifted by those who go first before us—the eternal grief that remains for those left behind.
It is a sorrow familiar yet never truly familiar, one we know we must release them to, yet cannot easily let go. That is our death.
[Now return to your homeland. Fierce winds, packed snowballs, fallen icicles. Come back whenever you miss your children, or long for your parents, just as you do on this winter day.]
The people do not weep.
They know full well that those being laid to rest become the North itself.
Bodies laid in coffins filled with pure white millet, buried in pits dug through the night by their families.
Not a single snowflake dared to intrude upon the memorial attended by the entire village.
Of course, I was no different.
"I've tallied everything up and brought it here."
Red Iron returned from the memorial and handed me a skin along with a flask.
The skin listed the casualties in precise numbers and names, while the flask held distilled spirits.
Before checking the numbers and names, I brought the flask to my lips and drank the liquor down.
The harsh burn that made me want to cough crushed and sealed away something lodged in my throat.
Yes, we had won the battle against those bastards.
The chieftain had his head lopped off by my hand, and the barbarians were executed to the last without a single prisoner spared.
But victory alone did not end everything.
A commander who leads soldiers must bear responsibility for the weight that remains afterward.
I slowly read down the contents written on the skin, murmuring the final number.
"Twelve."
Twelve—the number of soldiers who had died.
We had clashed with more than twice our numbers and lost only this few.
It was an overwhelming exchange ratio, enough to call it a great victory in this battle.
But reality is not a game of Go.
Once the match ends, you cannot simply place the captured stones back on the board.
Was there truly no better way?
Why hadn't I moved faster?
I mulled over the past war, suppressing the endless sinking feeling.
But no matter how accustomed or numb I grew, this feeling never improved.
I quietly set aside the flask of liquor and tucked the skin with the names into my bosom.
And as always, I made my final request to Red Iron to ease my conscience.
"Melt down their weapons and forge them into farm tools for the families. Make sure it's sufficient compensation."
"...Don't worry. I'll make them sturdy ones."
With the war over, it was time to endure the winter and await the spring to come.
I rose from the spot where I had sat for so long and swallowed a lungful of the now even chillier air.
The night sky still overflowed with stars,
and the vast spectacle of that starry host flowing toward home remained unchanged from the aurora.
Does this great North know why we fight, why we struggle so desperately?
No, the warm yet indifferent mother simply gazed down in silence.
I prayed sincerely.
That those who escaped the life of strife might be embraced in our warm mother's arms.
"Little Knight! Try one of these!"
"Whoa... winter apples?"
"Yes, my husband picked them from the mountain yesterday."
Having finished her master's errands as usual, Snow-Covered was hurrying back to the hall.
But just as she was about to pass through the market without a thought, a familiar-faced village woman held out a winter apple to her.
She gladly gave Snow-Covered one of the apples her husband had labored to pick high on the mountain.
Should she refuse?
No, with her appetite sharper than ever, Snow-Covered couldn't turn down the fresh green winter apple.
Crunch!
Snow-Covered took the apple glowing blue-green in both hands and bit into it heartily.
"It's... so delicious..."
"Ho ho ho, that good, is it?"
The Northern apples, infused with winter's chill, carried a sweetness that melted on the tongue.
Moved by the taste, Snow-Covered flushed red and shivered with delight.
To think a single bite of apple could make someone look this happy.
The village woman, feeling a great sense of accomplishment, smiled warmly as if at her own daughter.
"Ah! I'm late! See you later, ma'am!"
But Snow-Covered had no time to leisurely enjoy her snack.
She bowed politely to the woman and hurried onward toward the hall.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
The hall had moved during its expansion to a spot on the hill near the cliff behind the village.
Thanks to that, the Village Chief grumbled about the trek, but Snow-Covered loved the hill where the hall now stood.
Because as she walked slowly up it, the village in its white garb came into full view below.
Whoosh.
Snow-Covered rubbed her breath-warmed red hands and gazed down at the scene unfolding from the hill.
"...So pretty."
Three months had passed since the war's end.
The fierce cold had gradually returned to normal temperatures, and the huddled villagers began full-scale activities.
Hunting and gathering bustled actively, and wooden buildings sprang up by the day.
With external enemies gone, the village environs offered abundant resources that could sustain lifetimes without exhausting them.
Of course, the population had grown rapidly too.
Countless slash-and-burn settlers kept arriving, drawn by rumors just like during the last evacuation.
Her master had said that at this growth rate, it was practically a small fiefdom already.
Of course, not knowing what that meant, Snow-Covered just remembered it as a good thing.
Munch, munch.
Stretching grandly, Snow-Covered finished the winter apple the woman had given her.
Then, with light steps, she headed up to the hall atop the hill.
Creeeak, thud!
As she opened the firmly shut door, a warm draft from the stove washed over her face.
At the same time, her eyes caught the Village Chief and her master deep in discussion.
"Won't we need more fallow land?"
"That would cut production. Better to use the fertilizer we've made over the winter."
"So we'll see how this year goes first."
Her master was not only an exceptional knight but also a capable and experienced administrator.
Just look at how the village, once struggling to maintain the status quo, had achieved such progress—that spoke volumes of his talent.
He could probably claim to bake bread from dirt, and everyone would believe him.
Recalling the praise she'd overheard from villagers, Snow-Covered grinned as if she herself had been commended.
At that moment, Broken Sword spoke up.
"You're back."
"Ah, yes!"
She had nearly forgotten, lost in her thoughts.
Snow-Covered opened the cloth bag she'd brought from the forge and pulled out its contents.
"Here, the item you asked for."
Her master had told her not to show it to anyone and bring it straight to him.
Having faithfully followed those instructions, Snow-Covered handed the leather-bound book to her master.
It was an old leather book that looked far less valuable than its careful handling suggested.
But the Village Chief, peering at the title beside her, said in disbelief,
"Continental map...? A real map?"
Maps were precious items ordinary folk might never see in a lifetime.
They grew rarer the smaller the scale, and a map of the entire continent was something even the civilized southerners likely had only a few of.
But Broken Sword set the leather book down, conveying not humility but plain fact.
"Not quite that impressive."
It fell short of being called a proper continental map in many ways.
Based not on authoritative surveys but personal experience.
At best, it showed that villages and cities existed here, strategic terrain there.
Of course, the notes scribbled alongside held more information than a simple map.
Recognizing the handwriting, the Village Chief asked,
"You drew this."
"More like a diary."
This map was a compilation of records from the great war he'd endured and his travels across the continent.
Not the original, but after revisions and copies, this segmented volume held by Red Iron was the only one left.
Riiip!
"Ah...!"
And today, Broken Sword tore the book apart.
To separate the pages and assemble one large map.
As he peeled each sheet and laid them on the desk, they fit together like puzzle pieces into a continental map.
Seen this way, our Northern lands occupied but one corner of this vast world.
"This is us."
He fetched a charcoal stub and marked their village.
Its position was deep in the hinterlands, forsaken even by the invading orcs—no hostile forces nearby.
"These are the colonial zones."
But just a bit further south lay the encampments the orcs had set up to dominate the North, spreading like cancer cells.
Forty-two of them in number.
Not content with claiming the vast central continent, they had torn our Northern homeland to shreds.
To rebuild the kingdom, all these encampments needed to be burned to the ground.
Broken Sword drew lines silently toward the encampments.
Swish, stroke.
There were also the elves who had built a nation around the World Tree in the west, and the easterners along the coast paying tribute of goods and slaves to the orcs.
But explaining all that strayed from the purpose of bringing the map.
With a small sigh, Broken Sword pointed out the milestone ahead.
"We can expand our scale as much as possible until harvest season. Then, when winter comes again, we'll strike the encampments with our prepared forces."
"...That's why you want to eliminate fallow land. We'll have supplies from their camps anyway."
The orc encampments dispatched to the North were third-rate at best compared to the civil wars raging in the central continent.
With enough supplies and troops, they could methodically destroy the camps and liberate the suffering Northern villages.
"But before that."
This was getting ahead of things, though.
No matter how fine the blueprint or swift the internal development, a full year still lay ahead.
But Broken Sword had no intention of spending that year in the developing village.
Because there was something a candidate for unifier needed to do first.
"Snow-Covered, you're coming with me here."
"Pardon...?"
Where Broken Sword pointed on the map was a mountain range directly opposite their village.
A steep range with no village or city names—only what seemed a person's name boldly inscribed.
The Village Chief read it cautiously.
"Gray Wolf... Gray Wolf? He's really still alive?"
As a veteran soldier, the chief recognized the name.
He was famous enough in the North that the name alone sufficed.
But Snow-Covered fidgeted her fingers, face full of confusion.
Likely, the unease of leaving the village outweighed her questions.
She was learning well, could even perform the first form perfectly—why leave now?
Snow-Covered swallowed the question bubbling up and bit her lip.
But that doubt was resolved by a single phrase from Broken Sword.
"To learn Aura."