Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Declaration of War
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The territory had grown at a speed incomparable to before.
Abundant natural resources that had never been tapped, combined with the Northerners' innate diligence and hard work, began unleashing explosive productivity.
The log palisade had already been relocated twice just to keep up with the buildings springing up overnight.
The housing shortage, which had been a concern, was fully resolved before summer's end, and the farmlands outside the village had been cleared to the planned size.
But as the saying goes, where ten people gather, problems arise—and where a hundred gather, crime is inevitable.
As growth stabilized on track, such issues cropped up more frequently.
Gambling and prostitution flourished in the shadows, and even criminal gangs emerged, disrupting public order.
Was this the growing pains of a village turning into a town? Unlike the worried leadership, I handled it with composure.
'Just beat them down.'
'Aha!'
The patrol captain took my advice and equipped the guards with stout oak clubs.
Petty criminals were beaten on capture and conscripted into the army; serious offenders were pummeled into bloody pulps and shipped off to the quarries—or hanged.
But such ad-hoc measures and punishments were bound to hit their limits and backfire soon enough.
I copied laws penned by kingdom-era scholars, compiling them into a legal code.
And I enabled Snow-Covered to exercise her rightful authority as lord: the power of judgment.
No one objected to the fair and impartial verdicts of the most righteous lord.
If they did, they died by my hand.
With the major issues resolved one by one, the territory began taking proper shape.
For the first time since the kingdom's fall, a true human domain had arisen in the North.
But for a territory to endure, one vital element was essential above all.
Military forces to defend it.
The reconstruction of the Northern Army, once a distant dream, was at hand.
'Recruiting volunteers.'
The barracks, now fully equipped, were plastered with signs calling for new recruits.
Eager young men flocked to the doors without hesitation.
A few veteran soldiers, who had been hiding among the slash-and-burn farmers, quietly revealed themselves and joined up.
The Gray Wolf and his Huscarls welcomed the enthusiastic greenhorns with bright smiles.
The recruits traded blood, sweat, and tears for discipline, growing swiftly.
As summer waned, the new recruits and existing soldiers alike were reorganized into branches suited to their skills and aspirations.
First, the authentic Northern Army infantry staples—the Oak Shield Wall and Huscarls—fell under the Gray Wolf, whose frontline command prowess was unmatched.
Second, the long-absent archer unit was newly formed from hunters, led by Blue Hand, who grasped ranged combat better than anyone among us.
Finally, the White-Horned Deer Cavalry—acquired through an utterly unforeseen stroke of fortune—came under my charge, thanks to my knight order experience.
We couldn't recreate the famed archer legions of old due to their unique nature, but Northplomb now boasted proper military branches.
With steady troop expansion, we could form forces twice this size and dominate any battlefield.
Thus passed the grueling spring and summer; the rye bread that had dominated our tables gave way to oatmeal porridge, fattened by sweat.
The long season ended, and early autumn arrived in the North.
Clang!
"You're too slow!"
Snow-Covered gritted her teeth, competitive fire in her eyes, as I effortlessly parried her strike.
Her blade gradually accelerated, unleashing a flurry of strikes like flashes of light.
Clang! Claaang!
Too fast for afterimages.
Yet her swings carried real power.
Snow-Covered filled gaps with swift footwork, shifting her center of gravity at will.
The sword form countless swordsmen had chased was reborn in this child's hands.
Clang!
This time, I met her blade head-on with force, not a glancing deflection.
But instinctively, she went limp, floating upward like a feather, channeling the impact straight outward through her arms and body.
Thud!
She flipped in midair like a squirrel and landed lightly.
The stilled air signaled the spar's end.
I sheathed my sword slowly.
"Excellent."
"Hehe..."
Her stern face melted into a grin at the lavish praise.
No matter the heights she reached, that simple "well done" still hit the spot.
But it wasn't empty flattery.
Snow-Covered had far surpassed the benchmarks I'd set; her swordsmanship had advanced to the point where "growth" felt like an understatement.
Snow-Covered asked me,
"Wasn't that a bit flashy?"
"No, it's fine. Mix in feints like that, and few could counterattack."
Given her build, she'd often face larger foes.
That meant disparities in strength and reach, compensated by center-of-gravity shifts and quick legs.
No one could teach that outright.
But Snow-Covered, battle-tested from her first days with a sword, had intuitively mastered weighting her strikes.
If she could wield Aura on top of that...
Every swordsman in the world would face a novel foe unlike any before.
Pride swelling, I asked,
"What do you feel?"
"A tingle in my fingertips."
"Martial Name soon."
Snow-Covered was at the resonance stage, sensing Aura.
Lately, she'd unconsciously focused on it, suggesting the condensation stage—manifestation—was near.
Snow-Covered asked back,
"What exactly is a Martial Name?"
"Another name bestowed on a warrior. The fate Aura reveals."
When Aura users manifest it, a inscription inevitably etches onto their weapon.
Why or how remained a centuries-old mystery, but it was no artificial mark.
Aura's inscription was a transcendent language only a rare few smiths could "sense."
The Knight King called it the destiny guiding an Aura user's path.
Snow-Covered, nodding through my explanation, suddenly asked,
"...Who reads mine?"
Most Aura users, unconnected to those rare smiths, never learned their own.
The barbarians I'd faced, the orc sergeants— all ignorant.
But we had a legend who could read any Martial Name, regardless of realm.
"Red Iron."
"Ah...!"
He might look like the neighborhood drunk these days, but he was one of the continent's few who could read them.
Countless heroes and knights had awakened to their fates through him, claiming new names.
The great Knight King himself included.
"The wolf uncle got one too, right?"
"Mm. His Martial Name matches his real one. He changed it from his birth name."
"Eh, really? Why?"
"It was Rabbit Tail."
Snow-Covered burst out laughing.
He'd sworn me to secrecy, but her joy was worth it.
Chatting amiably, we passed through swaying oat fields like ocean waves.
One farmer swung a massive sickle; another gathered and bundled the cut oats.
Of course, the bundles were laid out to catch the crisp autumn breeze.
They had to expel the moisture they'd held all season—drying made grains easier to thresh and hulls simple to strip.
Orcs and pointy-ears mocked oats as mere livestock fodder, coarse and common.
But to us Northern humans, this hardy crop was a grateful friend thriving in barren soil—our precious staple.
Having harvested every ripe oat, the farmers sang joyful songs with bright smiles.
Their roundelay was a hymn to Mother North, thanking her for the bountiful yield.
With the modest harvest festival done, the territory welcomed evening with buoyant spirits.
"The harvest is fully complete."
The Village Chief swallowed dryly as he reported the autumn reaping's end.
Those gathered at the round table looked up as one toward Snow-Covered at the head and me beside her.
A bumper crop.
This region's preserved fertility yielded abundance despite scant fertilizer.
We could feed the populace amply and stockpile substantial reserves.
Plenty of food, well-drilled troops, ample population to back them.
The leadership here knew what that meant.
'The orcs.'
Even in this northern backwater, a domain this size spread rumors fast.
And as we advanced, the orc outpost couldn't miss it.
Our existence going public was only a matter of time.
But we couldn't hole up in defensive wars that bled us dry or huddle inward, ignoring growth.
For the territory's survival, we needed more Northerners liberated to swell our ranks.
The Gray Wolf broached the topic.
"...Orcs hate winter. Their armor freezes solid, sticking to skin."
Orcs from the warm central continent were woefully cold-weak.
Northerners, for whom cold was home, found winter warfare routine.
Come early winter, as always, the orcs would dismantle outposts and retreat south.
Strike their weakest moment from behind, and toppling an outpost symbol of domination was feasible.
But weather wasn't our only calculation.
The timing was perfect beyond season.
I asked Blue Hand,
"Civil war status?"
"Fiercer than last year. Word is the Second Prince killed his full sister."
The Orc Empire roiled in brutal succession strife under Emperor Ogre.
A late-year truce had barely formed when the Second Prince's betrayal reignited shady intrigues.
But their crisis was our chance.
With the grueling succession war raging, who'd spare troops for the North?
Even if they did, winter delays in homeland reinforcements would isolate outposts.
"Odds of success?"
"High if they don't unite. Very high."
Outposts were spaced to oversee slave villages, too far for easy coordination.
Prevent alliance, and we could smash them piecemeal.
Raiding outposts for supplies, freeing Northerners from slave villages to bolster us.
Fight and expand simultaneously—full war later wouldn't strain us.
Last year was premature; next, too late.
We exchanged grave looks, sensing this was our sole shot this year.
Approaching winter was ideal.
Snow-Covered, silent through the talks, declared with obsidian eyes agleam.
"...Prepare for war. We march south when the first snow falls."
Who could have foreseen it?
Tiny tents housing fewer than twenty birthing this vast domain; a mere slave child becoming a human-leading hero.
The girl who clutched a rusty sword to shield her mother that day became the spark.
A spark for hope's blaze, brighter than anything.
Now, only to burn fiercely, leaving no ash.
"Yes, understood!"
The military leaders and all rose as one.
They roared assent to Lord Snow-Covered's solemn war declaration.
Snow-Covered stood too, hand on her pounding heart.
We steadied swelling chests and advanced toward fate's call.