Chapter 72
Chapter 72
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: March to the High Mountains
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The emergence of the new power that was the Northern Kingdom began tilting the delicately balanced continental situation in increasingly bizarre directions.
It reignited the imperial civil war that had ground to a standstill, and even got the elves—who'd been hunkered down in the west for years—to finally shift their heavy asses.
The Second Prince, with whom we'd already clashed militarily several times, and the Third Prince, who issued orders to subjugate the elves freely crossing the northern seas.
Naturally, the First Prince—who wouldn't just sit idly by—took the opportunity to wipe out the minor warlords he'd been putting off, expanding his territory in the process.
Ironically, the single small pebble we'd tossed had plunged the vast lake that was the continent back into chaos.
Fight or be weeded out.
The Northern Kingdom, just beginning its growth, now had to wage another war to defend itself.
And so, spring's melting snows gave way to summer, painting the North in green.
At dawn, the full Northern Knight Order assembled at the stables by the main gate, fully geared up.
Unlike usual, their armor and weapons were light, but the packs on their backs were heavy.
This mission's greatest hurdle wasn't battle—it was the march over the high mountains.
Their only blade: a single sword each.
After thorough preparations, I mounted my deer with the knight order and passed through the main gate.
Purruluk!
Clop, clop, clop.
"Ah..."
A group waiting ahead shed their robes and approached.
It was the king and prime minister, who had slipped out of the palace in secret.
"Master!"
This was an unofficial departure, unrecorded in the annals.
We hadn't informed the townsfolk, soldiers, or even our families about the mission.
But the king and prime minister, who knew every detail, had come at dawn to see off the knight order heading into the jaws of death.
Snow-Covered met my gaze and said,
"...Come back safe."
"I'll do my best."
Today, at least, we dropped the formalities and honorifics we'd always upheld.
Any more, and Snow-Covered's softening heart might burst into tears.
I whispered quietly,
"Encourage the other knights too. They're acting indifferent, but they're waiting eagerly for this."
"Hehe, got it!"
For the king himself to come to this humble spot—not even the palace—to see them off.
For knights who prized loyalty and honor above all, there could be no greater reward.
After our final farewell, Snow-Covered walked toward the other knights.
Then the prime minister, Remembrance Bird, approached as if he'd been waiting and whispered at my saddle,
"All preparations are complete. The main force will march out on the day Gray Wolf returns."
"...Timing will be key."
"Please send the signal without fail."
The elves were more active than expected.
The queen, sensing something amiss, had been sending scout ships dozens of times a day.
Thanks to that, Gray Wolf—who was building the coastal defenses—had been stuck there a full month, still commanding the garrison forces at this very moment.
But fortunately, with the veteran soldiers' promotions confirming their postings, he could return to the capital right on schedule.
The decisive battle was exactly one month away.
The gateway clash, mobilizing the full might of the Northern Army, rested in our knight order's hands.
Time to head out.
Confirming Snow-Covered's return, the prime minister hesitated briefly before speaking.
"Sword Saint, if by any chance..."
"No."
I knew exactly what he meant to say.
This perilous mission was one even she couldn't guarantee success on.
But I brushed off the prime minister's advice to consider contingencies, gripping the reins.
My disciple had staked her life on this greater cause—how could I, her master, dare flee?
Honor called us.
I raised my sheathed sword toward the Knight King, then charged across the plains with the knight order.
Richard had been in high spirits lately.
His training had finally borne fruit—he'd managed to grasp the first form of Northern Swordsmanship.
Did he have some hidden talent after all?
Northern Swordsmanship was leagues beyond the parlor tricks he'd learned in the royal court, transforming him—this frog in a well—into a sturdy warrior.
The wise and mighty Knight King, the loyal retainers and knights who followed him.
The Northern Army they led knew no fear, and the kingdom's people marched toward the future as one.
How ideal a nation was this?
As calluses built on his hands, Richard found himself ever more enchanted by the Northern Kingdom.
But today, he learned a harsh lesson.
All the training he'd endured paled to nothing compared to this mission.
Whiiiiiing——!
Another blizzard whipped up.
Ronald brushed snow from his head and asked the pale-faced Richard,
"Your Highness, are you alright?"
"...Drop the formal speech, Sir Ronald. I'm Squire Richard."
The knight order, dispatched for the mission, had ridden far to reach the high mountains bordering the east.
Upon arrival at the base, after a short rest, they began the ascent—only for the deer-friendly path to end after a single day.
No choice in the matter.
They sent the deer back and donned their pre-packed snow gear before resuming the climb.
The higher they went, the colder it got, and plants and animals gradually vanished.
Snow that should have melted piled everywhere, and the wind cut like a blade.
But the most despairing part? It had only been two days since entering the mountains.
The destination—the lowest ridge of the high peaks—was still a full week away.
"Rest!"
The higher the altitude, the more calories the body demanded—exponentially so.
The Sword Saint ordered periodic breaks, making them chew their rations at intervals.
Finally, rest.
Richard, on the verge of collapse, slumped to the ground, head bowed.
How had the other knights trained to march like this without breaking a sweat?
His recent achievements had bred some pride, but it evaporated fast, leaving humility.
"Sir Richard."
Ronald approached then.
He began smearing something sticky and greasy on Richard's gaunt face.
"What's this?"
"Beast fat. Essential for dry, cold places, they say. The captain gave it—make sure to return it later."
"Ah..."
He seemed so indifferent, yet so thoughtful.
Richard gazed admiringly at the captain scouting ahead.
He still remembered vividly.
The black-haired squire who'd come with the Knight King had become the Sword Saint, and the scrawny boy he'd been now followed in his footsteps.
Even young as he was, he felt the years passing—how must the man feel wielding his sword?
Lips pursed, Richard touched his now-shiny face and drew fresh strength.
Rumble.
"———?"
But as he rose, an inexplicable tremor gripped his feet.
Something was rushing down from no great distance, amid fierce winds.
Rapids? No—solid masses tumbling down.
The Sword Saint, ever vigilant, shoved the rising knights aside and bellowed,
"Avalanche!"
Roooaaar——!!
The vibrations swelled into violent waves.
Far up the slope, a massive avalanche devoured the world.
The knights scrambled sideways in panic.
Startled, Ronald dragged Richard to the sloped embankment beside the path.
"Grab on tight!"
"Uwaaaah, shit!"
We're saved—heaven helped.
There was a slope for cover beside the path, and time to flee.
"W-wait a sec!"
But as Ronald pulled him into the slope, Richard whipped around in shock.
There—the supply sled loaded with gear they'd hauled up with the squires.
Food wasn't the issue.
The knights' precious named swords, forged by Red Iron over days of hammering, were all aboard that sled.
A sword is a knight's life—hadn't they been ordered to protect them at all costs?
Teeth gritted, Richard lunged instinctively for the rope linking the sled.
"Your Highness!"
The avalanche was faster than thought; his leap, slower than hoped.
With Ronald's horrified shout, Richard faced the snow wall barreling toward him.
Kaboooom——!
A wall of snow engulfed his vision.
Thus, the foolish Richard was swept away with the supply sled in the avalanche.
At its end loomed a sheer cliff, heralding a gruesome death.
Ronald went white as a sheet.
He couldn't believe his lifelong lord would die to mere snow.
"Ah?"
But then he saw it.
Behind the tumbling snow, a small-statured man flashed past like lightning.
"————!!"
No scream escaped.
Thrash as he might, he couldn't break free.
Clutching the sole lifeline—the rope—Richard drifted helplessly.
Instinct sensing death, life's highlights flashed before him.
Ironically, the biggest chunk was his shortest chapter: life in the North.
Thud, crash!
Unlucky—the sled hit the cliff first.
The recoiling rope flung Richard into the void, still gripping it tight.
Weightless freefall.
The Eastern prince, still fearing death, squeezed shut his regret-filled eyes.
Snap!
Slash!
Thump, thump, boom!
But then the rope severed.
The sled plummeted below; a hand caught Richard.
Dangling just shy of the drop.
Craning his neck, he saw the Sword Saint peering down, dagger in hand.
"Reckless."
"Ah, aaah...!"
The Sword Saint had slid down like an acrobat, cut the rope, and snatched him from the brink.
A moment later, and both would've been goners.
Guilt crashing over him, Richard couldn't even stammer thanks.
"Captain!"
"Pull up the squires first!"
The knights rushed over, hauling up the precariously dangling Sword Saint and Richard.
Relief filled their eyes.
Pat pat.
The Sword Saint brushed off snow casually, sheathed his dagger.
Then lifted the dazed Richard.
"For the swords?"
Red Iron's precious masterpieces had been aboard that sled.
He'd lost them through sheer negligence—his fault entirely.
Yet the knights' gazes held no blame, only pride.
The Sword Saint gripped his shoulder firm.
"Is life worth less than a sword?"
"H-honor must be upheld...!"
"Knight! A sword isn't honor—it's a tool. An extension longer than your arm, a means to cut foes."
What is a knight without a sword?
Richard's long-cherished ideals flipped in the gale.
A sword is no honor—it's a tool.
The man who'd seen its edge taught him what the honor he'd clung to truly was.
Thwack!
The Sword Saint thumped Richard's pounding chest—left side.
Then turned, commanding the snow-covered knights.
"Knight order! The road ahead is long! Gather the surviving gear and resume the climb!"
"Yes, sir!"
The knights reformed ranks with the salvageable packs, as if nothing happened.
Of course, not forgetting to pat the stunned Richard's head and shoulders.
"Damn kid, good job."
"All the cool stuff for him."
Ronald watched warmly.
Then followed, with tear- and snot-sniffling Richard in tow.