North: Blood or Wine (01) - 026
Sinat's case, which he'd thought would be the biggest hurdle, passed more smoothly than expected.
"...Yeah! But you have to promise to come back this time too!"
The revival of the Dranus family was something Sinat had longed for as well. She'd headed to the Rakatus family from the start for that very reason, so she could hardly fail to understand when things went a bit off track.
Sinat smiled at Kalen, telling him to take care on his journey. Her expression was that of someone who'd reached a firm resolution—though the nearing revival of her family seemed to complicate her feelings.
"Are your preparations complete?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good."
The North was a region rife with battles. Pulling away manpower wasn't easy there. Even if just one person had come to fetch Kalen, it wasn't as if they'd sent a skeleton crew. For the North, this was about as polite as it got.
Kalen had finished packing his things and was waiting for the Northerner to arrive. Having been there once before, he knew exactly what to bring.
"Kalen."
"Yes?"
Blamia usually called him "kid" or "brat." It was a nickname that laid bare his gruff personality. No one seemed to call him by his proper name, but by now, Kalen preferred it that way. So he couldn't help but be surprised.
Lately, Blamia had been wearing a frustrated expression more often, especially around Kalen. What had once been mere projection of his granddaughter's tragedy now clashed with the memories they'd built together—it was driving the old man mad. Calling him by name felt strangely unfamiliar now.
"Thank you. Truly."
"Yes."
Something sappy like "take care" didn't suit Blamia. He was always prickly and curt, the quintessential grumpy old man. He wasn't one for rambling nonsense. So he cut his words short.
Kalen knew Blamia well enough to understand his heart. From benefactor to master, and now to something indefinable—their bond was evolving into something hard to put into words.
"Are you in?"
A brief silence hung between them until someone knocked. By the time and circumstances, it had to be the Northerner.
"Looks like they've arrived."
"I'll be off, Master."
"Go on."
And so the boy headed north once more. The old man could only gaze pityingly at the youth's scarred back.
Fierce-looking. No better word fit the man before him.
The North was one of the last places where swords still held sway over magic. The long, deep scar on his left cheek marked him unmistakably as a Northerner. He was cold, too—hadn't said a word since guiding Kalen to the carriage. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes closed.
It wasn't bad. Kalen wasn't much of a talker himself. He'd improved a bit adapting to Sinat and Eliana, but he was still seen as calm and stoic.
This suits me better—quiet and comfortable.
Bodyguard duty, was it?
His task in the North involved protection, so it was likely some high-ranking noble's child. With the civil war raging, the role didn't feel out of place.
With Eliana, he'd avoided clashes. The inspection at the North's border was the closest thing. This trip had the added goal of breaking through to the 3rd Hierarchy, so he hoped for chances to fight plenty of foes. Theory was solid; he needed practice.
Such opportunities were rare in this peaceful world, but the North offered hope.
Sure enough, the woman from that border inspection came to mind. Tall, mature in every way.
...Wine.
Only her red-wine hair color surfaced. He'd assumed she was from the Hiatt family. The thought of guarding her made him chuckle—pf.
"What's so funny?"
"Ah—you startled me."
A voice as rough as his face. The man had opened his eyes and was glaring, arms still crossed.
"Mocking the North's carriage? Figures a city boy from Felts wouldn't get romance."
"Pardon?"
"Listen up—this here's survived thirty years in the North. Not for the likes of a soft pup like you to laugh at."
Kalen had no choice but to retract his words. Talk about distant. The silence had shattered the moment he opened his eyes, unleashing a torrent of assumptions.
After enduring the misunderstandings, even Kalen grew irritated. He'd learned today how far people could leap to conclusions without a word. It wasn't outright blame, which somehow irked him more. That earnest expression and glare sold it as genuine.
"That's not it."
"What?"
"I wasn't laughing at the carriage."
"Hmph, all that grease on your tongue makes you slippery. Liar, plain and simple. Listen—this carriage..."
"Ah."
Something was wrong. Kalen knew it.
"Sorry for the misunderstanding."
"...Got it."
"Still, this carriage has the North's soul in it... Ah, we're here."
After sorting out the mix-up, as the air grew chillier, the carriage halted. Kalen peeked through the worn, patched curtain—snow blanketed everything.
"Out."
The man kicked open the door and leaped. He could've dismounted normally, but nothing about him was ordinary.
"What should I call you?"
"Hm?"
Kalen followed as the man strode ahead, leaving footprints in the pristine snow. His legs were absurdly quick.
"Ah, right—we skipped introductions. Call me Craderus."
"Kalen."
"Right, Kalen. Follow me."
The whole ride, he'd ranted without mentioning his name. Kalen sighed faintly and trailed after Craderus.
The wall stretched endlessly, massive enough to call a fortress wall. It divided the North. They'd already crossed the inland classified as "North," but beyond lay the true wilds—their own culture, steeped in tradition. A sword ruled over magic, and battles could erupt anywhere in this lawless frontier.
Craderus spoke briefly with the wall guards, and the heavy gates groaned open. He glanced back.
"Welcome to the North."
It was a kingdom on the tundra.
"Outsider, huh..."
"He's handsome."
"But too young, isn't he?"
"Carrying a staff. Cute."
"Knight Captain Craderus is with him. Too bad..."
Beyond the wall lay a village, like any elsewhere. It might seem risky at a glance, but it was the safest spot. The wall faced inward, toward the interior—a rear-guard zone in North terms.
Deeper in lay military bases. At the end stood the Hiatt Grand Duke Estate—not the front lines, but few dared provoke the Claire Empire, so a fragile peace held.
The North's biggest headache was magical beasts. Far more numerous than elsewhere, they struck unpredictably, piling up casualties. Amid that, internal strife simmered—"civil war," some called it. The North teetered like a kingdom on the brink.
"Kal... whatever. Just Kal. Easier that way."
Craderus patted his sword sheath and grinned. Kalen hadn't expected anyone but Sinat to call him that, but it didn't feel bad. In this utterly alien place, it was the first familiar thing.
He glanced at the women whispering in clusters. No bustling streets—just an ancient village vibe that felt oddly endearing. They smiled and waved when eyes met.
"Watch out, Kal. They look it, but they're of marriageable age. Blink and you're hooked."
"..."
"Haha! Kidding, Kal! No need for that serious face. They don't usually snag outsiders for mates. Rear guard's short on men, so they tease."
So snagging husbands is real? Kalen felt dizzy.
"Well... the North has its own culture."
"Culture..."
"But don't take their booze~."
Craderus strode off with huge steps. Kalen quietly scanned the village before following. The women's lively laughter faded behind.
With each village passed, the landscape shifted sharply. Barracks outnumbered homes now. They were closing in on Hiatt territory.
After the last barracks and a dozen minutes' walk...
"Ah, here we are."
A massive mansion loomed at Craderus's words.
"A castle?"
"Gwahaha! Looks that way?"
"Yes."
"Fair enough. That estate's infused with the Hiatt soul, guardians of the North for generations... Hey! Where you going!"
The castle-like doors opened to a surprisingly quiet interior. The chill hit harder than any human warmth.
Luxury was sin in the North. Another insulated vest helped survival more. Magic beat cold for the masses, but that ignored Northern ways. Tradition ran deep here—upending sword-honoring customs for spells wasn't simple.
Hiatt's unwavering rule enabled it, proving magic's edge in slipping through those bonds. The North, beyond the long wall, was another world.
"Hey, kid. Don't fling that door open like that—Makbelll chew you out."
"The steward?"
"Yeah. One nasty stickler of an old man. Wears a monocle on his left eye like you..."
"Craderus."
"Eek!"
A sharp voice from behind—elderly but weighty. Different from Ebam or Blamia.
"O-old man..."
"Is that the boy His Excellency mentioned?"
"Y-yeah! Name's... Kal! He said Kal!"
"...Kalen."
Makbel looked every bit the stern type, his pointed mustache sealing it.
"Craderus, head back. I'll escort him to His Excellency."
"Got it."
Craderus sighed in relief, then whispered, hand over mouth.
"Watch it, Kal. Old man's worse than death on breaches of etiquette..."
"Hurry up."
"Going!"
Craderus vanished swiftly. Makbel fiddled with his mustache, eyeing Kalen.
"Follow."
His slightly hunched back spoke of lifelong devotion.
"To Grand Duke Hiatt?"
"Perhaps. But our ideas of 'Grand Duke Hiatt' might differ."
What? Usually, it meant the family head. Civil war ties? Kalen's cautious guess got the same reply.
"Someone who could become Grand Duke Hiatt."
Abandoning questions, Kalen followed meekly. The interior sprawled like a maze, corridors twisting until direction was lost.
After a while, rounding a corner, Makbel spoke.
"We're here."
A small room at the dim hall's end—far too quiet. And tiny for a family head's quarters, luxury or not.
Its hidden spot and modest size stirred unease in Kalen as he approached, steeling himself before opening the door.
"Hi?"
The greeting came from someone a bit different than expected.