The Subjugation Force
Snow began to fall on Coldon.
There was nothing particularly unusual about the snow itself. This was Iceland, after all—a place where flurries could drift down even in the height of summer. But when the sky started dumping thick, heavy flakes that swallowed the world whole before winter had even properly arrived, the people of Coldon, regardless of rank, let loose a torrent of curses and scrambled into motion.
The natives of this barren land were keenly sensitive to the weather, whether they lived in the wilds or within the walls of civilization. And every instinct among them—every hard-won lesson from the elders—was shouting the same warning.
This winter would last a long time.
Nobles and commoners, those of the inner and outer cities, even the folk inside the ducal castle itself—everyone rushed to finish their preparations. Some hauled out every tool they owned, from shovels to cooking pots, and set to work clearing the snow.
While every soul in Coldon cursed with one shared heart, Catherine, who had joined the subjugation force, had already left the city far behind.
Under the command of Iceland’s ruler, the force was cutting across the snow-swept plains. Sleigh carriages, sled wagons, the soldiers of the subjugation force, and their support staff all pressed onward.
As her personal attendant, Karem rode in the carriage with Catherine, so his body at least was comfortable. His mind, however, was anything but. Catherine had been radiating pure, bone-deep exhaustion the entire time, and nothing was more dangerous than drawing the attention of an angry superior. Fanning a stray spark into a wildfire would just make him the fool.
Only after several hours, when Catherine finally let the tension ease from her face, could he breathe again.
"…What are you being so uncomfortable about?"
"Lady Atanita. It is perfectly normal for an employee to feel fear at even the smallest action of their employer."
"Fear? The one who ought to be afraid is me—the one being worked to the bone by His Grace, the great Duke of Iceland. Well. Let’s leave it at that."
Catherine, who had been handling the paperwork she’d brought from the tower while Mary tended to her hair, slumped sideways and propped her chin on her hand.
"You were that furious, and now you’re just dropping it?"
"I vented enough. Time to think constructively."
"That was ‘enough’?"
Karem cast his mind back a few hours, to the scene just before the party boarded the waiting carriages. Worn thin by endless overtime and all-nighters, Catherine had finally snapped and lunged for Alfred; Karem and Mary had restrained her first, then the knights and soldiers on standby rushed in at the noise. Through it all Alfred had simply watched, laughing lightly.
With a little political maneuvering the incident could have been blown up into something that left Alfred with a weakness to exploit—but it was quietly downgraded to the slightly heated protest of an overworked mage and buried. Alfred himself knew full well how exhausted she was. Of course she would throw a fit when more work was piled on top.
But there had been no choice. At present, Catherine was the only mage Alfred could freely command. If she had complaints, she should have raised them before signing the contract.
"It was enough. If she’d been serious she would have started casting magic first and asked questions later. His Grace let it go because he knows that."
"I honestly thought it was going to end right there."
"For someone so precocious, you’re rather fragile."
Hearing that from the very person who had made him fragile left Karem opening and closing his mouth in pure disbelief. They said that when confusion reached its peak, words simply failed—this was exactly that.
Catherine’s lips twitched upward, pleased by his reaction, then she suddenly frowned and opened a crate that had been stowed on one side of the carriage. It was packed tight with parchments and books of every kind.
"Haa. Having to work even while heading out to work. My life is just packed full of meaning, isn’t it."
"But Contractor, isn’t time the one thing you have in abundance?"
"It’s that very contract that’s leaving me with no time at all. Are you seriously mocking me right now?"
"There’s a saying that if you can’t avoid something, you should enjoy it."
"And even the most enjoyable things grow tiresome if you keep at them. These damned piles of work need to be finished off as soon as possible. Haa."
A heavy fatigue clung to that short sigh.
"Lady Atanita."
"What."
"There’s something I’ve been wondering. Where exactly is Drywood?"
Drywood.
It was a village nestled in one of the dense forests of Iceland—a forest filled not with ordinary evergreens but with antler trees shaped like the horns of stags. Hearing only that much, one might take it for any ordinary woodland settlement.
Originally it had been a fief tied to a knight who served a vassal of a vassal of a vassal of Alfred. After a tangled chain of affairs involving carriages, wine, and terraces, the village had been offered up to the Felwinter family this past spring—or so Catherine explained.
"To a lord, land is something you want more of if you can manage it. And my master has more than enough ability—he has no reason to refuse this territory."
"But it’s snowing. Why now, in winter?"
Mary, still arranging Catherine’s hair, flicked a glance his way.
"Karem Hubae. Strictly speaking, it is not yet winter."
"Pardon? It’s pouring outside like someone’s dumping it from the sky."
"That is… well. You can simply think of it as the first snow arriving a little early."
In what country did an early winter mean first snow falling as if someone were emptying buckets from the heavens? Even the coldest cities Karem had seen in videos back on Earth never dumped snow like this. He was still reeling, but Mary sealed the matter with silent certainty, as though it were simple fact.
"Aigoo, I don’t get it. So what’s the problem that cropped up in that forest?"
"More precisely, we’re going to figure out what the problem is."
"…You said it was offered up this spring?"
"That’s right."
Catherine twisted in her seat, working the stiffness from her body; a series of sharp cracks and pops rang out as joints settled back into place. Mary, smoothing the long golden hair that had been swaying like silk curtains, frowned.
"Contractor. Your hair is getting mussed."
"Nnngh. Hoo. Where was I. Ah, right. From spring right up until winter’s approach, people have been going missing continuously—ah—"
"From spring, you say?"
"Yes. From spring. The latest reports said missing persons had started turning up in neighboring villages as well."
Time was not carved into minutes and seconds the way it was in the modern world, but it was still precious in the medieval age—perhaps even more so, which was why the era was, conversely, rather loose about it. Considering how difficult activity became in winter, the fact that nearly three-quarters of a year—from spring through autumn—had passed without anyone noticing the problem was already a serious issue in itself.
What on earth had they been doing all that time?
"Well, missing persons in Iceland’s spring and summer are everyday occurrences. It can’t be helped."
"Everyday? Missing persons are everyday?"
"Expanding forests. Provoked monster attacks. Even emotional quarrels between people. The causes are many. Especially when most of the missing are outsiders."
And in spring and summer, Iceland saw a massive influx of people from other regions. Yet even though the missing were outsiders, no one had treated it as a problem?
"Something like the village rejecting outsiders?"
"If that were the case, the incidents would have stopped after summer, once all the outsiders left."
"But is this really something that requires Lady Atanita herself to move?"
It was a fair question. At present Alfred’s sole personal mage was Catherine. That meant she alone had to handle every request and demand from Winterhome, the Felwinter family, and Alfred himself. Even with overtime and all-nighters, there was never enough time.
Wait—that only meant there was no exclusive mage. What about others?
"Couldn’t you just hire mages already employed by others, even if it means paying a premium?"
"The mages already hired are scattered across the entire domain, overworked just as badly as I am."
"Oof."
"More importantly, the people sent earlier to investigate the disappearances in Antler Forest also vanished."
An investigation team composed only of knights and soldiers had gone missing. Therefore the duke’s august command was to send a mage this time, along with more combat personnel and support staff, to investigate thoroughly—and, if possible, resolve the matter as well.
Which was how this subjugation force, investigation included, had been assembled.
The procession crossing the snowy plain came to a temporary halt.
Nothing was wrong. It was simply lunchtime.
Karem looked down at the share of food Mary had brought back for them. Dane cheese—one of Iceland’s specialties—sliced ham made from Snowrunner legs, sausages large and small, nuts, onions pickled in vinegar, and still-warm wheat bread.
"How in the world do they manage warm bread when it’s that freezing outside?"
"Karem Hubae. Are you complaining? We also have dry bread and jerky, if you prefer."
"Aigoo, no complaints here. This is great, actually."
Unless one belonged to the small handful of so-called distinguished personages and their attendants, the fare was all too predictable: rock-hard frozen bread and jerky, washed down with half-frozen water. If they were lucky, a few dried fruits or vegetables on the side. Compared to that, the spread laid out before them was practically a banquet—warm, fragrant white bread included.
"Magic tools, no doubt."
Catherine chewed and swallowed a piece of bread topped with sliced cheese and Snowrunner ham.
"I don’t recall making them myself, so someone before me must have. Or they were purchased somewhere."
"Must be expensive, right?"
"Why? Want one?"
Karem answered with complete seriousness.
"Quite a bit. No—considerably."
Food was generally at its best when served warm. Of course some dishes tasted better cold or lukewarm, but most did not. Still, one thing held him back.
"Magic tools."
"Hm? Interested? It depends on size and purpose, but anything useful would cost at least one crown."
"Mm. I’ll pass for now."
One-sixth of his annual salary. Karem quickly banished the sudden urge that had slipped into his head. He had not even received his first year’s pay yet, and he had no desire to spend that kind of money anyway.