Chapter 154: A Faraway Journey
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 154: A Faraway Journey
The bloody battle to determine the true master of the North had just ended.
Balkrash was now a vivid ice statue, the kind that would fetch hundreds of gold coins if sold to a high noble. But he was still the Orc King, even with his heart pierced.
Just in case he might somehow resurrect, his head was smashed to pieces, completely eliminating any lingering threat.
The orcs, having lost their leader, wailed and charged at Azyeth, but even in her exhausted state, she handled them with ease.
And so, the orc horde that had lorded over the North was annihilated in less than a day.
“Did we really survive? This isn’t a dream, is it?”
“What kind of dream smells this bad? Those orcs stank to high heaven. We survived!”
From the people Azyeth had saved to those Karami and Linvar had freed from all corners of the fortress, the former prisoners burst into a flood of tears, embracing one another.
They didn’t forget to thank Azyeth.
“Thank you, beautiful knight. Thank you so much…”
“Huh. A knight? Not a princess?”
“What does it matter? She’s the hero who saved us! That doesn’t change!”
“A hero in these chaotic times. Can we dare to hope this long winter will end?”
“Of course, we can!”
While the former prisoners chattered away cheerfully, Linvar brought Tarkind over. The man still hadn’t come to his senses, even though the situation was over.
“I hate femalessss! Save meeee!!!”
He had a seizure whenever a woman touched him, so he’d been tied up tightly with rope to keep him from moving and carried on her back. He squirmed like a caterpillar on Linvar’s back.
“Rami… who…?”
“He’s Linvar’s captain. We thought he was dead, but he was being held captive. Something terrible happened to him while he was a prisoner, and he lost his mind.”
Azyeth tilted her head and stared at Tarkind. As he thrashed about, his gaze swept past Azyeth.
His struggles stopped for a moment.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“A female…? Huh? Oh? Oh. Nice.”
“Wow.”
“Wow! Are you kidding me? The guy who fought like hell to get out of my arms has this reaction to the young lady? And I came all this way to save a captain like this. You’re dead when we get back to the village.”
Azyeth’s beauty had cured Tarkind’s gynophobia in a single glance. Karami let out a sound of admiration, while Linvar scoffed in disbelief.
Despite the unexpected turn of events, the fact remained that they had accomplished their goal perfectly.
Karami had evacuated the hostages in advance as planned, allowing them to make a swift exit from the fortress.
Got the treasure, saved the hostages, and killed the Orc King.
It was a near-perfect execution.
A satisfied smile spread across Karami’s face.
Then, his eyes fell on Azyeth.
Seated on her personal sled made of ice, Azyeth was looking around, her gaze sweeping through the crowd of people.
“What are you looking for?”
“Pascal… where…?”
“Ah, you mean Pascal.”
Karami pulled a broken bracelet from his pocket and handed it to Azyeth. Unaware of its meaning, she simply tilted her head.
“…?”
“You should give this to the chief, Lady Azyeth. She’ll be happy enough to die.”
*
They returned to Lake Fortress.
They now numbered fifty in all.
Bringing them back hadn’t been difficult. Azyeth had created ice sleds, tied them together with rope, and had the frost wolves pull them. It would have been impossible for ordinary horses, but it was doable for demonic beasts.
When they first left the village, there were only five of them; they returned as a group of fifty.
Two leaving and returning as three was one thing, but five becoming fifty? That was a feat not even decades of orgies could easily accomplish.
The villagers were startled by the outsiders at first, but they lowered their guard after hearing their story. In the harsh North, people had to stick together to survive.
There were other pieces of good news: the Orc King was dead, and Tarkind had returned alive.
The villagers were aghast when they saw Tarkind’s wretched state, but Linvar’s confident assertion that he would recover soon eased their worries somewhat.
Why Linvar then had to drag away a struggling Tarkind who was screaming that he hated her was a mystery. A man’s mournful wail was heard soon after.
Jorn, as the representative, greeted the two who had accomplished all this. Karami, facing him, shrugged his shoulders.
“How about that? We took care of the horde threatening the village and brought back treasure, too.”
“…You boasted that you’d bring back Pascal. Looks like that was all talk in the end.”
“You’re such a petty man. Right, Lady Azyeth?”
Karami smirked at Jorn, who was desperately trying to find fault instead of offering a word of praise. Jorn turned his head, avoiding his gaze.
“Follow me. The chief has been waiting for you.”
“Wow, and shameless, too. Your skill at changing the subject is top-notch. You could’ve been a merchant instead of a chief’s aide.”
Jorn pointedly ignored Karami’s ultimate pestering and walked toward the tent. Karami followed with his hands clasped behind his back, Azyeth at his side.
They entered Darka’s tent.
Darka was sitting with one knee up. She looked different from usual. She wore all the chief’s ornaments and garments, things she normally complained were too uncomfortable to wear.
She greeted the group with a bright smile.
“Welcome! It seems you’ve defeated the Orc King. Did you bring the final treasure?”
“Of course.”
Karami handed the chalice to Darka. Its pale blue light had faded, suggesting it wasn’t an item that could be used indefinitely. It seemed to need time to be reused.
“Yes. This is undoubtedly a royal treasure. And a cursed magic tool. It elevated a pathetic orc, despised by his own kind, to the status of a king. A dangerous item like this shouldn’t exist.”
Setting the chalice down, Darka stretched out her hand and recited a long, unintelligible incantation. The chalice responded, glowing faintly before its original pale blue color returned.
At a glance, it seemed she had reset the chalice’s cooldown, but it was the opposite.
“With this, it’s no longer a magic tool. Just an ordinary cup you could find anywhere.”
“That’s a relief. I was worried you might use it and become the queen of shamans or something.”
“Why would I use this? It’s not mine.”
With those words, Darka pushed the cup toward Azyeth, along with the music box she had set out beforehand.
“Take them. They’re all yours.”
“Mine…?”
“You have the tiara, right, little one?”
“Yes. It suddenly went pop….”
“To think the little one was the hero all along. I didn’t even realize it when you were right in front of me… How embarrassing for a chief!”
Azyeth, unable to keep up with Darka’s boisterous, self-deprecating laughter, just blinked. Then, suddenly, Darka’s laughter stopped.
“Right, I almost forgot. Take this, too.”
Darka fumbled with her necklace, broke off the Lazurite, and handed it over.
It was the symbol passed down through generations of Lake Fortress chiefs. A memento Darka had received from her mother.
She was giving Azyeth the very thing she had desperately protected even when her illness had flared up.
“The promised hero has come, so the time has come for me to fulfill my duty as chief….”
Darka spoke into the air as if addressing someone who wasn't there. Jorn watched silently, not stopping her from handing over the jewel.
Though he didn’t show it, a part of him had accepted it, too—that Azyeth might be the hero from the fairy tales Darka was always talking about.
Azyeth accepted the Lazurite along with the treasures. The moment the stone was in her hand, her pupils trembled.
It was an uncut gem.
And yet, just holding it changed the flow of her cold.
The influence of the chill Azyeth emanated lessened. If it were properly processed and faceted, it would become even more effective.
Azyeth’s heart beat a little faster.
She clutched the Lazurite tightly so as not to lose it.
“My, my. I should be treating our hero, but this old body of mine is failing me, so I can’t do much more. Your business in the village should be done, so go on back to where you came from. I’m tired and want to rest.”
Cough, cough. Darka let out a dry cough, pulled the fur blanket over herself, and lay down.
The people who had been watching the conversation began to file out, and Karami stood up as well. He gestured for Azyeth, who was about to stand, to stay put.
“Alright. Let’s not disturb them and head out.”
“The chief said she was tired…”
“She’s tired because of you, you clueless oaf. Save your nonsense for the grave and get out of here.”
As Karami dragged Jorn out, only Azyeth and Darka were left in the tent. Now effectively alone, Azyeth just blinked and tilted her head.
Why did Karami tell me to stay here?
That was the look on her face.
Had Karami seen it, he would have sighed and covered his face with his hand. A nearly meaningless moment passed, buried in silence.
Then, a voice was suddenly heard from outside.
“Ahem… Pascal…”
“Ah…”
A belated realization.
Azyeth looked at Darka, who lay with her back to her, and spoke.
“Darka…”
“What is it? You still here? Do you want to play with this old granny?”
“…Said to give it to you.”
Azyeth, having only half-understood Karami’s advice not to mention he was the one who told her to give it, uttered a half-formed sentence.
It wasn’t hard for Darka to figure out the other half.
“What did that rotten bastard say to give me…?”
Muttering the typical complaints of the elderly, Darka laboriously sat up. Azyeth held out the broken bracelet to her.
A bracelet with a faint trace of magic remaining.
“Th-This is…!”
It was an object Darka knew very well.
Her eyes flew open wide enough to pop out of her head as she gasped. She snatched the bracelet Azyeth offered. She didn’t even care that her hand was freezing from the cold.
Darka recognized what the broken bracelet was in an instant. She couldn’t possibly not know.
“Pascal’s bracelet! I made this for him! It’s faint, but it’s definitely my magic. Where did you get this?!”
“The orcs…”
“…What?”
This bracelet was a charm Darka had personally crafted and imbued with her magic. She had made it for Pascal, who always came back injured whenever he went outside.
So that she could protect her son.
That bracelet was now broken, separated from its owner.
It could only mean one thing.
“Ah…”
Darka’s shocked face froze, and she collapsed onto the ground. She stared into space like a person whose soul had left their body. The unfocused haze in her pupils sharpened.
It was the look of someone who had regained their sanity. The shock of facing the reality she had tried so hard to ignore had brought back the mind she had pushed into a corner.
“Yes… that’s right. Pascal is gone… He’s gone…”
“Pascal, gone…?”
“He’s gone on a faraway journey. An eternal journey from which he will not return…”
Understanding the meaning of that journey was still too difficult for Azyeth.
Darka tied the broken bracelet, restoring its original shape. She clutched it preciously, closed her eyes, and moved her lips.
Like a lullaby for a child, a gentle melody slowly drifted out.
The bracelet shimmered faintly, and the magic dwelling within it rose like smoke and vanished into the air.
No matter how great a warrior he was.
No matter how respected a future chief he was.
In his mother’s eyes, he would always be a reckless child.
So that her child’s soul would not lose its way.
So that he could sleep peacefully, Darka sang quietly.
Pascal had died long ago, but she had been unable to accept his death, unable to do anything for him as a chief or as a mother.
This was her belated atonement.
“Thank you for bringing me the bracelet… Thank you so much. If it weren’t for you, I might have died and become a lingering spirit.”
If she had died without this closure, she would have been consumed by regret. She would never have been able to reunite with Pascal, even in death.
“Now, I can die with no regrets…”
“…Darka, die…?”
At the innocent question, Darka gave a bitter smile and looked at Azyeth with a wistful gaze.
“I’m just going on a little trip, child. To a very faraway place.”
“Can I… go too?”
“Oh, no. You must come as late as possible! Don’t you think such useless thoughts. You go and play with that master of yours for as long, as very long as you can.”
“With Rami?”
“I’ve never seen a man as suspicious as him in my life, but he’s sincere when it comes to you, little one. If you’re ever struggling or have a hard time, rely on your master.”
Azyeth didn’t quite understand what she meant, but she slowly nodded her head. The image of him waving to her came to mind.
Having said all she needed to, Darka lay back down with a look of relief.
“A Reaper, was it? That fellow is quite a kind Reaper. If all the Reapers in the world were like him, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Darka murmured with her eyes closed, letting out a soft chuckle.
It was only a few days later.
As quietly as a flower wilts when you’re not looking, Darka drew her last breath.