The Frozen Garden
Rodin of the frozen garden seemed to decide there was no longer any value in exchanging words with them. He drove the pickaxe he was holding deep into the center of the stronghold courtyard. Crack!Boom! It was nothing more than the simple motion of setting down a tool, yet the solid stone floor split apart like a spiderweb and powerful waves of aura surged outward in every direction. The vibrations that reached all the way beneath the mercenaries’ feet turned Rosa’s complexion deathly pale in an instant.
“Princess, listen carefully. If you don’t send those women away before sunset—”
Rodin slowly turned his head to look at Veronica. His eyes were dead serious.
“…What if I don’t?”
“I’ll personally handle the trash separation.”
“Trash separation?! How dare you insult the Red Rose Mercenary Corps! You bandit scum, you really must want to die…!”
Rosa trembled with rage and tried to draw her sword. But the heavy pressure flowing from the tip of Rodin’s pickaxe crushed her wrist in place.
“It’s not an insult—it’s a fact. Anyone who brings the stench of mercenaries into my sacred field is nothing but garbage that needs to be cleaned up. Stop wasting my precious fertilizer and disappear.”
“Mr. Rodin! You can’t! I already paid them the contract fee in gold bars! The penalty is what scares me more!”
Veronica’s face crumpled as she clutched Rodin’s wrist, but he indifferently checked his watch.
“Thirty minutes left. If they haven’t vanished by then, this courtyard won’t be a rose garden—it’ll be a graveyard.”
At Rodin’s chilling declaration, Rosa—consumed by humiliation and terror—tried to fully draw her sword. In that instant, a spine-chilling killing intent swept across the entire stronghold.
Only moments earlier, Dagan and Gil had been cheering “Big sisters!” from a corner of the courtyard. Now they had retreated into the shadows behind the warehouse, nervously peeking out. Rodin’s shadow looked three times longer and darker than usual. It felt as if the grass withered and died wherever that shadow fell.
“Hey, Gil… you saw that? The boss’s eyes really turned red. That’s the real thing, man!”
Dagan whispered, shaking like a leaf. Gil already had his hand pressed to his crotch, sniffling.
“Bro, I think I’m about to piss myself. Actually, I might’ve already leaked a little. Sister-in-law really screwed up this time. That’s not something you can just laugh off.”
“The second the word ‘mercenary’ comes up he wakes up swinging his pickaxe in his sleep… and she brings a whole crowd of them, wearing those red cloaks on top of it. She just rammed straight into his trauma.”
Dagan clutched his head. He knew, vaguely, about the tragedy Rodin had suffered during his mercenary days. To him, mercenaries were disgusting creatures who sold out their comrades and defiled the battlefield.
“Shouldn’t we at least go stop him? Otherwise those women are really going to get turned into powder! He said the courtyard’s going to become a graveyard!”
Gil gathered his courage and tried to step forward, but Dagan grabbed him by the collar.
“Are you insane? I haven’t even gotten married yet! If we go out there now we won’t be fertilizer—we’ll be fine dust, just powder! Stay hidden and hold your breath. Let’s just pray Sister-in-law makes it out alive.”
The two bandits clung to each other, holding their breath against the catastrophe-level energy pouring from the center of the courtyard.
Rosa’s pride refused to accept it. She could not admit that she—the leader of the empire’s finest mercenary corps—was trembling like a leaf at the mere presence of some nameless bandit boss.
“A nameless bandit dares to—! I’ll show you the pride of the Red Rose!”
Clang! The instant the sharp blade caught the sunlight—
Rodin’s figure blurred.
In the next breath he was already standing right in front of Rosa. The crushing pressure, as if an entire mountain had suddenly blocked her path, made her stop breathing.
With an indifferent expression, Rodin pressed down on the sword guard with a single finger.
“……!”
Rosa poured every ounce of strength into trying to draw the blade. Her shoulder muscles bulged as though they would burst, her face flushed crimson, yet the sword did not move a single millimeter. It was a bizarre display of raw power, as if the very roots of the earth were gripping the weapon.
Rodin had not used aura at all. He was suppressing a Sword Expert’s draw with nothing but pure physical strength.
“Sheathe it. Don’t spread the smell of blood in front of my cabbages. I won’t say it twice.”
Rodin’s voice slid coldly past her ear. Overwhelmed by terror, Rosa let go of the hilt and collapsed.
“H-how is this possible… I can’t even feel any aura… with nothing but brute strength…?”
“Aura is for posers who like fancy tricks. I just use strength. It’s the fastest and surest way.”
Veronica screamed and rushed between them.
“Stop it! Captain Rosa, please put your sword away! Please! Mr. Rodin, this is all my fault!”
Rodin slowly withdrew his finger. Then he turned to look at Veronica. The affection and annoyance that had once filled his eyes were gone without a trace. Only an endless abyss stared back at her.
“Princess. You listen well too. My goodwill ends right here.”
Rodin’s voice stabbed into Veronica’s chest like an ice pick.
“If you ever drag this kind of trash into my field again, I’ll paint the stronghold entrance with your blood from the gate onward. I’m not joking.”
Rodin shouldered his pickaxe and turned away. With every step he took, the mercenaries in the courtyard parted like the Red Sea, opening a path.
Run. If you don’t want to die, disappear from this place right now.
“M-Mr. Rodin…”
Veronica approached him with a trembling voice. She had to fix this. The terrified woman reached out to grab his arm—
Slap!
Rodin struck her hand away with a chillingly cold motion. Veronica staggered back. Shock flooded her eyes. It was the first time Rodin had ever treated her this way.
“Who gave you permission to bring outsiders into my territory again?”
“Mr. Rodin, that’s not what I— You just looked so exhausted lately, I wanted to let you rest even a little. These people, I invited them politely—”
“Don’t talk about resting when you don’t even know what it means.”
Rodin’s voice stabbed into Veronica’s chest like an ice pick. Without even glancing at her, he watched the backs of the mercenary corps as they fled the stronghold like frightened animals.
“Bring anyone who smells like a ‘mercenary’ before me one more time. Then I’ll erase you from this stronghold too. I’m not kidding.”
“…How can you say that to me? After everything I’ve done for you!”
Even at Veronica’s cry, Rodin did not flinch. He slowly turned his head and looked down at her. Those eyes belonged to someone gazing at a perfect stranger—one she had never seen before.
“Don’t misunderstand. I only lent you a temporary shelter. I never entrusted you with my life. Don’t cross the line, Princess.”
Rodin turned his back and headed for his quarters. The ground cracked open with every step, bearing witness to his fury.
The room was filled with darkness. Without lighting a single lamp, Rodin sat on the edge of the bed, tightly gripping his trembling hands.
Haa… haa…
The symptoms had not stopped since the moment he saw those red cloaks in the courtyard. When he closed his eyes, the metallic stench of blood flooded his senses. When he covered his ears, the screams of his dying comrades tore through his eardrums. The guilt of failing to protect them and the ‘stench of mercenaries’ that their killers had carried filled the entire room.
From beyond the door came the faint sound of Veronica’s suppressed sobs.
“Mr. Rodin… please open the door… It’s all my fault… Sob… huuu…”
Normally that sound would have softened his heart. But to the current Rodin it sounded like screams echoing through the hellish chaos of a battlefield. His reason was being devoured by the massive monster called trauma.
As expected… peace was never meant for me. No matter how much soil I touch or how many cabbages I plant, the smell of blood on my hands refuses to fade.
In the darkness, Rodin stared at his pickaxe. It was no longer a farming tool. It was a weapon ready to reap countless lives.
“Hey. Veronica. You’re still out there, right?”
Rodin asked quietly toward the door. The sobbing stopped at once and Veronica’s urgent voice answered.
“Yes! Yes, I’m here! Mr. Rodin, have you calmed down?”
“No.”
Rodin’s answer was firm and filled with despair.
“If those women aren’t gone by tomorrow morning, I’m leaving this stronghold. I’m not kidding. I won’t look at your face again either.”
“M-Mr. Rodin?! What are you—!”
“Don’t interfere. I want to be alone.”
Rodin lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Yet the vision of surging red blood still filled his sight. Outside the door, Veronica’s shadow stretched long across the floor as she sat sobbing, and the night that descended on the stronghold was not one of peace, but the night of a frozen battlefield.