Subjugation Battle (8)
“...Number twenty-five.”
Sihan Kan Hart collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. He couldn’t move another inch. It seemed his stamina had reached its limit.
Still, this should be enough.
His goal was singular: to surpass Ashu Kan Hart. Of course, in Sihan’s eyes, no other noble heir came close to Ashu, so winning was practically the same thing.
The prince is another story.
That boy with the sly smile. He looked about their age, but those eerie eyes were unforgettable. Just staring into them felt like every secret was being laid bare. The chill hit Sihan again, raising goosebumps on his arms.
“Time to set up camp, young master.”
Sihan nodded at his escort knight’s voice. Visibility was dropping with the sunset. Humans were always at a disadvantage at night. Hunting beasts by firelight in the freezing dark was sheer folly.
...I won’t end up like Father.
Sihan hauled himself up on trembling legs.
“You rest first. I’ll take first watch.”
Sihan nodded again. He was too drained to argue—welcome words, really.
“Then I’ll turn in.”
The knight nodded. As Sihan headed for the tent, he paused.
“Come to think of it, I don’t know your name. Mind if I ask?”
“Just call me knight, young master.”
“...Understood.”
Sihan felt a strange vibe but nodded anyway. They’d learn more in time.
But is something wrong? His face looks grim.
Day two passed more smoothly than expected. No assassins, no massive beasts—just as well. The duke must have things under control; no high-risk monsters had appeared yet.
“...Yawn.”
Ashu stretched his mouth wide, sucking in air like a pink puffball from those old Nintendo games.
“Y-yeah...”
Ashu was tired, sure, but so was she. They’d barely slept, patrolling nonstop. The mental strain was brutal, even if unspoken.
Does my precious boy get how much I care?
If he did, maybe he’d treat her like a proper master.
“Ideal.”
“I-it’s not Ideal, it’s Master...”
“My call.”
Back to his bratty self, tossing her name around like that. It pissed her off—her teeth were practically chattering.
...Not scared, just mature enough to hold back.
She was the adult here, spiritually mature. He was still a kid; she’d endure.
Still, he’s improved since before.
Just over ten days, and this much? She might have a knack for teaching. If she’d majored in it back on Earth...
Useless what-ifs.
The past was set. She pouted at Ashu.
“...S-so why’d you call me?”
“Hungry.”
“Sh-should I get the jerky?”
She rummaged in her pack. Plenty left—they’d stocked up. She handed some over; he shoved it in and chomped away.
“...Even good meat gets old after a while.”
“I-it’s not bad, is it?”
Brat was whining again. Jerky was prime rations—luxury on a battlefield.
“...”
Ashu glared sleepily while chewing.
“I-it’s true...”
“Not for me.”
“Fine...”
She’d blown her savings on it... and this? A little hurtful.
Why’s he so snippy today?
Days of salted dried meat had sharpened his tongue.
Better than before, though...
That unhinged look earlier? Actual life-or-death vibes. The chill lingered.
No clue what switch she’d flipped.
“Hey.”
“Y-yeah?”
“What’s a lollipop?”
“Pfft!!”
She nearly spat her jerky.
“H-how do you know that word...?”
“...”
Ashu’s eyes narrowed, like you know why.
“You sucked my finger yesterday. Said it was a tasty lollipop.”
“Wh-when did I?! A-and I didn’t suck your finger!”
Her head felt like it’d explode. Now false accusations? She’d paid for that morning slip already!
“So what is it?”
Ashu seemed more curious about the word than the frame-job. Explaining might clear her name.
She crossed her arms.
“Like... sucking on sweet ice?”
“That good?”
“G-good, but... northern food options...”
“Make it for me later.”
“Th-that’s tricky...”
Ice cream meant pricey ingredients. Rice was breaking her already—sugar? Retirement dreams fading.
“...Oh?”
Ashu’s disappointed face tugged at her. It overlapped with those warzone kids.
She sighed, words slipping out.
“...Fine, later.”
“Promise?”
“Y-yeah...”
“This too.”
Promises piling up. She hooked her pinky with his.
No recipe, but I’ll figure it out.
Crackle, crackle.
The firewood’s pleasant pop filled the air. Ashu stared blankly at the flames.
Night watch is boring.
He’d volunteered eagerly, but nothing to do. Standing guard against ambushes dragged—time frozen.
...Ideal.
He squinted. After just ten days, life without her felt unimaginable. Warm light to a shivering kid in the snow. A chance not to lose.
Infuriating, though.
She acted scared but spoke her mind. No idea why the fear, but closing his eyes brought her whiny iiing and loose smiles—stuck in his head.
Sunlight piercing a cold life of indifference, scorn, contempt.
His lips twitched up.
Jealousy.
That’s what it was for Ideal. Didn’t want to share. His pounding heart made sense now.
Soft snores from the tent—she was out.
“Fire’s dying.”
As Ashu reached for wood, chills exploded. Hackles rose.
He drew his sword, slashing instinctively.
Clang—!!
The grind echoed through the woods. Relentless follow-ups—heavy as steel.
“Ngh.”
Groan escaped. Each block buzzed his arms; he backpedaled.
“Who’s there?”
“...”
Ashu steadied, eyeing the foe. Masked face, black robe, solid build.
Knight-level at least.
Top-tier.
Here to kill me.
No answer—just stance. Muscles screamed warning. One hit, and he was done. Death was inevitable; only how long.
“Hah...”
Killing intent from the mask flayed him. The North was always like this. Familiar.
Indifference. Scorn. Pity. Rage.
He’d let his guard down, drunk on unfamiliar warmth.
Feet dug in. No running—next was Ideal.
Face it head-on. Blizzards end eventually.
“Don’t care who you are...”
Size gap was hopeless. Adult vs. kid—each blow like cannon fire.
But he had to.
“I won’t die easy.”
Grip tightened. Sparring with Ideal, but real combat? First time.
Not like barbarians.
Trained knight. Sweat beaded. Focus sharpened.
The masked man charged, air splitting.
Claaang—!!
Steel clashed. Life-or-death began.
