Traces in the Snow
House Zieghart Audience Hall.
Glenn looked down from the dais at Rimer, his gaze as cold as a sheet of ice.
"What brings you here this time?"
"Pffft!"
Rimer stared up at Glenn for a long moment, then burst out laughing. He made a show of covering his mouth a beat too late, but the whole performance was an act. It was the kind of face that made you want to punch him.
"You…"
"Allow me to apologize first."
"What are you talking about?"
"It seems I had you all wrong, my lord."
"What?"
"I never imagined you'd secretly mobilize the Biyeonhoe Office because of Raon. To think you doted on your grandson that much."
The Biyeonhoe Office was an intelligence organization under the family head's direct command—the finest institution of its kind, mobilized only in extraordinary circumstances.
"How did you even…"
Glenn's voice thinned into a rare tremor.
"Come on, I've been around. I've got my own sources."
Rimer shrugged, but it was obvious where the information had leaked from.
"Hah… Roen…"
Glenn sighed and looked to his left, where Roen was standing. Roen waved his hands as if he knew nothing of the matter, but he couldn't hide the smile curving his lips into a crescent moon.
"Isn't it incredible? Winning money at a gambling den just to enter an auction—how'd he even think of that? Who's he been watching?"
The answer to that was already obvious. It was the red-haired elf preening right in front of them.
"And then, after losing the auction, he stole the goods and turned around and mocked the princess of Valkar. What a genuinely entertaining brat."
Rimer let out a flippant laugh, as if to say he'd raised his disciple well.
"The theft hasn't been confirmed yet."
"Oh, please. If the Biyeonhoe Office is ninety percent certain, that's as good as the truth."
"You really do know everything, don't you."
Glenn clicked his tongue. Roen had almost certainly fed Rimer most of the information. The two of them had been sticking together lately; they seemed even closer than before.
"Even the Biyeonhoe Office couldn't figure out how Raon stole the Black Butterfly, though. A monster really is a monster."
"Are you that pleased your disciple turned into a thief?"
"The princess of Valkar threw the first punch, didn't she? And she kept throwing them! Sitting still and taking that wouldn't have been very Zieghart of him. Raon simply took the revenge that was due."
"That's true enough."
Glenn nodded, apparently agreeing. If the boy had simply endured every provocation thrown at him, Glenn would have been the one to get angry.
"He never even identified himself as a Zieghart, so there's no penalty on the exam either. Outstanding ability, and luck on top of it."
Rimer clapped his hands, as if to say, That's my disciple for you.
"Ahem. Well. The boy does have that side to him, yes."
Glenn nodded with an awkward expression, as though fighting down a smile that wanted to bloom.
"Obtaining Kuberad's demonic sword and saving the Third Prince of Owen were no small feats either. When the time comes to deal with Owen, that'll pay off handsomely."
"The truth is, Raon has always been a little… special. The first time he saw me, he didn't even cry, and when I examined him with aura he lau—hm!"
Catching Rimer's growing smirk, Glenn cut himself off and forcibly dragged his rising mouth back down.
"A shame. I thought I was finally going to see you smile for once."
"Be quiet."
"Anyway, he's far more aggressive out there than he ever was here. Listening to reports of his exploits from now on should be a real treat."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that won't be happening. I've already pulled the Biyeonhoe Office back."
"What? Why?"
"I dispatched them to keep Karun and Balder from making a move. Now that Raon has arrived at Habun Castle, there's no further need."
Glenn lowered his eyelids and rested his chin on his hand. The aura around him was ice-cold, as if a grandson were the furthest thing from his thoughts.
"Ah. So you asked them to send reports from Habun Castle."
Rimer nodded as if he'd known all along.
"Roen!"
"I-it really wasn't me this time!"
Under Glenn's murderous stare, Roen shook his head wildly.
"Oh, come on. It's obvious. What would a family head who loves his grandson that much have done? You contacted the lord of Habun Castle and asked him to send regular reports every two weeks or so."
"Mm…"
Glenn bit his lip, careful not to let it show.
Uncanny bastard.
Perhaps it was because they had known each other so long. There was nothing about Glenn that Rimer didn't know.
"Ah, I like Raon too, but I can't hold a candle to you, my lord. They say a grandfather's love is something else—you really are something else."
"……"
"So! When Raon finishes his exam and comes back, don't just sit there putting on airs. Call him over and say, 'My beloved grandson. You've worked so hard. You have no idea how happy I was, hearing news of you. Come, let this grandfather give you a hug.' Then the misunderstandings will clear, you'll be happy, I'll be happy watching, Sylvia will be happy—a peaceful world for everyo—hup!"
Sensing the atmosphere in the audience hall plunge to a killing frost, Rimer clamped his mouth shut.
"Ah, I had an appointment, didn't I. I should g—"
He tried to walk out the door, but his feet wouldn't touch the ground. Glenn's formless energy had lifted him into the air.
"M-my lord? This joke's gone too f—"
"Hoooo."
Glenn rose, letting out a long, deep breath. He crooked a finger, and Rimer, floating in empty space, was reeled in like a needle on a thread.
"It seems last time's lesson wasn't enough."
His red eyes glittered with a savage light.
"AAAAAAGH!"
Raon followed Radin out of Habun Castle, then slowly lifted his head.
Beneath a silver sky rose a mountain of lofty, solitary presence, as if someone had painted it in white pigment.
So that's Sterin.
That peak thrusting up as if to pierce the heavens was Sterin Mountain—the mountain from which monsters were said to emerge without end.
And…
He turned his gaze to the right. A dark, rolling sea. The North Sea came into view, its barrier-like waves never still.
Because the monsters of Sterin Mountain and the North Sea appeared at the same time in this absurd environment, people called Habun Castle the hell of the mortal world—Battlefield Hell.
"Something, isn't it?"
"It is."
Radin was right. Untamed nature had a grandeur to it. It stirred something in the chest so deeply he could have kept looking forever.
"You'll be sick of it soon enough. No—you'll want to smash it to pieces. This way."
He grinned and took the lead, heading not toward the North Sea but toward Sterin Mountain.
"No telling what might jump out. Stay sharp."
"Ugh, I can't tell if I'm shaking from the cold or from fear. Everything looks dangerous…"
Dorian stuck himself to Raon's side, trembling so hard he might have run a fever.
"I'm not sensing anything for now."
"R-really?"
"Really."
"Ah. Then we're fine."
He seemed to trust Raon's word even more than the scout unit's. Dorian's shaking hands went still.
"Hey, new blood! Over here!"
At Radin's call, Raon and Dorian ran forward.
"What do you make of this?"
Radin and the scouts pointed to enormous footprints stamped into the mountain path below. Each print was as long as a grown man's arm.
"Hah! I-isn't this a troll? It's huge…"
Dorian swallowed dryly as he stared at the tracks.
"What about you?"
Radin looked at Raon.
"It's not a troll."
Raon looked down at the footprints with calm eyes.
No chance it's a troll.
A troll's tracks were larger, and they sank deeper. These weren't the prints of a biped at all, but of a quadruped.
If it's a four-legged monster or beast from around here…
He turned over the contents of the booklet Judiel had given him, and the owner of the tracks came to mind.
"It's a Kari mountain goat."
"Huh?"
"Hah!"
"W-what did you just…"
Radin and the scouts whipped around to stare at Raon, eyes wide. The amusement that had been in their gazes gave way to open dismay.
"A Kari mountain goat. You know the ones—large hooves, three horns, black mountain goats."
"Uh…"
None of them had expected the correct answer to come out in a single breath. Every scout lost control of his expression.
"Th-then can you tell when these tracks were made, too?"
Radin swallowed and pointed at the footprints again.
"Let me see."
Raon knelt and examined the tracks. The degree to which the snow had been packed down, and the snow around it, gave him a rough window.
"The packed snow isn't that hard yet, so it hasn't been twelve hours. Head west and you should be able to catch it."
"Uh, mm…"
"Huh."
The scouts' mouths rounded into circles. Radin let out a hollow laugh and stepped closer to Raon.
"You said you were a mercenary, right?"
"Yes."
"Don't know who taught you, but you learned it right."
Saying they should look a little further, he circled the mountain's surroundings. He kept his stance low and his footsteps silent, but his speed was still fast.
"Sh-shouldn't we be moving a little slower?"
"It's fine. Three days ago the commander himself came through and swept the monsters out of this area."
He said most of the monsters were dead—but the scouts' eyes never stopped moving.
"Here we go."
Radin stopped in front of an angular tree half-buried in snow. He pointed to a savage mark about halfway up, where the bark had been half torn away, and turned back.
"What's this look like?"
"A t-troll! It's definitely a troll!"
Dorian's brain had stopped working. He kept hunting for trolls with vacant eyes.
"It's a Beowulf's mark."
Raon, by contrast, answered the moment he saw the traces.
"Huh?"
"W-why's that?"
"Beowulfs leave marks on rock and wood with their thick, powerful claws to announce their territory. However…"
Raon looked at the scars on the tree and shook his head.
"This one's already dead."
"H-how would you know that?"
"They periodically leave marks in the same place. Judging by how old these are, it's already gone."
Neither Radin nor the scouts said a word. They simply stared at Raon with stunned eyes, their jaws trembling.
"Didn't you say you were testing our scouting ability?"
Raon smiled faintly and spread his hands.
"Feel free to give me a real question."
Gulp.
Radin swallowed dryly as he watched Raon's back.
What the hell is this kid?
Soldiers who joined the Habun Castle scout unit had an initiation waiting for them.
It wasn't the kind of initiation that involved swinging fists or shouting someone down.
A slightly pointed piece of advice—showing them just how dangerous this place was, and how worthless book knowledge became in the field—that was the scout unit's initiation.
It always works.
Not just soldiers. Knights, swordsmen—no one had ever come through that first initiation without feeling their own helplessness.
But…
Radin pressed his lips together and watched Raon answering questions about monster traces.
This one's different.
Questions about the monsters themselves, the direction and location and age of the traces, even when a fight had taken place—nothing gave him pause.
It didn't feel like looking at a greenhorn who'd just arrived at Habun Castle. It felt like looking at a scout who'd grown up in this place right beside him.
Even the ones who've been here five years have trouble telling how old a trace is…
Mercenary or not, the kid was young. What kind of life had he lived to pile up experience like this? It was bewildering.
And he's strangely composed.
No matter how much real combat he'd seen, this was Habun Castle, the place they called the hell of the north.
He couldn't possibly be ignorant of the rumors—that even veterans fled this land—and yet Raon's eyes were far too still.
There were only two kinds of people with eyes like that.
A madman, or a man who had something to be confident about.
"Recruit."
Radin stepped forward, both eyes gleaming.
"Then what do you make of this?"
He pointed to a trace so small it was barely visible, as if an awl had been driven into the ground.
There's no way he knows this one.
Most people would take it for a hole punched by the wind. It wasn't. It was the track of a snowfield lion, which had a dagger-like claw set in the center of its paw pad.
Even people who'd spent a long time at Habun Castle mixed this one up. A recruit couldn't possibly know it.
"It's a snowfield lion's track."
Raon delivered the answer at once, as if laughing at Radin's thoughts.
"Huh? Y-you can be that sure? This could just be a wind hole."
"I'm sure."
The boy put a finger into the hole himself, then shook his head.
"A wind hole is scooped out round on the inside. A snowfield lion's track tapers to a point. Similar, but different."
"Huh…"
"Judging by the trace, it passed through about a day ago. Heading north."
Radin sniffled, his face gone blank.
Correct. Perfectly, completely correct.
Where the hell did this bastard even crawl out of?!
Raon closed his eyes and opened his perception, sweeping the entire area with the Sense of Frost Flowers as well.
Once Raon had answered the question about the snowfield lion, Radin had muttered, "Y-you, you just do whatever you want," and left him alone, piling everything onto Dorian instead.
Thanks to that, Dorian was being dragged around by the scouts with a teary face. He sent Raon a pleading look that begged for help. Raon ignored it.
Hmmmmm.
The Requiem Sword had declared it would handle reconnaissance with its demonic energy, and was spreading that energy behind them and to the west in sheets as thin as paper. Thanks to that, Raon could concentrate on the front and the east.
You're actually useful. Thanks.
Hmmm.
The Requiem Sword shook its blade as if to say it was nothing.
"A-ahem!"
Wrath, who had been savoring the cold scent of the snowfield, cleared his throat and turned around.
"That's not how you scout."
What?
"Th-that's not how you open your senses, either."
Watching Raon and the Requiem Sword read the presence around them, he spoke in a surly tone.
It's fine. I'll just work a little harder.
"This King also once lived where snow-covered mountains and a frozen sea meet. In a place this buried in snow, there is a distinct method of opening one's senses."
Hmmm…
As Raon clicked his tongue thoughtfully, the Requiem Sword rang out as if to say it would try even harder.
The Requiem Sword says it has another method too, you know.
"Kh, T-this King is on an entirely different level from that paltry creature! If This King merely teaches you, you will taste a whole new dimension of sensation!"
Unable to bear not teaching him, Wrath began to seep out a crawling blue frost.
Faster than I expected.
It had only been two days since the fish bit the hook, and already the time had come to lift the rod.
Well. Trying it out shouldn't hurt.
Raon turned a calm face toward Wrath.
"That's the spirit! Once you grasp it, that paltry creature's demonic energy won't even catch your eye!"
Wrath grinned and shoved his face in close.
Flop, flop. Landed a trophy catch.