The Ice Trolls' Trail

The night before. Habun Castle headquarters.

Milland, Terian, and the strategy officers had gathered around a round table.

"The 2nd Scout Squad discovered a pack of Ice Trolls near Tunnel 4. Thirteen of them. We should strike first, before more of them gather."

Vice Commander Terian pointed to the forest at the foot of Sterin Mountain on the map.

"Tunnel 4 isn't far from Tunnel 5."

"Yes. While we're eliminating the trolls, I also intend to check whether any other marine monsters have come ashore near Sterin Mountain."

"Hmph. The trolls are one thing, but we need a definitive read on the Sharkmall as well."

Milland's gaze left the map and settled on the Sharkmall fin Radin had left behind.

"This is no ordinary matter. The Vice Commander should go in person."

"I will carry out your orders."

Terian nodded at once, as if he had expected as much.

"Take the Snow Strike Squad and the Wolves Mercenary Corps. Eliminate the trolls, survey as far as the North Sea, and return. As for the scout squads…"

"I'll take the 2nd and the 3rd."

"The 3rd?"

"Yes!"

Milland showed a flicker of doubt, but Terian's mouth closed in a firm line. He had no intention of changing his mind.

"Very well. We march at dawn, two days from now. See that everyone is prepared."

"Yes, sir!"

The strategy officers left to draw up the detailed plans, leaving only father and son in the commander's office.

"The 2nd Squad witnessed the trolls, so they have to go. But why pick the 3rd? They only just got back. The 4th and 5th haven't even been out."

"I felt something when I watched Raon's spar."

"Felt something?"

"Yes. Raon's martial prowess is astonishing, that's true. But if you sift through the young talents of the Six Kings and the Five Demons, you would find others of a similar caliber."

Milland nodded in agreement.

"But that boy has a spirit that goes beyond mere strength. That savage will to crush his opponent—I was nearly overwhelmed by it myself. Even those wild Wolves mercenaries admitted defeat and gave him a thumbs-up."

"So you want to see whether that spirit is the real thing."

"Well. Something like that."

"Fine. He wanted a fight himself, so there shouldn't be a problem."

Milland tapped the map and nodded.

"Go, then."

"Yes, sir!"

"However…"

His eyes deepened as he folded the map and rose to his feet.

"I understand."

Terian told him not to worry, and flashed a grin.

Raon returned to the barracks after receiving Radin's order to pack his things.

"Y-Young Master. Isn't this a bit fast?"

Dorian perched on the edge of the bed, his legs bouncing nervously.

"We barely just got back, and now we're heading out again… it feels off…"

"It does."

Raon nodded in agreement.

It's definitely fast.

Sending a scout squad back out on campaign so soon after they returned from reconnaissance was not standard procedure.

It's probably because of me.

It seemed to carry two meanings at once: show us, properly, the skill that let you handle a Sharkmall alone and wipe the floor with the Wolves Mercenary Corps—and get a taste of real combat in this place.

"We're doomed. This is actually dangerous…"

Dorian pulled a human-sized cushion from his Belly Pouch, hugged it, and rolled around on the mattress. The things that boy carried around were truly something else.

"This should be enough."

Raon packed what he needed for the campaign into his rucksack and set it under the bed.

"Young Master. They say blades don't even cut Ice Trolls. Is that true?"

"It is."

Ice Trolls, as monsters native to cold regions, had tough, thick hides. You needed a sharp sword wrapped in a full coat of aura just to barely cut them.

"And it's not like they don't have regeneration either."

"That's what makes them so troublesome."

Their signature troll regeneration hadn't gone anywhere, and they were gifted in strength, agility, and even intelligence. Facing Ice Trolls was no easy task even for seasoned swordsmen and knights.

"You'll still be able to handle them, though."

"Huh? Me?"

Dorian hurled the full-body cushion he'd been hugging and sprang to his feet.

"Use your feet—that's your strength. If you look for openings, you can take them down just fine. Just do what you've been taught."

"When you say it like that, I feel… no courage at all, actually."

Muttering that he was scared, the boy tried to burrow under the mattress like a mole.

"Then there's one method."

"A method?"

"Yeah. A way to stand in front of an Ice Troll and not feel even a little bit scared."

"Tell me! I'll do anything!"

Dorian swallowed dryly and looked Raon in the eye.

"If you spar with me while I use the Mad Fang Sword, Ice Trolls will feel like nothing. Let's go."

Raon picked up his sword, a chilly smile on his lips.

"Ah…"

Dorian's pupils went slack, like a man whose soul had left his body. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his forehead.

"Dorian?"

"Whoa—I just imagined it for a second and I'm fine now! The trolls suddenly look like small fry?"

Marveling at the phenomenon, he let out a ha-ha-ha, then collapsed face-first onto the bed.

What a lunatic.

Wrath clicked his tongue, declaring that even the Demon Realm had never produced a specimen like that.

Raon snorted a laugh and sat down on the bed. The noisy one had gone quiet, which meant it was time to train.

He closed his eyes and drew up the bitter cold he had once harmonized with the outside world.

Imagery, he said.

Wrath had told him that as long as he had the image, he could operate Glacia in any way he wished.

Come to think of it, it's all the same.

When Rimer had helped him learn the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, when Glenn had demonstrated the Supreme Harmony Footwork—every time, they had emphasized imagery. The higher one climbed, it seemed, the more one had to hone the landscape of the mind.

He breathed slowly, so slowly his lungs felt squeezed, and settled his heart. What he imagined was clothing. A garment of frost that could block every last shred of cold, inside and out.

Heavy steel armor that offered perfect defense. Light but sturdy leather armor. A robe that could endure wind and frost. He pictured many garments, but the image of something that could stop all cold refused to take shape.

Perfect. Absolute…

The thought brought one man to mind.

Glenn Zieghart.

The dark crimson coat Glenn always wore seemed to be draped in his very dignity—as if no blade, no frost, could so much as scratch it. The invincible armor Raon had been imagining in his mind was exactly like that.

At dawn the following day, Raon stood before the castle gate with Dorian. The Snow Strike Squad and the Wolves Mercenary Corps, who would be departing with them, were checking their weapons with grave expressions.

"You all right?"

"Yes. Whatever it is, it has to be better than sparring with you, Young Master. Haha!"

Ever since Raon had mentioned a spar, Dorian had been muttering that compared to a mad sword-fiend, Ice Trolls were a meal.

"That's a relief."

"Hello there."

Raon was snorting a laugh at Dorian, who had filled himself with confidence by the strangest of methods, when a young man in silver cold-weather gear approached.

Black hair, black eyes, pale skin. Average height, a gentle impression—nothing about him stood out.

"I'm Beto, commander of the Wolves Mercenary Corps. I heard my boys were rude to you yesterday. I don't know what to say."

He smiled faintly and dipped his head. Unlike Vice-Commander Cliff, he showed no intention of picking a fight. The atmosphere he carried was the complete opposite of every Wolves mercenary Raon had met so far.

"It's fine. I enjoyed myself, too."

"Hearing you say that puts my mind a little at ease. You're with the scouts, then?"

"Yes."

"The strongest scout there is, I imagine. I'll be in your care today."

"Likewise."

His greetings finished, Beto headed toward the Wolves Mercenary Corps, saying he needed to check their readiness.

This King does not like that one. Pluck out his eyes.

What now.

There is a serpent in his gaze. One must never trust such a man.

You read faces now, too?

Experience. When This King dwelled in the Demon Realm, This King encountered countless men with those eyes and that face. Nine times out of ten, they turn out to be traitors.

Still as pessimistic as ever.

Even so, Raon did not trust the man called Beto either. He was hiding quite a few things.

Especially the eyes.

He had not sensed the serpent Wrath spoke of, but those black pupils, as if they held darkness itself, carried a strange power.

"Uncles!"

A bright, sparkling voice from behind made everyone turn. Yua, who ought to have been at the Frost Branch, came running with several pouches in her arms.

Oh? If it isn't the pineapple girl!

"I'm a little late. Everything's ready."

Yua handed a pouch to each of the swordsmen and mercenaries. They seemed to be the snacks that had been ordered in advance.

"Wow, how does Yua keep getting cuter?"

"And her cooking just gets better every day."

"She's the pride of Habun Castle. The pride!"

The scouts smiled and doted on her as if she were their own child. She was, it seemed, something of a mascot for the castle.

"One left."

After handing out every pouch, Yua came toward Raon with the last one.

"Grandpa and I made this jerky ourselves. We dried it in good sunlight, so it's tasty. Take it with you."

"Why give this to me…"

"It's your first campaign, isn't it? Make sure you come back, and next time you can buy some."

Yua giggled and held out the pouch.

"Thank you."

"If you're grateful, come back and boost our sales!"

Yua told them all to go carefully, then returned to the tavern.

"What about me?"

Dorian stuck out his lip, staring at his empty hands.

"She meant for us to share it. You hold onto it."

"Ah—yes, sir!"

He grinned and tucked the jerky pouch into his Belly Pouch.

"Everyone, fall in! Final inspection starts now."

With about thirty minutes left until departure, Vice Commander Terian approached the main gate. He checked the supplies and personnel himself before he finally nodded.

He is on an entirely different level from that pointy-eared fellow.

Yeah.

He was a completely different sort of person from Rimer, who either showed up at the last second or checked things in the most perfunctory way.

Terian stepped onto the platform before the main gate and looked down at the soldiers. His fierce presence locked every gaze in place of its own accord.

"The objectives of this campaign are two. The elimination of the gathering Ice Trolls, and reconnaissance from the approach to Sterin Mountain all the way to the North Sea. I expect every one of you to stay together until the end. No one left behind."

"Yes, sir!"

They already knew the operation, so the swordsmen, soldiers, and mercenaries answered with a roar.

"We leave in twenty minutes. Conduct your final checks and steel your hearts!"

With that, he disappeared somewhere.

"You heard the Vice Commander. Make sure you haven't forgotten anything."

"Yes, sir!"

"Hey."

Just as they were about to do their final check as Radin had said, swordsmen from the Snow Strike Squad—who would be departing with them—came over.

"Carry this."

"You know what happens if it gets even a little dirty, right?"

"Handle it carefully."

"Lose even one piece and you're in for it."

"Treat it like your girlfriend. Not that you've got one."

They tossed heavy loads—tents, tarps, rations—in front of the scout squad, snickered, and walked away.

"What is this?"

"What do you think? They want us to carry their gear."

"Why would the scout squad be carrying this?"

Raon tilted his head, as if he genuinely did not understand.

"They say they have to conserve their strength because they never know when they'll have to fight. It's been like this every time since those bastards got assigned here."

Radin let out a sigh. The scouts, as if they were used to it, started gathering the swordsmen's luggage.

"What can you do? We're weaker in rank and in strength. If they say jump, we jump."

"Hmm…"

Raon looked at the Snow Strike swordsmen. They paid this side no attention at all, as if they had done something perfectly natural.

The middle-aged man with the catfish mustache—the one they called the Snow Strike Squad leader—had seen the whole thing and said nothing, as if it were only to be expected.

What a load of crap.

If those men were preparing to fight, these men had to prepare to scout. Dumping their loads on comrades who already had the harder job was something Raon could not comprehend.

Humans cannot live without lording it over those beneath them.

Wrath smiled coldly, as if to say humans were entirely predictable.

"Ugh, this is filthy! Leave it, all of it!"

Dorian stepped forward, his face rarely so twisted. He squeezed in among the dazed scouts and stuffed every last piece of luggage the swordsmen had dumped into his Belly Pouch.

"Seniors! I'll carry it all! Don't worry about a thing—just trust me!"

"Ohh!"

"For real?"

"Isn't that heavy?"

"Not even a little!"

Dorian struck a pose to show off his arm muscles and snorted a puff of air.

"N-New guy! I take back calling you a weirdo!"

"Here, eat this!"

"Yes, sir!"

The scouts applauded Dorian, who had taken every load, and pressed snacks on him. Raon had felt it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before—the boy's nature was so good that superiors and comrades alike were bound to love him.

Twenty minutes later, Terian returned in cold-weather gear. The entire force formed up in front of him.

"We move out. 2nd and 3rd Scout Squads, to the front!"

"To the front!"

Raon and Dorian followed Radin, captain of the 3rd Scout Squad, to the head of the column.

"Open the gates!"

"Open the gates!"

It was not the side door they used for reconnaissance. The central main gate of the castle swung open, revealing a world of white snow that swallowed heaven and earth.

"Advance!"

"We camp here tonight and leave early at dawn. Pitch the tents and prepare the bivouac."

"Yes, sir!"

At Terian's order, the soldiers moved in a hurry.

The mercenaries pitched their own tents and prepared their own meals. The Snow Strike swordsmen did not.

"You've got the ingredients we gave you earlier, right? Make a light stew with those. The squad leader and vice-leader have to eat too. If it tastes like garbage, you'd better be ready."

"You four, over here. Help us pitch the tents."

Snow Strike swordsmen came over to the scout squad, ordered them to cook, and dragged a few of them off for odd jobs.

"Ha."

Dorian let out a hollow laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Is this actually right?"

"And if it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠isn't, what then? We don't have the power."

Radin pulled out a pot and sighed.

"Doesn't the Vice Commander or the Commander say anything?"

"They don't know. They only come around when the Vice Commander isn't here, same as just now."

He said they had done it earlier the same way—only showing up when Terian was gone.

"The Commander and the Vice Commander don't come outside the castle that often. We're the ones who have to deal with them face to face, so if we talk back, we're the ones who pay for it."

Radin said there was nothing to be done about it, and lit a fire.

"Ah, this pisses me off!"

Dorian pulled meal ingredients from his Belly Pouch and swung a fist at empty air.

"Hmm…"

Raon set a pot over the fire, his eyes narrowing.

"I thought a place with this much fighting would have tight unity. I guess not."

"Most units do. The Snow Strike Squad doesn't. Their leader's a weasel from the start—he's a genius at picking out the weak and using them."

"I see."

Raon looked at the Snow Strike Squad, who were chatting away without doing a lick of work, and let the red light in his eyes settle.

Then I just have to bring those ones to heel.

The march was fast.

They were all people who knew how to walk on snow, so even with a large force moving, it was not long before they arrived in front of Tunnel 4.

Contrary to expectations, however, the pack of trolls the 2nd Scout Squad had observed was nowhere to be seen, and they could not even find the creatures' traces.

"What happened?"

"My apologies."

Terian asked the captain of the 2nd Scout Squad, but the only answer he received was a pair of sagging shoulders.

"You're certain of what you saw?"

"I-I'm certain. Thirteen trolls ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were gathered at the edge of the forest!"

"This is why I said we shouldn't send scouts out alone. We need to put at least one swordsman in every scout squad."

The Snow Strike Squad leader stuck himself to Terian's side and went on about how the scout squads were a deficient bunch in every respect. From the look of him, he wanted to trample everyone else if that was what it took to grow his own influence.

"We'll talk about that later. Right now, finding their traces and pinning down their location is what matters."

Terian lowered his head again and scanned the snow-covered ground.

"Even if Ice Trolls move over snow like beasts, leaving no trace at all makes no sense. Everyone, find whatever remnants the trolls left behind! If we don't eliminate them here, it will come back as a much greater loss later!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Understood!"

The scout squads, the swordsmen, and the mercenaries nodded and divided the area among themselves.

"Trolls never just let themselves get caught, I swear."

Radin kicked at the piled snow, his face twisting.

"The Ice Trolls' traces have vanished. We'll have to start with a search, so get ready!"

"Yes, sir!"

The scouts dropped to the ground like short-legged dogs and began examining the trolls' traces. The mercenaries and the Snow Strike swordsmen unfurled their senses as well, trying to catch the trolls' direction of movement or their presence.

They'll find it on their own.

Raon did not dig for traces. He took up a watchful stance. With the search skills of scouts who had lived in this land their whole lives, they would find something soon enough—and his role was not to search, but to protect. He focused only on keeping watch.

Against his expectations, however, two full hours passed with no trolls appearing, and they managed to find only a single trace.

Something else has happened.

Even if Ice Trolls were not monsters that left many traces, there was no way they would be this impossible to find. Something strange had clearly occurred again. He would have to move himself.

"Damn it!"

Terian scowled and stamped his foot.

"Th-they definitely went toward Sterin Mountain, at least…"

The captain of the 2nd Scout Squad swallowed dryly, looking at the one remaining troll footprint.

"That mountain has countless monsters besides Ice Trolls. We can't move the entire force on a single trace."

"Nngh…"

"The northern days are short. If we delay any further, night will fall. For now…"

"May I take a look as well?"

Raon stepped forward and looked at the last remaining trace at Terian's feet.

"You?"

"Yes. Just a moment."

"Didn't you only just join the scout squad? And the post you were given is the squad's escort, isn't it?"

Edquil, the Snow Strike Squad leader who had been glued to Terian's side, wrinkled his nose.

"Don't go sticking your neck out and embarrassing yourself. The sun's going down. We don't have time."

"Enough."

Terian shut the Snow Strike Squad leader's prattling mouth.

"The direction is Sterin Mountain, then."

Raon examined the single trace in the ground and nodded.

"Everyone here already knows that. We're standing around because we don't know the exact location!"

The Snow Strike Squad leader snapped, as if he could not stand a member of the scout squad stepping forward.

"Then let's find that out now."

"Ha! Where did this little young master come from? For all the skill I've heard about, you're awfully wet behind the ears. You're wasting all of our time right now."

This King wishes to freeze that maggot-mustache from head to toe and fry him in lava. That prattling mouth of his is infuriating in and of itself.

A bit brutal, but I agree.

Raon ignored the Snow Strike Squad leader, who would not stop running his mouth, and closed his eyes. This, too, was an opportunity for growth. He focused his mind.

He spread the sea thin, but he could not catch the trolls' presence.

Ordinarily he would have stood up then and there—but with the Snow Strike Squad leader and his swordsmen being so thoroughly unpleasant, he wanted to pin the location down for certain.

Then how?

This, too, was imagery.

If he opened the dammed-up sea, Glacia's senses would be able to reach a little farther.

Raon opened the levee of the sea that had been closed off like a lake.

This way.

He sent it in the direction the troll footprints had pointed. The Sea of Senses, blending with the cold of this land, raced toward Sterin Mountain like a salmon swimming upstream.

He steered the sensory current as it bent like a whip, searching the expected directions, but all he felt were numerous monsters. There was no presence of gathered trolls.

Then maybe…

He changed direction. Instead of the snow-laden forest Ice Trolls favored, he poured the sensory current toward the mountain's foot and the valleys.

When he opened the Sense of Frost Flowers as well and concentrated, a wild presence flared near a mountain gorge as if his vision had suddenly brightened.

There were more of them than he had heard, but there was no mistaking it. Ice Trolls, their fur wreathed in cold.

"Huu…"

He let out a murky breath and stood. The scout squad looked at him with expectant eyes. The Snow Strike Squad leader and his swordsmen were wearing sneers.

"That face says it all. You just wasted our time. Vice Commander, we should start preparing camp here—"

"I found them, though?"

"What?"

"I said I found them."

Raon curled the corner of his mouth at the Snow Strike Squad leader, who had been snorting at him.