Chapter 17
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: North
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The northern winds were like blades. "Cold" didn't even begin to cover it. A chill that felt like it was slicing through skin seeped relentlessly through the gaps in the carriage.
"Ugh, it's freezing. The weather's total crap."
It felt even colder than 500 years ago... Back then it was cold, sure, but not this murderous bite.
What, some freak weather pattern? How's the weather this shitty right at the border...
I grumbled as I pulled my coat collar tighter. The soldier on the driver's seat already had blue lips and was shivering uncontrollably. With a click of my tongue, I pulled a small magic stone from my pocket and tossed it to him.
"Stick it in your pocket. It's got a warming spell on it."
"Th-thank you... sir...!"
The carriage had stopped at Winterguard Fortress, the northern stronghold and final bulwark. Thick snow blanketed the massive walls, and huge scars—like claw marks from some beast—marred the stone in places.
"Halt! State your identity!"
The guards at the gate eyed us sharply. Nothing like the slackers in the capital. There was real killing intent there, real venom.
Typical for the fantasy world's northerners—cliché as hell, but I didn't mind the vibe.
I opened the carriage door and stepped out into the snow.
"I'm the Emperor's special envoy. Here to see the Margrave."
The guards flinched at the black badge I flashed and parted ways, though they didn't drop their guard.
"Special envoy from the capital... Sir?"
"Yeah. Open the gate. I'm freezing my ass off."
The fortress interior was desolate. No fancy decorations, not even proper heating—breath fogged in the air.
This was the Empire's border defense? A warehouse would be warmer.
The door to the reception room swung open, and I stepped inside. A hulking man draped in bear fur sat in the center.
Killian von Winter. The Margrave guarding the northern frontier.
He glared at me with hollow eyes. Deep scars etched his face, and one arm was wrapped in bandages.
"The Emperor's special envoy?"
Killian's voice was raspy, laced with a metallic grate. No welcome—just hostility and disgust.
I could already guess how badly the capital had been managing this place. Anarchy, pretty much.
"Tch..."
He wrinkled his nose, openly showing his displeasure.
"You reek. That perfume you capital types love. Guess even a blizzard on the way here didn't wash off that greasy stink."
"..."
Nice sarcasm skills.
Makes sense, though. From his perspective—a commander bleeding out here on the front lines with no reinforcements from the capital—a slick envoy from the city must look like shit.
I'd have grabbed him by the throat first thing, too.
Killian slammed his teacup down roughly.
"Wouldn't send a single soldier when we begged, but now a special envoy? Predictable. Here for more taxes? Or my head?"
He growled.
"As you can see, all we've got to offer is snowballs and soldiers' corpses. If you want, hack off an arm."
Rumble...
Heavy killing intent poured from him.
But cheap threats like that don't faze me.
I met his murderous glare calmly and strode forward, plopping down on the worn sofa opposite him. I crossed my legs.
"Not here for taxes, so ease up. Your face is scary enough with those scars."
"...What?"
Killian's brow twitched. A special envoy acting like this—casual, even with his killing intent? First time for him, apparently.
I rummaged in my pocket. Killian's hand instinctively went for the axe behind him.
"Don't move."
"Relax."
But what I pulled out wasn't a weapon—a small glass vial.
Thud.
I set it on the table. An elixir, one of the highest-grade potions. Verified and grabbed from the imperial workshop.
"Untie that rotten bandage on your arm first. The smell's not perfume—it's pus from your arm."
"What the..."
"Let's heal you up first, then talk. I don't negotiate with patients."
I nodded at his arm.
"Better fix it quick. Never seen good come from a festering wound."
"Who the hell are you?"
Killian asked without letting go of his axe.
"The Emperor wouldn't waste something this precious on an old border dog."
"Told you. Special envoy."
I smirked and pulled a thick envelope from my coat, waving it. A list of funds and supply vouchers—ripped democratically from the nobles.
"Taxes? Hell no, I'm here to give you some. Take it or leave it."
"Give... us?"
Killian's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Yeah. Ripped straight from the pockets of those capital nobles you hate."
I tossed the envelope next to the elixir.
"Use it freely. Feed the kids some meat, improve conditions for the front-line boys. This shit won't cut it."
I leaned back deep into the sofa.
"Now, can we talk like civilized people? Margrave Killian."
Killian stared me down for a moment, then popped the elixir open and downed it in one go.
Pus drained from his arm as torn muscles and skin regenerated at a rapid pace.
"Hah..."
He flexed his newly healed arm, letting out a hollow laugh.
"Real elixir, alright. Emperor'd have to be nuts to hand this out."
He tore open the envelope next. His eyes shook like there was an earthquake as he scanned the amounts and supply lists.
"This'd rebuild the walls three times over. Outfit every soldier for winter. This... all real?"
"Real as it gets. Stolen from the pricks you despise. Report it as stolen goods if you want."
Killian pocketed the envelope with a deep sigh. The hostility faded from his weary veteran face.
"Nah, report it? Don't be ridiculous."
He bowed his head.
"Don't know who you are, but I trust you. Whoever you are, you brought money to save our kids. That makes you a benefactor."
"Skip the thanks. Now brief me. How bad is it? Gotta know to help."
Killian nodded and pointed to a northern map on the wall.
"Honestly? Worst case. Supplies cut off ages ago, wall repairs a pipe dream."
He tapped the white-marked snowy expanse up north.
"And the beastkin tribes are acting weird lately. Used to just raid for food and bail, but now whole clans are crossing the border. Like they're fleeing something."
"Fleeing?"
Those battle maniacs? Guys who love fighting more than food, who see retreat as dishonor and charge to their deaths? The ones who used to square up with dragons back in the day?
"Yeah. Hard to believe, but true. Not just raiding—they're desperate. Charging south blindly. Like something's up north."
My brow furrowed at that.
"Was gonna ask anyway."
I nodded toward the window.
"What's with the weather?"
"...?"
"Even for the north, this is nuts. Borderlands, early autumn—should be foliage season. Blizzards make sense?"
The north 500 years ago was cold, but not like this. Summers had wildflowers, spirits flitting about—a livable place.
But this cold was different. Matched the curse of the Ice Queen, one of the demon legion commanders.
A chill that froze mana and stole life.
"Ho, you notice that right away? Not your average envoy."
"Would be weird if I didn't."
Killian pointed to the top of the snowy zone—unmapped, unknown territory. The edge of the perpetual permafrost.
"Dunno when it started. But that winter up there's creeping south. We call it Eternal Winter."
"Winter? Like the season moving?"
"Not the season. Everything up there freezes, shatters, loses life. We just call it winter for convenience."
"Scouts?"
"Sent 'em plenty. None came back. Not even bodies."
"..."
I shut my mouth. My mind raced.
Not in the game I played—Crimson Chronicle main story or DLCs.
Demon remnants? Dimensional gate reopening? Ice Queen nesting? No way...
What the hell happened while I was gone?
Does Erendel know?
Nah. Smart as she is, she'd have analyzed, solved it, or at least posted no-entry signs and a paper.
Letting it go means even she can't handle it.
Conclusion: Restore the Empire ASAP.
If that's a gate opening for round two of the Great War?
This rotten Empire lasts a week tops—wiped off the map, last page of history.
"Interesting."
"Interesting?"
Killian stared like I was nuts.
"Yeah. Got the picture. Beastkin aren't invading or raiding—they're refugees."
I grinned.
"Makes things easy. They're hungry, homeless, monster on their tail. Room for negotiation."
"Negotiation? Let them in? You're insane! Those savages!"
Killian slammed the desk.
"Heard some slipped past, raided villages, torched 'em! Letting beasts into Empire soil? Like giving fish to a cat!"
"Not letting in—using 'em. Their combat prowess is top-notch. Feed 'em, house 'em, stick 'em on the front as meat shields. Perfect."
"Meat... shields?"
"Yeah. They gotta fight to survive anyway. Promise not to stab 'em in the back, they'll handle that winter for us. We watch from behind."
Perfect.
Barbarians fighting barbarians. No Empire losses, just use the desperate ones as mercs.
"Crazy... idea."
"Efficient idea. And..."
I changed topics. Beastkin later—something more urgent.
"Heard of a mage hermit deep in the nearby snow mountains?"
Killian's face hardened.
"You mean the White Witch in the Tower of Silence?"
"White Witch?"
"Yeah. The mad elf living alone in that no-go zone. Mistress of the cursed mountains."
White Witch... brutal nickname. What'd she do for that?
"Why 'witch'?"
"Turns visitors into half-corpses and chases 'em off. Last squad we sent? All ice statues tumbling down. Took a week to thaw 'em."
"..."
"That's not all. Step near, lightning strikes, avalanches hit. Folks think she's contracted with mountain spirits."
I stifled a laugh.
Ice statues? Lightning? Avalanches? Spirits? Nah, just auto-defense spells to shoo pests.
Personality unchanged, huh.
"Mad witch..."
I stood, grabbing my gear. The coat smelled of heavy leather.
"You really going? That's no place for the living. She hates humans."
"I know. She'd hate 'em. I'd hate me too."
I gripped the doorknob and glanced back.
"But I got grudges too. Time for a hearty howdy-do."
Won't open the door? Smash it down.
Like old times.