If You Want Peace, Prepare for War (4)
It took about a month to travel from the Imperial Capital to the North, to Berg. For Helena, it was an interminably long period of humiliation and hardship.
Duke Iliad of Iliad hadn't raised his daughter spoiled to the point of idiocy; he'd done everything he could. For the sake of Helena's reputation, he'd sent supplies second only to the Emperor's own, and dispatched his own trusted old steward as her personal attendant. And though the knights of Iliad Duchy fell far short of twenty thousand—even counting direct vassals, barely a fraction—he'd assigned over twenty knights who were little short of human weapons for her escort. It was fair to say he'd truly done all he could.
Yet amid the absence of lavish parties, the discomfort of sleeping arrangements and meals far inferior to her usual fare—what Helena personally viewed as oppression and insult—she didn't throw a single tantrum. Instead...
"Tch, I have to memorize all this?"
"There's no need to commit it all to memory, milady. What truly matters is grasping the overall management and reading the flow. With your sharp mind, you'll master it in no time."
"How do you even read the flow?"
"There may be variations day to day, but the consumables remain at a steady baseline. When the ledger figures deviate from the norm, cross-referencing reveals the cause at once."
...she spent the time studying this and that.
As the chief steward of House Iliad, the old man could teach her the basics, since the principles were similar. Whether fiddling with ledgers for a massive merchant caravan or managing an estate while assisting with territorial administration, the fundamentals overlapped enough to make it feasible.
And Helena learned diligently. For one purpose alone.
'Right. I have to show him I'm useful somehow. If I treat it like bride training, there's nothing I can't do.'
To appeal to Estiang about her value.
From the moment Plan A—seducing him as his exclusive partner at the Founding Festival—shattered, Helena had prepared Plans B and C for this very opportunity. Her overzealous approach had spread her infamy across the Empire, true, but Helena was a woman who'd never known defeat in her life.
Probably.
With the old steward's help—who oversaw the house's major and minor affairs—she'd gained a rough grasp of administrative and clerical duties by the time they reached the North.
And she already knew how to read and write, a considerable merit by this era's standards.
"You truly have a gift for this, milady. Keep at it, and His Grace the Grand Duke will surely see you in a new light."
"Really? Well, yeah. I'm not bad when I put my mind to it—it's just that I usually don't bother."
And so, Helena set aside her notorious villainess reputation that echoed throughout the Empire and discovered a new talent in administration and clerical work.
That was Helena's story on the journey north.
"Hm."
If anything, Estiang welcomed this change in her, yet his expression held a subtle unease.
'Where did this start diverging?'
The Helena Estiang knew wasn't like this at all. According to the original novel—which he'd read diligently, even the side stories—Helena's villainess arc escalated gradually.
It began with petty hysterics, worsening into outright tyranny. The reason was simple.
Aisha was the stereotypical protagonist with a "sunshine girl" tag—pure-hearted to a fault. The classic candy-type heroine who wouldn't cry no matter how lonely or sad she felt.
What good was raging like a madwoman at someone like that? Unintentionally, every time Aisha deflected with effortless taijiquan grace, Helena's hatred only deepened.
'It won't turn out like that now... Right? No point dwelling—it's a good thing if it doesn't happen.'
Estiang had intervened so thoroughly that the original plot was unrecognizable. As he'd said many times, he had no interest in the novel to begin with.
What mattered wasn't the story twisting this way or that, or the protagonists fumbling in their novel world. It was how much stronger he could make his territory and army to smash the orcs.
Helena beamed with pride as she watched Estiang lost in such thoughts.
"Hee hee."
After nearly a month on the road, the lessons from the steward hadn't been wasted. It felt validating.
'He never expected this from me, huh? I've shown my stuff—time to come around already.'
She knew the vicious rumors about her circulating in the capital (her personal opinion).
Estiang must have formed prejudices from those fragmented, malicious tales.
But if she displayed such competence now?
'People find you more attractive when you're absorbed in your work, right?'
Helena smiled coyly behind her fan.
Estiang, who'd been standing stock-still in thought, snapped back to reality.
"...We should head inside to talk. I can't keep you standing out here forever. Count Luar, will you come to my office first?"
"Of course. Let's continue in Your Grace's office."
"Very well."
Estiang turned first, Count Luar following. Helena trailed behind with feigned haughty steps.
It meant little against the northern chill—she was bundled far thicker than usual anyway. But her waddling, penguin-like gait after Estiang drew a handkerchief from the old steward.
"Sniff... You've grown, milady."
Not even the North's chill wind could cool the hot tears streaming from the old man's wrinkled eyes.
He dabbed them gently, gazing at her receding figure with deep emotion.
Silver Mane tribe's great warrior, Billaine.
In the original novel penned by Estiang's sister, Billaine was just one of the common sub-male leads in the beastkin quota. Nicknamed "puppy" by readers, treated as a loyal guard dog and devoted bodyguard.
Fancy calling him a sub-lead; his somewhat naive appearance and imperfect command of the Imperial common tongue held him back.
He would've been swayed by Aisha's sunny disposition, becoming her faithful protector. But this beastkin warrior's fate had changed.
"Hoo..."
Instead of the ill-fitting Imperial tongue, a beastkin growl rumbled naturally from his throat.
His usual inscrutable gaze now burned with undisguised feral intensity.
"His Grace ordered recruiting more warriors from other tribes beyond Silver Mane."
Billaine's lip curled.
"Then exceeding the mission a bit should be fine, right?"
Even by Billaine's reckoning, Berg was a decent place to live. With proper treatment, the North's harsh environment posed no barrier to battle-loving beastkin.
Beastkin were superb hunters, not soldiers—they could chafe under strict discipline or environs. As Billaine had felt.
But battle's thrill washed it all away.
Billaine figured plenty of beastkin would sign up. Thrilled, he bolted southwest.
No horse needed. On sturdy legs befitting a great warrior, he raced south at mad speed.
By the time Billaine neared the western great forest, he encountered one of the tribes he'd sought.
"Who are you?"
"I am Silver Mane's great warrior, Billaine. What tribe is this?"
"Thunder Wing. What brings a Silver Mane great warrior here—from the north, no less?"
The blocking beastkin warriors eyed him warily. Billaine, contrastingly delighted, replied:
"Perfect. Didn't expect to find kin so soon."
"Perfect?"
"Yeah. A stroke of luck."
His lip curved into a grin—one bad habit he'd picked up from his lord. Like drawing a legendary sword from stone, he produced Estiang's letter from his bosom.
Of course, beastkin with scant human contact couldn't read it. They noted only the fine parchment and seal.
Billaine cleared his throat with a cough and declared:
"I come by order of the humans' Grand Duke who rules the far north."
"You came to us on a human's order?"
The surrounding beastkin openly scowled. As expected, Billaine stayed calm, smiling instead.
Explaining and persuading one by one was tedious and preachy. True to beastkin nature, he cut to the chase, short and sharp.
"The humans' Grand Duke prepares for war beyond the Great Wall in the north—against greenskins that speak and think."
"Greenskins? They talk and think?"
"Yes. That's why it's war, not extermination. And while preparing, the Grand Duke recruits mighty warriors."
"Nonsense! Hiring us as mercenaries?"
"Does Thunder Wing have only cowards?"
"What?"
At Billaine's taunt, the warriors' faces darkened. Some hotheads bared claws, ready to pounce.
Undeterred, Billaine sneered:
"From my experience in the north, thousands of greenskins swarm endlessly from beyond the Wall. Deeper in the snow mountains, tens of thousands—maybe hundreds."
"..."
"Not the dumb prey we hunt. They fight with wits, like true warriors."
Warrior duels. To beastkin—who'd yield to none in love of battle—nothing tempted more.
"Come north with me. Fight the greenskins."
"You expect us to trust you?"
"Trust me. It was fun. Smashing, slashing, crushing their swarms—I couldn't get enough."
"...!"
The young, adventure-hungry ones were already hooked. Billaine sealed it.
"Warriors who'll raise banners under the humans' Grand Duke, fight the greenskins till world's end, etch your names in history—follow me."
A war for immortal legend. The beastkin who'd scorned him as a human lackey gaped.
Honor, glory. A fight worth dying in.
Combat-bred beastkin minds conjured the scene: blizzard gales, freezing hell. Fabled northern snow mountains. Massive olive-green hordes charging down slopes, roaring.
Themselves, claws sharp, war cries fiercer, storming up to meet them.
Breaths quickened.
An hour later, Thunder Wing's battle-mad warriors joined Billaine en masse. Who'd refuse prime hunting grounds with fair pay?
Leading them, Billaine pressed south. For more warriors.
"His Grace will be pleased."
Billaine grinned in satisfaction.
Ironic, really. Even battle-crazed beastkin might've balked at Estiang. Billaine was an outlier, lingering near the capital. Most clustered exclusively in western woods.
They'd ignore a human's words. But a fellow beastkin? It carried more weight.
"Heh."
This exceeded Estiang's orders. Billaine hastened for stronger, more warriors.
It was about a month before Estiang Berg would gape at the sheer number of beastkin warriors—far beyond his expectations.