Chapter 14
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: The Children of Luobeidra
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#
A blizzard raged on the snowy mountain.
Though it was spring, the snowstorm only grew more violent.
A fierce snowfall, the likes of which was rare even in winter, lashed the mountain. The snow from the previous winter had not yet melted, and the day's fresh fall piled neatly on top.
Amidst it all were eight visitors.
They walked along a cliffside path. It was barely wider than a single person, and the snow piled higher than their chests. It was a trail one wouldn't dare attempt, even with shovels.
Moreover, the wind whipping against the cliff raged as if trying to shove them into the abyss below, while the snow rode the gusts, blinding them and threatening to bury them alive.
And yet, they walked on.
A man at the front forged the path.
He was the youngest-looking man among them.
With no tools, only his bare hands, he pushed through the snow, forging ahead. The wall of snow became a path as he pushed it aside, and neither the fierce wind nor the heavy flakes could slow his pace or divert his course.
The seven who followed kept their eyes fixed only on the heels of the man in front. They shivered as the cold pierced their skin, despite the many layers of winter clothing they wore.
“…”
After forging the path for some time, he suddenly turned his head.
He looked at the woman following directly behind him. She kept her head down against the wind, her eyes fixed on his back.
He glanced back at her several times as he continued forward. Her steps were unsteady. Though he couldn't see her face with her head bowed, it was clear something was wrong.
He called her name, but she didn't respond.
He stopped walking and narrowed his eyes at her. Unaware that he had halted, she took another step and bumped into him, letting out a small "Ah!" as her body tilted to the side.
As she started to fall, he shot out his right hand, grabbing the nape of her neck and calling her name once more.
“Roberta.”
Only then did she, Roberta, snap out of her reverie.
At the same time, she realized her body was being yanked sharply to the left.
It wasn't that she had stumbled. She had been yanked forcefully from the side. Before she could even react, she was pulled into him, her nose colliding with his chest.
“Ugh!”
She groaned and looked up.
“That was close.”
said the man holding her by the nape, Ulrich.
Roberta looked to her right, to where she had been standing and had been about to step. It was a sheer drop. Below was nothing but empty air, where a fierce wind swirled with snow.
A chill ran down her spine. She was walking on a cliffside path. The realization hit her a moment too late. Why had she forgotten? A sudden haze had clouded her mind, a reverie that had pushed her to the brink of disaster.
If he hadn't caught her, she would be down there.
“Th-thank you… my lord.”
Lord Ulrich released her and gave her head a rough shake, enough to make her stagger. After that, her mind began to clear.
The reason became clear at once. He opened the hand he had just used on her head, revealing a monster flapping in his palm. It was thin, like a translucent, flattened piece of dough, with dozens of fine, thread-like tentacles of an apricot hue sprouting from its center.
“This was stuck to your head.”
“What?”
“Weren't you feeling disoriented just now? This is what caused it. It secretes a hallucinogenic substance. They ride the wind and aim for the heads of animals.”
Startled, she clapped both hands to her head.
She was wearing a winter hat. It was a thick fur cap with ear flaps, so the small, light monster hadn't been able to make direct contact with her scalp.
“You were lucky you had your hat on. If it had touched your scalp directly, you wouldn't have gotten off with just feeling dazed. The hallucination is merely a means to keep its victim from noticing its touch.”
Ulrich clenched his fist, crushing the monster.
A faint memory surfaced. She had seen an illustration of it in the bestiary written by the lord himself. Next to the drawing was a short description.
‘Though its success rate is low, if it luckily—or unluckily—lands on a head, it will melt the skull and envelop the brain with its tentacles, slowly sucking it dry.’
She let out a low groan and bit her lip.
“…”
*Smack!* The sharp sound of a slap echoed.
She turned to see Duke Bailen grabbing one of his vassals by the collar. The man’s cheek was red, clearly from being slapped, but he was so dazed he didn't seem to feel the pain.
Bailen slapped him again, then brushed the snow from the vassal's hat.
There, too, was an identical monster.
“Stay alert. A moment of carelessness here means death.”
#
Walking behind Ulrich, Roberta was amazed.
He strode onward, parting the snow on the cliffside path.
Despite the high-piled snow and the fierce, cold wind, he showed no signs of strain as he pushed forward, forging a path. The other seven simply followed in his wake.
His attire was just as remarkable. While Roberta and the other six shivered despite their many layers of winter clothing, Ulrich wore only a single light garment—so little that one felt cold just looking at him.
Despite this, he seemed to feel no cold, nor did his stamina wane. For days he had led the way through the snowy mountains, yet his pace had not slowed in the slightest.
“There’s a place to rest nearby. Just hold on a little longer.”
And that wasn't all. He had an excellent sense of direction. While Roberta’s eyes saw nothing but endless piles of snow, Ulrich never lost his bearings, always knowing what lay where and which way they needed to go.
Even when the sun began to set in places where escaping the blizzard seemed impossible, he would brush aside a drift of snow to reveal a cave.
Of course, there was nothing inside but the biting cold. But in these blizzard-swept mountains, to be able to spend the night out of the wind with a crackling fire was more than they could ask for.
“We’ll be heading down the mountain tomorrow, so at least the walking will be easier.”
Thanks to his uncanny knowledge of these caves, the party never had to sleep exposed to the blizzard. Though she could guess the answer, Roberta asked how he knew of such places.
“I found them myself.”
Ulrich replied as he unfastened his pack.
“During my time as lord of Dithmarschen, quite a few people came seeking the ice peninsula. Camping out was too dangerous. I would have been fine, but others were liable to freeze to death. So, whenever I came to the Kaldorekai Mountains, I made a point of finding and memorizing places like this.”
“You have a remarkable memory.”
“If I didn’t, my guests would die. What other choice was there?”
He arranged the kindling and lit a bonfire. It was firewood he had gathered whenever he found the chance during their trek. There were rare moments, she supposed, when the snow melted enough for plants to grow.
The wood had grown when the snows briefly melted, only to die and be buried again by the next fall, leaving it too waterlogged to burn.
But when he held it in his hands, it became bone-dry kindling.
Roberta’s eyes lit up at the sight.
“I’ve been wondering for a while, my lord. Have you also mastered magic?”
It was the first time she had seen the lord wield mana since the Infant Sacrament.
“I know a fair bit. It was a basic skill back when I was born.”
“For ‘a fair bit,’ your control of the flow seems incredibly delicate.”
“This is something you can do as well.”
She gave an awkward laugh and shook her head.
“I’ve never been good at delicate work.”
She recalled how, despite being blessed with enough mana to draw the attention of the Inquisition, her clumsy handling of it had often led to accidents.
“Didn’t Alonso teach you?”
“He tried, but… it never quite worked out.”
“Come to think of it, that boy never had a knack for teaching.”
Ulrich paused in thought, then placed his hand over Roberta’s and pressed a piece of kindling into her grasp. She flinched at the sudden contact and tried to pull her hand away.
“My lord?”
“I’ll guide you. Give it a try.”
“No… it’s all righ—”
“Trust me. I taught Alonso, too.”
Roberta hesitated, but seeing his earnest expression, she nodded and gathered mana at her fingertips. She then channeled it into the kindling, trying to guide the moisture out from within.
Ordinarily, she would have failed instantly. Her body held too much mana; even what she considered a trickle was more than the small piece of wood could handle. Like a river bursting its dam, the kindling would have shattered.
But this time was different. The amount of mana flowing into the wood was minuscule. He was controlling it. Like a hand on a sluice gate, he regulated the torrent of mana she unleashed, controlling the flow between her fingertips and the wood.
Her eyes widened as she looked at him.
“Did you feel that? That’s how you control the flow.”
“I think… I understand a little.”
“Be calmer, almost timid, as you guide the flow.”
Following his advice, she adjusted the flow. The dampness in the kindling gave way to dryness. Only then did Ulrich remove his hand, a smile on his face.
“Remember this feeling. Mana is a thing of sensation. If you forget, it will be difficult to do it again. You must practice, remember, and engrave it into your subconscious.”
Roberta nodded.
“You said a moment ago that you also taught Alonso.”
“Yes, he was remarkably unskilled for the power he possessed. It’s a thought I’ve had more and more lately, but it seems the Ecumenical Church isn’t what it once was. Good teachers seem to be dwindling.”
“…”
“If you’d like, I can help you from time to time. What do you say?”
She hesitated to answer.
A priest of the Ecumenical Church, seeking instruction from a secular lord?
Considering her position, it was a difficult question to answer directly.
“There’s no need to decide now. It’s not an urgent matter.”
“…You seem quite generous with your teachings, Duke of Dithmarschen.”
Bailen, who had been watching quietly, interjected.
“It’s a pastime. There are few things more entertaining than nurturing a talented child.”
Ulrich paused, searching his memory, then continued.
“His talents lay in a different direction, but Vanares was also brimming with potential. That’s how he was able to rise to his station.”
“He said it was thanks to you, my lord.”
Ulrich shook his head with a smile and stood up.
He looked at the group gathered around the fire. They were warming their snow-soaked bodies and pulling food from their packs—though it was only jerky, dried fish, and biscuits.
Roberta glanced up at the lord. He barely ate. It wasn’t that he ate nothing at all, but compared to her and the others, he swallowed so little it was more like he was just going through the motions.
At most, he would boil snow to make pine pollen tea. When she had found this strange and asked him about it, he had said:
“This is enough for me.”
If she had eaten so little, her cheeks would have hollowed in days, but he showed no change at all. Wondering if he would only drink his pine pollen tea again today, she watched him closely.
“Get some rest.”
“Are you going out?”
Bailen asked.
“Our provisions are meager. I’ll go catch something. There are a few edible things in this area, so I’ll have a look.”
As Bailen stood to accompany him, Roberta rose as well. But Ulrich raised a hand to stop her. If she came too, who would be left to look after the others?
“Roberta, you stay and look after them.”
Fatigue was etched on everyone’s faces. Days of walking through the blizzard had taken a severe toll on their stamina. A few were showing signs of frostbite and needed immediate attention.
She knew basic healing magic, so treating frostbite and other minor injuries was no problem for her.
After the two men left, she was tending to the others when she suddenly turned to Count Velido.
“Count. Do you remember the story you told me the day before yesterday?”
The count tilted his head. “The day before yesterday?” Then, “Ah,” he said. Two days prior, when the two men had also left them, Roberta had struck up a conversation with the count.
She had learned then that the count and the other vassals had each received a great favor from the duke and had joined this journey to repay their debt to him.
But that wasn’t what she was asking about now. After they had finished that story, Roberta had asked another question.
—Who is this person, Vanares?
Vanares, the king of the Carbonihar Kingdom.
A man with the title of Great King, yet she had never heard his name before. It was understandable; the Carbonihar Kingdom had only begun to make its name known across the continent a few generations ago.
According to the count, King Vanares was the one who had effectively founded the kingdom. Before him, Carbonihar had been nothing more than a minor nation, one that had all but collapsed.
“What you’re curious about, Priestess, is the relationship between King Vanares and the Duke of Dithmarschen. Am I correct?”
Roberta confirmed that she was.
Duke Bailen hadn’t been the only one whose demeanor changed after Ulrich revealed his name. The count and all the other vassals had begun treating him with the utmost respect.
From what she could tell, their change in attitude wasn’t just because of their lord, Duke Bailen. It seemed to stem from their own reverence, independent of the duke. Why? What significance did the name Ulrich—no, Laurent—and the others he had listed hold?
“Before King Vanares ascended the throne, he faced four great crises. Each time, he was forced to flee to another country, and each time, a certain traveler came to his aid.”
Count Velido continued, explaining that it was a story known by everyone in Carbonihar, a piece of history so famous it was often adapted into plays.
“Four crises, four travelers—benefactors the Great King wished to meet again his entire life. To us, their names have only been passed down as aliases used in the plays, and we have always believed those travelers to be four different people.”