Chapter 58 - Even in the Winter of Cutting Winds, Sprouts Still Rise (2)

"Don't tell me the others' Sword Verses are like this too?"

I asked just in case, but sure enough, they were.

Antoine nodded as if it were obvious.

He said there were differences in efficiency, but the others' Sword Verses were all more or less the same.

"This is driving me insane."

My head was throbbing.

Where had the beautiful poetic lines that sang of glorious martial deeds gone, and where had the spirit of seekers who strove to reach Transcendence gone?

To think a crude, shoddy scrap of words was the only legacy left by that brilliant age of glory... it was beyond absurd, enough to be tragic.

As I sat in the chair clutching my throbbing head, Antoine watched my mood and asked.

"Is there something you do not like, Your Highness?"

I did not answer.

There were far too many things I did not like to count.

For now, I asked about the origins of the Sword Verse.

Antoine's answer to that was truly a sight to behold.

He said he had learned it in his youth from one of the Senior Mercenaries.

And not just learned it, either.

He said he had paid his entire fortune for it.

I was left speechless.

Because I had never imagined there would be people in this world who bought and sold karma.

And yet there was such a bastard.

Right here, before my very eyes.

It was truly the end times.

Of course, even in the past, there had not been absolutely no cases where one borrowed the karma built by another.

There were also cases where monarchs shared poems with their knights in exchange for devotion and service.

But those were truly exceptional cases, and even then, there were conditions.

The one receiving the lyrics of the poem had to have contributed beyond a certain point to building the poem's karma.

That was the way to pass a poem on to someone who was not connected by blood while damaging it as little as possible.

Naturally, knights did not trade poems for money under any circumstances.

Because that was the surest way to lower a poem's grade more than any other act.

The proof was right before my eyes.

「Blade That Cuts Blades」

Even this bizarre song I had never heard of before must originally have been a complete poem.

As it was passed down through the mouths of the unqualified, it must have lost its proper verses, and even its grade and power had been damaged, leaving it in its current state.

The only reason even a trivial power remained was likely because that verse was extremely simple and easy to understand.

I clicked my tongue.

"I had to chase the man around for half a year before I finally learned it."

"I invested my entire fortune, but it saved my life several times afterward, so it was not a losing bargain."

And yet he had chased someone around for half a year to learn that lamentable excuse for a poem.

He had invested the entire fortune he had earned with his life on the line just to learn a string of worthless words that carried not the slightest hint of karma, let alone a poem's grade.

The moment I heard that, I realized.

I had almost gotten fleeced.

If I had not known, that would have been one thing.

But knowing this, I could not let myself be fleeced.

"I will change the terms of the contract."

Antoine, who had been running his mouth, opened his eyes wide.

"Twenty years."

The original contract was until I ascended the throne.

I changed that period to twenty years of service.

"Twenty years is impossible."

"At that point, it is practically a lifetime contract."

"No mercenary company in the world signs a contract like that."

Antoine protested, and I snorted.

A lifetime contract?

At this point, even a contract of subordination would not be enough.

I drew my sword.

"Y-Your Highness?"

Antoine flinched in surprise and stepped back.

"You said you chased him around for half a year."

I asked while looking at Antoine.

"You said you invested the entire fortune you had gathered in your youth."

Antoine's face hardened.

"How much of your life did you devote to that crude scrap of lyrics?"

He looked displeased, as if it bothered him to have the Sword Verse he had been proud of mocked as crude.

Looking at Antoine, I quietly recited the Poem of Requiem.

『I pile green corpses into a mountain, and beneath it, a red pool comes into being.』

『And I stand before it, honoring your soul.』

Blue flames immediately flared up.

"How much are these lyrics worth?"

I swung my sword.

The banner embroidered with a silver fox burned in the blue flames.

"And how much are your twenty years worth?"

I extended the sword again.

Looking at the blade thrust before his throat, Antoine gulped dryly.

"I will give you time to think."

I withdrew my sword.

"But I will not wait very long."

I turned around.

Until the moment I left the tent, Antoine did not open his mouth.

But I left the tent without hesitation.

Because I had clearly seen the yearning that had risen in Antoine's eyes when he faced the flames of requiem.

He had learned that the treasure he had proudly cherished was, in truth, worth less than a pebble on the roadside, and that the true treasure was before his eyes.

Sooner or later, Antoine would eventually come to me.

"Hm."

I looked at the wall.

I pictured the mountain range beyond it in my mind.

And I tried to gauge the being that would be there.

I felt a colossal presence that could not be compared even if all the living creatures in this vicinity were combined.

The Warlord had already been standing still without moving for nearly two months.

From time to time, he roared and flaunted his existence, but he never left that place.

For the life of me, I could not understand why the bastard, who had been moving slowly but without rest, had suddenly planted himself there.

I had merely considered it fortunate that we had gained time.

But that time was not infinite.

The bastard was a tyrant who trampled and conquered, not a ruler who stayed in one place and brought prosperity to a kingdom.

I did not know when it would be, but the bastard would certainly begin moving again.

And at last, he would reach this place.

Before that, we had to prepare as much as possible.

* * *

As soon as dawn broke, I went to Vincent and asked him to lend me men.

Three Rangers familiar with the geography within the mountain range, and three Rangers skilled at tracking.

"You are not going with those who usually accompany Your Highness?"

Vincent asked at my request.

"Because this time, I am not going to scout."

The dutiful eldest son of the lord of Winter Castle looked puzzled.

His face asked what on earth I planned to do with only six men at most, if not scouting.

"Hunting."

There were not only Orcs in the mountain range.

There were countless monsters, large and small, and among them were creatures so fierce they could not even be compared to Orcs.

Ogres, called the kings of the mountains.

Trolls, called immortal predators.

Monsters that had been infamous even four hundred years ago, in that glorious age overflowing with outstanding knights.

Powerful monsters born extraordinary by nature.

I intended to hunt them.

"It is too dangerous."

"Especially at a time like this."

As soon as Vincent heard my plan, he objected.

"If anything happens to Your Highness, there will be no turning back."

I felt a sense of déjà vu.

Vincent had said something similar in the past as well.

"You said the exact same thing when I said I would deal with the Orc scouting unit."

When I grinned at him, asking with my face what I had done back then, Vincent sighed.

"Then I will attach more men to you."

I did not refuse that much.

Adding a few more men would not change much anyway.

When dawn came and I was preparing to leave the castle, a familiar man appeared.

It was Erhim Kilinger, who should have been beside the Second Prince.

"And why are you here?"

"His Highness the Second Prince sent me."

Erhim Kilinger played coy, saying that was his nature not truly benevolent, sending a knight along because his brother was climbing a rugged mountain?

"I am here as well, Your Highness."

A man whose face I had seen until I was sick of it back at Iron Lion Castle, Dunham Fahrenheit, grinned and acted friendly.

"Suit yourselves."

At my words, the two men tightened the straps of their packs.

I checked the supplies one last time.

If the schedule dragged on, we might have to wander the mountains for more than a month, so I had to check the supplies carefully.

"Hm?"

As I was packing like that, another group of men appeared.

It was Antoine and his mercenaries.

"You lot coming too?"

Antoine shook his head and gestured.

The big men standing behind him bent at the waist.

"Senior Mercenary Locke, sir!"

"Senior Mercenary Jean, sir!"

As I frowned at the sudden greeting, Antoine spoke.

"Before they became mercenaries, they were men who roamed the mountains."

"They are fairly quick-witted as well, so if you use them like servants, they will be of no small use."

When I checked their traits, I ended up laughing.

The men he had brought, calling them mountain men, somehow had traits stamped on them that all looked like they would be useful only for spying.

His intentions were obvious.

"Use them like servants, you say."

"Then I shall."

I decided to pretend not to know and let it pass.

"Let's go."

At this rate, even my maternal uncle might cause a fuss about coming along, so I hurried our departure.

My maternal uncle and Vincent were standing in front of the castle gate, waiting for me.

"Go carefully and return safely."

My maternal uncle said that while looking at my face, which had twisted in alarm.

Fortunately, it seemed he had only come to see me off.

"Guard the castle well even without me."

"This is a castle I have guarded since before you were born."

"Your Highness should focus on returning safely."

I had said it out of consideration, but father and son both scolded me.

"Then I will be off."

Saying that, I stepped through the castle gate.

The Rangers looked down at me from atop the wall and waved.

There was no grand farewell.

It was a simple sendoff befitting the men of the North.

I, too, merely waved back.

* * *

No sooner had we entered the mountain range than the Rangers began moving busily.

They scanned every direction and chose a route so we would not run into Orcs.

Without hurrying, we carefully made our way deeper into the mountain range.

From time to time, we happened across small monsters or beasts, but the Rangers dealt with them quickly, so we were not delayed.

"They say the Ballorhard Rangers are the best among mountain infantry, and it is true."

Erhim Kilinger exclaimed in admiration after seeing the Rangers ahead silently slit the throats of two goblin scouts.

Whether he did or not, the Rangers silently buried the goblins in the snowfield and focused on their duties again.

We proceeded as carefully as possible so our path would not overlap with the monsters' movement routes, heading deeper and deeper into the mountain range.

How many days passed like that?

Around the time the two mercenaries, who had been watching me whether we walked or rested, grew exhausted from the hard mountain trek and stopped paying attention to me, one of the Rangers ahead sent a hand signal.

Shh.

The Ranger put a finger to his lips, looked around, then nodded to me.

It meant we had finally reached the place we had been aiming for.

The Ranger's lips moved.

O. gre.

No sooner had the word ended than an enraged roar sounded from far away.

ROOOAAAR!

The Rangers covered their ears.

The two mercenaries fell flat on their backsides.

Arwen and the Iron Lions frowned, and Adelia clung tightly to my side.

Her face had gone pale, and she looked completely terrified by the dreadful roar.

I pretended not to notice her and gestured to the Ranger.

Understanding my gesture, the Ranger pointed somewhere.

Dragging Adelia, who simply would not let go, I moved forward.

After we rounded a huge tree that had dried and twisted without a single leaf, a broad clearing appeared.

At that moment, the stench of blood hit my nose.

Before my eyes, a monster in the middle of its meal came into view.

But the food that could be called the main course of that meal was far too fresh.

No, I did not know whether it was right to call a living Orc food.

RIP!

The ogre tore the Orc's body in half.

Muscles tough enough to withstand arrows were torn like sheets of paper.

Crimson entrails spilled onto the pure white snowfield.

The ogre ravenously stuffed those entrails into its mouth.

GRRRR!

The Orcs rumbled their throats as they surrounded the giant monster.

Each one was an Orc who would not look out of place leading a small unit.

They were an elite combat unit made up of Orc Warriors.

And among them was an Orc one and a half times larger than even the Orc Warriors.

『Do not fear, warriors!』

It was a noble Orc.

The noble Orc adjusted his grip on his halberd and raised his Fighting Spirit.

Crimson energy surged and clung to the halberd.

Emboldened a hundredfold by that Fighting Spirit, the Orc Warriors charged the ogres.

At that moment, a bloody battle began.

Hm.

Watching that sight, I unconsciously let out a hollow laugh.

If ever there was a time to say the fisherman profits, this was it.