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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Silverriver
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The battlefield was awash in blood. Orc blood, human blood… it was impossible to tell. Even the Count knew there were too many dead to distinguish.
-Grrrr…
The Orc Lord growled. Count Dietrich Cardia chuckled, a hollow sound. The creature’s blow had taken his right eye. He wondered where it found the stubbornness to continue fighting, even with a severed arm.
But he was running out of time. A massive, spear-shaped Aura, at the peak of the master level, enveloped his sword. He couldn’t maintain it for much longer. The Orc Lord, its single remaining arm hefting a battle-axe, glared at him.
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
The Count spat on the ground. The Orc Lord’s gaze, filled with killing intent, locked onto him.
-ROAR!
Even on the verge of death, it swung its axe. The desire to kill, to destroy, overshadowed the fear of death.
But…
-Crack!
-Thud.
The Orc Lord’s off-balance blow was no match for the Count’s master-level Aura. The Count’s sword pierced the axe, then drove through the Orc Lord’s chest.
It stared down at the gaping wound in its chest, then collapsed onto the snow. Dead. It was finally dead. The Count, his body trembling, pushed himself up. He had lost an eye, but he had slain the Orc Lord. Now, all he had to do was gather the remaining knights and retreat to the castle.
The question was… how many knights were left? If they had all perished, he would have to accept his own death.
“Count!”
But to his relief, the knights approached. Their armor was stained with blood, but they seemed relatively unharmed.
“You’re alive.”
“Thanks to Young Master Deron.”
“What?”
Deron Philasia. The eldest son of the Philasia Dukedom, his heart so cold it was practically frozen. The Count had heard the rumors of his illness and had seen them confirmed. Yet, he hadn’t stopped him.
He had seen the flicker of life, forced and unnatural, in Deron’s eyes. His heart had responded to the war, a fierce flame desperately trying to melt the ice within him. The problem was… the flame was consuming his body as well.
But the Count couldn’t bring himself to stop him. How suffocating it must have been, to harbor such a fire within a frozen heart.
‘And they survived thanks to him?’
Despite that burning passion, Deron’s combat abilities weren’t exceptional. He was undeniably talented for his age. Even the Count himself hadn’t reached the peak of the intermediate level at Deron’s age.
But that didn’t mean Deron was inherently powerful. Even considering his youth, he was still only at the intermediate level. His strength was comparable to that of an average Cardia knight. And in Deron’s case, that fire was burning at the cost of his life. It could be extinguished at any moment.
The Count, supported by his knights, walked forward. The further they went, the more gruesome the scene became. Orc corpses, mangled beyond recognition, as if they had been chewed up and spat out. It was a brutal sight, the carnage too extensive to have been caused by a single person.
The Count swallowed hard, awestruck by the sight before him. Deron Philasia stood amidst the carnage, a black sword in his hand, cleaving through the dark green tide.
Flesh melted away with each touch of his Aura. The black sword greedily devoured orc flesh and blood. His movements were fluid, almost supernatural. He danced through the orc horde, untouched.
It was hard to believe this was the same young man who had been on the verge of collapse just moments ago. The knights were supporting him, but Deron was the driving force of this battle.
He had reached the advanced level. His aura, the density of his mana, was proof of his advancement. His Aura devoured the orcs’ energy.
A truly brutal ability.
Finally, when the remaining orcs, consumed by terror, turned to flee, Deron, covered in blood, looked up at the sky. The black blade was gone, only the hilt remained. He raised it high.
Winter was ending.
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I stood amidst the orc corpses, my body screaming in protest. I could barely stand. I wanted to collapse, to rest.
‘I told you I would.’
I simply smiled at Archxius’s sarcastic remark. I had controlled the demonic energy, even if only temporarily. It had retreated to my heart, but the sensation, the power… it was etched into my being.
I felt the powerful aura I had been fixated on vanish. The Count had slain the Orc Lord.
I felt a sense of relief. The orcs were now a defeated army, their king slain. Their morale shattered, they would flee beyond the mountains, unlikely to return.
They would return eventually, but by then, Cardia’s defenses would be even stronger.
Supported by the knights, I made my way towards the castle gates.
Winter Castle was covered in ice and blood. The remnants of Agnes’s battle while we were gone.
Agnes rushed towards me, her body covered in blood, her face etched with worry.
“Deron, are you alright?!”
I chuckled and poked her side. My finger came away bloody. Agnes winced.
“Ugh.”
“That’s what I should be asking.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a graze from an orc’s axe…”
My head throbbed. I was at my limit. My body screamed for rest. I cut her off, muttering,
“I’m glad you’re alive…”
Then, I collapsed. I don’t remember what happened after that. Agnes said something, but I couldn’t hear her.
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I stayed in Winter Castle to recover. The Count had insisted, refusing to let a wounded patient venture out into the blizzard. He held a feast in my honor, refusing to let Winter Castle’s savior leave without a proper celebration.
It wasn’t really a feast. Just the survivors gathering to eat, drink, and remember the fallen. It was more like… a memorial service.
We bowed our heads for the dead, then raised our glasses and drank. To forget quickly and embrace life was the Cardia way, the Count explained.
“Here.”
Before we drank, the Count handed me a sword. A blade pulsing with power. While the Black Blood Wyrm’s fang had been simply tough, this sword was sharp.
The Count explained that it was a renowned sword of the north, forged from Cold Iron.
My eyes widened as I accepted it. Cold Iron? I drew the sword from its scabbard. It was indeed a masterpiece. A chilling aura emanated from the blade. I couldn’t even guess how old it was.
“Is it alright for me to accept this?”
“Of course. We northerners value loyalty and repayment. You saved the people of Winter Castle, so as the Lord of Winter Castle, I offer you this as a token of my gratitude.”
The Lord of Winter Castle. He had emphasized his title. I glanced at him. He was grinning.
“You’re quick-witted.”
“If this is the reward from the Lord of Winter Castle, I assume there’s another reward from the Count of Cardia?”
The Count laughed heartily and clapped me on the shoulder. It actually hurt. He pointed to Bell, who was drinking with the others.
“My daughter. What do you think?”
Ah… no. I politely declined and excused myself. The drinking was in full swing. Everyone looked like they had earned their celebration.
They seemed carefree. Even Agnes was quietly sipping her drink. I joined them, even though I couldn’t taste the alcohol.
“Oh! Young Master, you’re joining us!”
The excited soldiers gathered around me. I accepted their challenges, and…
“ughh…”
they were all defeated. They lay sprawled on the floor, their eyes glazed over, muttering nonsense. I finished my drink and left.
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Two weeks after leaving the academy, I had fully recovered.
“We should get going.”
Bell checked the schedule and addressed me. The break was almost over. We still had to clear the dungeon assigned to our club. She complained that I had taken up too much of her time.
I smiled inwardly. Despite her words, I knew she was grateful. She had thanked me profusely, bowing her head repeatedly while drunk. No one else had seen it.
And I intended to keep it a secret. Agnes emerged, a frown on her face. She had already packed her belongings. Her cheeks were covered in small cuts.
“Is your side alright?”
“Yes, there’s some scarring, but the healer said it’s not a problem.”
Agnes’s injury had been more serious than I’d thought. The healer had been horrified, saying she would have been in danger if she hadn’t used ice magic to stop the bleeding. I strapped on the sword the Count had given me and stepped outside. The people of Winter Castle looked down at me, their gazes no longer hostile, but filled with respect. They all saluted.
“We salute those who have endured the harsh winter!”
“Salute!”
Their voices echoed, the sound resonating through Winter Castle. Their salute continued until we were out of sight. I looked up at the sky. The blizzard that had greeted us upon our arrival was gone, replaced by warm sunlight.
Did spring only arrive with blooming flowers? With melting ice and verdant meadows?
I looked back at Winter Castle. Spring had arrived there as well. Stories blooming amidst the snow.
Tales, or perhaps snowflakes. As I left, spring was stirring within Winter Castle.
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