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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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The orc warriors, enraged by the news of their sergeant's murder, mobilized the entire encampment to pursue us, the culprits.
But I, who knew the North like the back of my hand, shook off their chase with ease and soon ascended into the high mountains where no orc could follow.
A blizzard that blinded us mere inches ahead, limbs freezing solid even at rest.
Using the White-Horned Deer as our lifeline, we climbed the mountain path and discovered a small cave—perfect as a hideout.
Of course, the previous occupant became my morning meal, courtesy of a swing of my sword.
Crackle, pop!
Sparks leaped from the campfire, only to lose their light.
And just as swiftly, the passion that had flared with them settled back into place.
What remained was cold rationality, chilling the mind.
All heat vanished, leaving only the storms to come and the vague uncertainty.
"- - - - - - - -."
I turned toward the rustling on my right and saw a black-haired girl tearing into wolf meat with frantic abandon.
An old wolf, rank and tough, yet her desperately moving mouth and hands radiated a fierce will to survive.
I asked her.
"What's your name?"
"Vyrak?"
"No, your real name."
To Northern humans, a name encapsulated one's birthplace and every deed yet to come—a very essence of existence.
But such traditions had long become ancient tales kept only by ancestors.
Because the orcs sought to sever every bond uniting the North, starting by stripping humans of their names.
A human who makes arrow shafts: Vyrak.
That wasn't a name.
"...I don't have one."
The girl paused from her meat, lips glistening with grease as she worked her mouth.
Then, with a blank expression, she answered and dove back into eating.
Her bruises and wounds must ache, swollen as they were, yet this nameless girl ate with relentless diligence.
I watched her quietly before closing my eyes, sinking into deep thought.
Her talent was unknown.
Unlike the other candidates with their high starting points, she was still young, with nothing shown yet.
Even compared to her peers, her frame was small, no innate structure evident.
But one thing alone.
Those black hair and eyes, so eerily like the Knight King's, held something that erased all negatives.
As if, had the king sired a legitimate daughter, she might have grown into this.
Knowing nothing of the king's women or bastards, my heart still drew inexplicably toward the girl.
That reckless courage risking life for strangers, the tenacity clutching her sword till death's door, the lofty pride.
Recalling how she resembled a young Knight King, I quietly opened my eyes and stared ahead.
There she was, having devoured a leg already, gazing back at me.
"- - - - - - -."
The girl knelt.
Her eyes swollen like snowballs, face a mess, but those burning eyes fixed straight on me.
With a trembling voice, she said.
"I'll do my best."
It was for the greater cause.
This journey, known only to me, was a thankless task.
Yet the girl, as if understanding it all, spoke only of giving her all.
"...Do you know what it entails?"
Absurd.
A girl I'd met less than a month ago, not even knowing my name, demanding sword training.
Once she learned the pains and perils ahead, she'd regret her words.
Like most candidates, yes.
"I don't."
She bowed low.
Then pressed her forehead to the ground, pouring her pent-up anguish into firm words.
"But I want to change."
Change.
Her frail self, this wretched reality where no one stood against injustice—everything.
She knew that sword, which had slain impossibility, was the start of it all.
Instinct, or did she know it was the only path?
I closed my eyes.
The wind and cold sweeping my body stripped away all dregs.
What would the king choose?
In the flickering cave, I ended my brief deliberation.
Then, toward the prostrated girl, I let out a sigh I hadn't felt in eight years.
"Very well."
In my past, I needed a sword.
It alone bridged the world I couldn't return to and me.
Change, change.
This small seed confronting my aged body evoked old memories.
"I'll teach you."
I nodded to the black hair, and only then did the black-haired girl lose consciousness.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"...Not an aura user."
The orc sergeant's throat was severed.
But the cut wasn't from an aura slash.
What did that mean?
An aura-using orc sergeant slain by a mere iron sword.
"- - - - - - -."
The orc warriors fell silent.
The replacement sergeant, confirming the death, shut his mouth in disbelief.
Unpleasant snorts filled the air, yet the cold atmosphere held—no one spoke.
Humiliation at losing to one human warred with fear from that inexplicable cut.
Who could it be?
A human appearing in this remote village, killing an aura-using sergeant with just a sword.
The squad leader dispatched with the replacement snorted hot breath and spoke.
"We must report to the homeland."
Killing a sergeant was grave.
Normally, the entire orc encampment would hunt the fugitive into the North.
But the replacement sergeant shook his head, face sour.
"Winter's coming soon."
Orcs had ruled Northern humans for ages.
Yet even after years, the North's winter never grew familiar.
Why else relocate the entire camp downhill each winter?
Winter General, fiercer than any commander.
In cold that froze even sturdy orc warriors, chasing a fugitive was suicide.
"Grrrk! So we let him escape?"
The squad leader vented frustration; warriors, humiliated by the escape, hid no discontent.
But the sergeant quashed it with sharp words.
"Then you go?"
"......."
"Winter passes, and our camp relocates anyway. Tired of chasing rats in this backwater?"
No report, no issue.
Weary of endless cold and inaction, warriors let discontent fade with those sweet words.
Just this winter, yes.
Spring brings other camps to hunt—or it buries unnoticed.
Of course, these orcs couldn't foresee what lay ahead.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Master, my stomach's too full."
The girl, chewing jerky, dry-heaved and grimaced.
But I tossed her another from my pouch with indifference.
"One more."
"Ughhh..."
Malnutrition was all too common among Northern humans.
The girl, no exception, was skin and bones.
Teaching swordplay in that state? She'd collapse in a day.
Balanced nutrition first—to build sturdy roots of stamina.
Fortunately, her base was solid Northern stock.
Overfeed a bit, add conditioning, and she'd soon be sword-ready.
I smirked at her grimace, then tugged the deer's reins.
"Um... Master. Where are we headed, exactly?"
Two days since ditching pursuit and leaving the cave.
Just eating and exercising those days, her patience snapped; she cautiously asked our destination.
Fair worry.
In vast North, her only reliance was her master—me.
But she didn't know yet.
Not all North humans bowed to orcs.
"To a blacksmith."
"...A blacksmith?"
"Yes. One to forge a sword."
When kingdom fell, clans of like-minded humans rose in small states' place.
Years on, most crushed or mere profit groups—but one endured in shadows, aiding me.
Legendary blacksmith 'Red Iron,' who handled steel like limbs, even eyed warily by ore-hoarding elves.
Like the ten before, she'd receive sword and Martial Name from him.
Neigh!
"Wow...!"
We'd arrived.
I halted, reins in hand; the girl marveled at the vista.
Migrating birds soared skies, snowwinds danced time-carved canyons.
In an all-white world, the canyon below was time's wrinkles.
"Let's go."
Beyond civilization.
But no safer spot.
Orc-unreachable hinterlands, Red Iron's stronghold canyon.
Here, sword in hand, I'd train the girl as king's candidate.
Yet journeys rarely start smooth.
Rustle, rustle.
"?"
"Master?"
We'd descend the path only Red Iron and I knew.
But as I moved the reins, deep in the canyon, shadowy figures marched single file.
Animals? No.
Leather garb, weapons in hand.
And likely humans.
"...Hold tight!"
"Huh? Yes!"
Many assume all humans share thoughts and goodwill.
Laughable, to me who'd slain countless humans.
Thieves, bandits, assassins, bounty hunters, traitor heretics, barbarians.
North teemed with beasts in human skin; only king's banner divided man from monster.
And those crossing the canyon? High chance of ill intent.
For that steep path was ours alone—Red Iron's and mine.
Clop, clop, clop!
I spurred the galloping White-Horned Deer.
Drew the king's sword from my pack, eyeing the distant canyon.
Raising the girl as king's candidate.
I knew it'd be tough, but not that I'd sigh so soon.