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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Snow-Covered
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In the end, everything had turned out well.
Red Iron surviving unscathed.
And me, driven mad with rage, slaughtering the entire band of barbarians and burning their camp to the ground.
It was a thoroughly satisfying outcome.
But contrary to that happy result, the burdensome aftermath was still a heavy load to bear.
"D-dear..."
"Ugh, uuuugh!"
We returned to the forge.
But it wasn't just us—the escaped settlers had followed too.
And around the forge, where the ground was at least somewhat stable, they had pitched a shabby cluster of worn-out tents.
The wails of widows who had lost their husbands, the cries of young men writhing from horrific wounds.
The tent village was despair itself, as bleak and oppressive as the overcast winter sky.
With a small sigh, I closed the forge door, its hinges creaking in protest.
"You've taken quite a beating."
"...There was a lot to do."
On the makeshift bed in the forge sat Red Iron, his entire body wrapped in bandages.
He should have been resting quietly for days, but he had stubbornly claimed the king's sword.
With serious eyes, he quietly examined the blade that had served for so many long years.
And his conclusion was, as expected.
"Let's seal it away for now."
The king's sword was undoubtedly a masterpiece.
Strength, balance, flexibility, aura conduction—the measure of a fine blade, it possessed every advantage a sword could have.
But for me, unable to wield aura and facing foes who could, a sword was nothing more than a tool that would rust and break with time.
To use a king's sword—a symbol and a legend—as mere disposable gear.
If it hadn't been a special situation like yesterday, I never would have.
The king's sword I had carried so roughly until now would be safely kept by Red Iron from here on.
Awaiting the day a new Knight King would rise, I unbuckled the scabbard and set it aside.
Then Red Iron asked me.
"So... is that girl the candidate this time?"
I glanced out the window.
A girl with black hair was bustling through the tent village.
She could have stayed warm inside the forge, but she had gone out to help the settlers herself.
Her expression was somber, but her care for the wounded carried deep devotion.
"Yes. Probably the last one."
Red Iron and I had always speculated on our candidates' talents and futures.
Of course, those guesses rarely hit the mark or inspired much confidence.
But at least they planted a vague hope that things might go well.
Even that had gone on for eight years now.
It was time for both Red Iron and me to follow nature's course.
A time as long as the white hairs sprouting on my head.
Red Iron's face soured bitterly.
"I suppose so... This really is the last."
Starting tomorrow, once a practice sword was ready, I planned to teach the girl swordsmanship.
The situation looked grim with obstacles ahead, but I had no intention of giving up without trying.
One more time.
To forge a king. To gather everyone.
The calluses on my hands felt thicker and more grating than ever today.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"H-hello..."
"......"
Red Iron, who had once passed his prime, used to boast that he was married to iron.
But looking at him now, that was all a lie—and today proved he was the world's greatest thief.
A ten-year age gap, no less.
Even if this woman called Snowflake was a widow, it was utterly shameless.
As I glared at him with eyes full of meaning, Red Iron averted his gaze and muttered.
"...I'll take responsibility."
Snowflake was one of the settlers.
She had family and neighbors from a lifetime together out there in the tents.
So what did that make Red Iron, her new husband and family head?
He had naturally shouldered the responsibility for their survival.
The problem was that I, whom Red Iron needed, was part of that burden.
I let out a deep sigh.
"Hah..."
What good would blaming him do?
I couldn't demand irresponsibility from Red Iron after he'd helped me for nearly eight years.
Now I had to rack this old brain to get them all through the winter safely.
Gauging my mood, Red Iron cleared his throat and asked.
"Ahem! So, what now?"
For the moment, we had a hideout and a blacksmith to make swords.
But with so many mouths to feed, we couldn't just focus on teaching swordplay.
The supplies piled in the forge would last barely a month at best.
We needed shelter for winter and to clear out nearby barbarians one by one.
So much to do, but so few hands.
Facing the harshest conditions yet, I closed my eyes quietly.
Deep in thought.
After sorting my ideas for a while, I stood, gathering my gear.
"Give me any two swords for now."
"Just low-grade ones. That okay?"
"That'll do. And a bow if you have one."
The area around the valley had surely changed in the year I was away.
I planned to scout the vicinity while teaching the girl swordsmanship and survival skills.
Creeeak!
"Rest up and recover."
Red Iron needed to convalesce for a while.
With advice to stay put and behave, I opened the forge door and stepped out.
A cold winter wind blew, and unwelcome snow fell from the sky.
"Master!"
As I emerged, the girl who had been boiling water came running.
She must have been tired from rising at dawn, yet her face was still bright as she approached.
Thanks to steady meals, her cheeks and body had filled out nicely.
I handed such a girl a single sword.
"Here."
Helping others is good.
But goodwill without power is mere incompetence, so a king needs the strength to protect his people.
Now the girl would learn that means.
"Ah..."
The girl clumsily took it.
She quickly wiped her eyes, which trembled as if on the verge of tears, and looked up at me.
Not a battered old executioner's sword, but a real training steel blade forged by a smith.
For a girl born a slave who had dreamed of defying heaven her whole life, it must have felt like a dream.
"Wear it like this."
"Y-yes!"
"Follow slowly."
Everything feels awkward at first.
After showing her simply how to belt on the sword, I rolled my shoulders to loosen the knotted muscles.
With a word to follow, I crossed through the still-noisy tent village.
Murmurs rising.
"- - - - - - -."
Twenty-one settlers had escaped alive.
A lot, considering the camp had been a hell of screams.
But their eyes held worry for the future more than joy at survival.
How many would make it through winter?
Estimating the supplies we needed, I hurried past the tents.
Far behind, the girl followed with a teary, clumsy face.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Early winter is good for tracking. Without snow from the sky, footprints don't fade. Always stay alert for pursuit."
"Yes."
"Orc prints dig deeper than this. Elves leave lighter marks than mountain beasts. Know the difference to understand their habits."
"Yes."
Orcs grow strong alongside warriors.
Elves gain knowledge beneath world trees.
But we northern humans learned survival from nature itself.
How to walk, avoid snow, trail foes unseen, scout surroundings.
To become a true knight, one must know the North and winter better than anyone.
"When ambushing and waiting for enemies, it's good to hold a snowball in your mouth. Because..."
"Your breath?"
"...Right."
The girl was remarkably quick on the uptake.
Even without grasping principles, she listened intently and asked willingly about what she didn't know.
Sometimes she even figured out answers herself, surprising me.
"Well done."
"Heehee."
The praise felt awkward coming from my mouth.
But the girl beamed shyly, delighted just to be praised.
Seeing an untainted soul in this soiled world tickled the heart.
"Ah!"
Ask and answer, teach and learn.
Two hours passed like that.
And right around then, as doubt crept in, the snowstorm whipping our faces surged.
Whiiiiiish!
We had arrived.
A breathtaking overlook of the valley, a flat clearing worn by time, winter, and countless footsteps.
The girl marveled openly at the northern training ground shaped by years and snow.
"...It's so huge."
"You'll pass through it all."
I nudged the girl's back.
She shuffled forward hesitantly toward the center.
This place had forged my past candidates harshly. Here, she would be reborn.
I drew my sword into the empty air and spoke.
Shing!
"You promised me you want to change the world."
The girl knew nothing.
Who the Knight King was, why I had wandered this vast North for eight years.
Yet she had said she wanted to change this wretched reality and world.
How to do that?
Just swing a sword and cut down foes?
No, never.
I told her the one creed I had shared with countless candidates before.
"To do that, you must become a king."
Alone, nothing changes.
Like the great Knight King, reborn in this northern motherland, you too must become a king.
A harsh path of rebirth, unknown humiliations and persecutions ahead.
Do you have the courage to overcome it?
"If you want to run, now's the time. Otherwise, draw the sword I gave you."
This training ground offered a path to flee.
It always tempted candidates with cowardice from that spot.
What choice would she make? The sword at her waist asked endlessly.
But the girl drew faster than any candidate I'd seen.
Shing!
Her face flushed with resolve, lips trembling.
Her flying black hair danced with the blizzard, her drawing hand unwavering.
The girl who drew her own sword for the first time sparkled with obsidian eyes.
In a quivering voice, she said.
"The world is too big, and I'm too small. Can someone like me really do it?"
"Dreaming big is no sin."
A small breeze can become a fierce gale, a sprout a forest-spanning tree.
A humble beginning, but a grand end.
I had no doubt this tiny girl would grow splendidly.
"- - - - - - -."
A stirring tremor, a warm winter wind blew.
I took a deep breath and gripped my sword.
Before the scenic training ground overlooking all, I slashed the air.
A snowflake was severed.
"Northern Swordsmanship has twenty forms."
"Heavy yet light."
"With form, yet formless."
High, low, mid guards.
Thrust, slash, deflect.
Every motion held exquisite grace.
And that grace was the North's sharp winter, cleaving orc steel and elf oaks.
I recalled the last words the ancient Knight King had told me of Northern Swordsmanship.
'There are no fixed paths. Achieve endlessly.'
"Ah..."
The twenty forms ended, sword still.
The girl, gripping her blade as if it might snap her hands, nodded with bated breath.
Was it fear? Or awe?
If she didn't shake off the snow piling on her head, she'd become a snow-covered mess.
"...Snow-Covered."
"Yes?"
I smiled faintly.
A name for the girl I'd always called disciple had finally come to me.