Chapter 132

Winter Has Come

Beltran slipped in among the tribal refugees who had fled to Vinfelt.

Vinfelt was a strange place.

He had known it as a barren land on the outskirts of Goethe for quite some time, but it now seemed that development had only just begun.

There was a military camp surrounded by wooden palisades, and around it, people were building homes as they pleased.
Some made huts, while others constructed traditional tribal pit dwellings.
Nothing was unified.

Residences of all kinds sprang up like weeds, along with people of all kinds.
Even among the same displaced tribes, many spoke different dialects and couldn’t understand one another.
Differences in religion were a given.

New faith, old faith—and beyond that, each tribe worshiped entirely different gods.

There was no consistent architectural style, no unified laws, no orderly barracks.
They served different gods, struggled to communicate, relied on gestures—or broke into fights at any moment.
It was not uncommon to see people rolling on the ground in fistfights or grabbing each other by the hair.

They merely lived in the same place—each leading their own life.

That was what Beltran saw in Vinfelt.

A chaotic mire without order.
A land ruled by a mad lord, as people called him.

He could hardly understand how such a place functioned, let alone how these people had managed to defeat Botmer’s second son.

Yet after asking around and finding a place for himself, Beltran began to feel something strange.

Vinfelt was disorderly.

And yet, within that disorder, there was a kind of vitality and autonomy.

A community that moved without orders.
Despite constant petty conflicts, they lived together.
Each in their own way—thinking for themselves, living for themselves.

“You know how to handle a sword?”
“I… know the basics.”

Beltran asked around among patrolling soldiers and eventually found the recruitment officer.

The man had shaved both sides of his head, leaving the remaining hair long and tied down.
At a glance, he was clearly a northern warrior, yet his command of the common tongue was excellent.

“You’re a noble.”
“N-No, I’m not.”

“You can’t hide it—your speech and demeanor give you away. You can read and write, right?”
“…Yes.”
“Then go find Bill. Most of these people are illiterate, so logistics is always short-handed. Hide your valuables well, and don’t mention your background. Not that anyone would care anyway.”

Beltran adapted surprisingly well.

Considering that just days ago he had been a noble—and even a newly appointed baron—it was remarkable.

He woke at dawn, folded his own blankets, fetched water, and lit fires.
He checked the seals on the armory and supply depot, reviewed ledgers and seals.
He calculated food rations, prepared distribution lists, and assisted Bill, the quartermaster, with distribution.
He inspected equipment in the armory, delivered broken weapons to the forge, and matched inventory.
After lunch, he organized records and made reports, writing down equipment statuses relayed verbally by soldiers.
He participated in afternoon training and handled complaints about rations from different units.
After dinner, he either tended to personal maintenance or prepared for night patrol.

When darkness fell, Beltran often became sentimental about his situation.

Born a noble—yet no longer one.
Cast aside by his father’s choices, always overshadowed by his brother.
Now a traitor to his house, with his brother Bruno likely searching for him with vengeance in mind.

And yet, in Vinfelt—

No one asked him anything.

Not about his past, his bloodline, or his wounds.
They simply gave him tasks he could do.

When he folded blankets with his own hands, organized ledgers, or when soldiers casually thanked him for his work—

Beltran felt something unfamiliar.

Too subtle to call respect, too early to call belonging.
But undeniably, it was something he had never felt before.

Everything here was unpleasant and uncomfortable.
The conditions made it difficult to stay clean, and people carried a persistent odor.
Massive wolves roamed freely through the camp and village.
Outside the soldiers, few tribespeople spoke the common tongue.
Even at night, incomprehensible songs, shouting, and shameless cries echoed through the air.

He had not expected noble treatment—
but living a life where he had to handle everything himself, from food to clothing to shelter, was not easy to grow accustomed to.

And yet—

Strangely enough—

Beltran felt at ease.

Things that once brought him shame and humiliation now felt like freedom.

“You’re on night watch today, huh?”

The recruitment officer approached Beltran, who was waiting by the campfire.

A horn for emergencies hung around his neck.

“Are you on duty as well?”
“The one originally assigned came down with a cold.”

The man scratched the side of his closely shaved head.

The night patrol went smoothly.
Unlike the previous day, there was no snowfall, the wind was calm, and the moon shone brightly.

Beltran and the officer walked in silence for a while, circling the palisade several times before heading toward the nearby village.

“Been here about six days?”
“Nine days.”
“Time flies. You’ve stayed longer than I expected. Thought you’d leave quickly.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“That’s usually how it goes. Looks like most of the noble has worn off you.”
“I’m not a noble.”
“If that’s what you want to say.”

The officer shrugged.

“Anyway, I’m Günter.”
“I’m… Belon.”
“Belon, huh. Sounds like something from the Republic.”

“…How does this place feel?”

“I’m not sure.”
“You’ll understand eventually. It’s better than it looks.”

After introductions, Günter began chatting about Vinfelt.

He had lived in the camp since before Isaac became lord—back when Fikel, then a company commander of Winterband, had ruled Vinfelt.

Because of that, he knew better than anyone how things had changed.

“No one expected it. That the lord—a slave of the king—would tame the wild nature of Hell Wolves. And then use those wolves to plow the fields. Even the great chieftain from Granak will have no choice but to acknowledge him.”

“If he fails that trial, what happens? I heard war with Botmer is imminent. Without the great tribe’s support, won’t this place fall?”

“It might.”

“Is there any plan?”

“The lord will handle it.”

Günter answered as if it were obvious.
There wasn’t even the slightest hint of doubt.

“That’s how it’s always been. Every time we thought it was the end. During the battle with the Hell Wolves, during the war with Botmer’s second son. You must’ve heard something about the lord too—that’s why you ended up here, right?”

“…Someone just told me. To abandon my status and start over in Vinfelt.”

“You got someone here you know?”

“…No.”

Beltran paused before answering.

The Grand Inquisitor Raphael who had recently arrived, Lord Isaac, the mage Enette—
they were all people he had some connection to, whether good or bad.

But Beltran was trying his best to hide his identity and avoid running into them.
For now, he simply wanted to live as a logistics soldier.

He wished no one would recognize him.

It wasn’t that he lacked a desire for revenge against Botmer—
but even that desire felt heavy.
He was sunk in a sense of helplessness.

“…What kind of person is the lord—the Baron of Vinfelt?”

By the time they had made a round of the village outskirts, Beltran asked.

“Shestk.”

“…What?”

“Ashkan. Barkan. Harke. Soildrak.”

“What does that mean?”

“Those are the names the tribes use for the lord. Shadow, savior, breaker of death, tamer of monsters, cultivator of the land.”

“That’s… quite a lot.”

“I don’t know what the nobles of the kingdom call him, but here—that’s what he is. So—”

Suddenly, Günter stopped mid-sentence and shoved Beltran.

At that moment, the ground beneath them collapsed.

A gray, scaled mass burst up from the earth, piercing through where they had stood.
A massive serpent emerged, its body as hard as stone.
Its eyes were like clotted blood, and black horns jutted from its head.

Bwooo—

Günter quickly blew the horn around his neck.

The serpent lunged toward him at the sound.
Günter rolled aside.

The creature swept through the hut that had stood where he had been.

A scream tore through the night sky.
Those inside the hut were surely crushed beyond recognition.

Soldiers rushed in at the commotion.
But none knew how to deal with a monster like this.

The several-meter-long serpent had a body like rock and scales just as tough.
Except when attacking, it constantly burrowed underground.
It was nearly impossible to time an attack.

“I-It’s coming!”
“It’s heading that way!”

The soldiers panicked.
Even Günter was helpless—he had never seen such a beast before, one that tore through frozen ground at will.

“Move! Get away! Run!”

That was the only option.

He shouted for evacuation in both the common tongue and tribal languages.
Ordinary soldiers stood no chance.

They needed at least an aura user.

The first to respond was Sigbrand and the Wraith Squad of Winterband.

“It’s a Stoneblood Serpent!”

Instead of weapons, they carried shields, each taking position and striking the ground with them.

They knew what it was.

A Stoneblood Serpent.

Its body was as hard as rock, and its bite spread venom that stiffened the body like stone.
It hunted by burrowing underground, tracking prey through vibrations and body heat.

With shields pounding from all directions, the serpent’s movements slowed.
It couldn’t tell which direction to strike.

“Hah… even if old folks don’t sleep much, this is a bit much, isn’t it?”

Asra arrived next.

“It’s a Stoneblood Serpent. You have to break its horn.”

“Then we’ll have to catch it first.”

Asra yawned as she spoke.

And then—

She did exactly that.

When the disoriented serpent burst randomly from the ground—

Asra shot forward like an arrow.

She held nothing in her hands.
She simply grabbed the serpent’s neck with her bare hands.

Her massive frame, combined with her strength and aura, made it impossible for the serpent to shake her off.
It coiled around her body, trying to crush her—

But it failed.

The serpent thrashed wildly.

There was no need to break its horn.

Crack—

Crunch—

Asra tore apart the joint between its neck and body.

Thick blue fluid spilled across the ground—
the mana-rich blood of the beast.

“What happened?”

By the time Carlson arrived, everything was already over.

He looked at the severed serpent and frowned.

Stoneblood Serpents did not live in the Black Forest.
They dwelled beyond the White Serpent Mountains, near the demon lands.

For one to wander all the way here—

“…Winter has come.”

Carlson muttered.

Sigbrand and his squad stared at the corpse.

There was only one meaning behind it.

Magical beasts had begun to flood into Winterband.

And burrowing creatures like the Stoneblood Serpent were among the hardest to track.

—

The chaotic night in Vinfelt passed.

Amid all the commotion, Isaac—who had been meditating before Mulleorn—opened his eyes.

Holding the rusted sword,
he stepped out of the tent.