Chapter 124

Chapter 124
## Chapter 124

“This is a bit of a predicament.”

Lucian spoke his thoughts aloud, his face clouded with hesitation.

Holding the status of a chieftain’s heir was certainly a respectable position. For an outsider to step into such a role immediately upon arrival was, by most standards, an incredible stroke of luck.

The issue, however, was that Lucian’s ambitions reached much higher.

“My purpose in coming here was to bring this entire tribe under my rule. I didn’t travel this far to act as a subordinate to a chief. If this achievement only earns me a rank equal to the chief’s son, I would honestly prefer to be regarded as a visiting monarch from a foreign land.”

Lucian knew he would have ample chances to demonstrate his worth later on. Still, he believed that the weight of a first impression could never be undervalued.

To be categorized as a mere second-in-command the moment he stepped through the gates?

He would rather endure the cold suspicion cast upon a stranger—even if he had to carve his path through violence—provided it resulted in a status that matched his goals.

However, Helen responded to his concerns with a firm shake of her head.

“My Lord, you have it backward.”

“Backward? Are you suggesting it’s actually to my benefit to accept this and stand on level ground with the chieftain’s son?”

“In this culture, when you best a warrior, you don’t just win their respect. You inherit every single right that person held. This includes their authority to lead and even their place in the line of succession.”

“…!?”

Lucian’s eyes widened as he processed this startling piece of information.

If her words were accurate, Lucian could effectively step into Gunstein’s shoes and claim his right to rule.

Regardless of how much talent he showed, the stigma of being a ‘foreign invader’ would always haunt him if he took power by force. But to be hailed as a rightful leader through their own sacred traditions, rather than a mere conqueror…

“Is such a custom truly upheld? It isn’t just some dusty, ancient decree that nobody actually follows anymore, is it?”

“It is known as the Blood Rule, and it is strictly observed by every clan across these frozen wastes. No tribesman will dare to challenge it, regardless of Your Highness’s bloodline or place of birth.”

“If that is the case, it works in my favor, though it seems utterly illogical. To surrender one’s entire life’s work to an opponent simply because of a defeat.”

Noticing Lucian’s skepticism, Helen offered a small, knowing smile.

“Your Highness must understand that in this region, the population is dangerously low. In such a harsh climate, slaughtering your enemies would lead to a catastrophic shortage of hands. Conversely, even if a victor wishes to show mercy, they are left with no choice if the defeated party refuse to yield.”

At that moment, the logic behind the tradition became clear to Lucian.

For any leader, the people are the lifeblood of their power—they provide taxes, labor, and the strength of the army. It was only natural that a growing population benefited the ruler and the tribe as a whole.

Yet, unlike the vast Empire, this frozen land couldn’t simply import new citizens from elsewhere.

‘They are essentially fighting over a limited pool of people, whether those people are allies or rivals. If you wipe out your enemies in this environment, you end up destroying the very trade and survival networks you rely on.’

A dry, cynical smile touched Lucian’s lips.

Unless there was a fresh wave of settlers ready to occupy the empty land, a war of total destruction yielded nothing but loss. Since the quality of life for everyone would plummet if the trade routes failed, a smart victor would prefer to remove only the opposing leader and integrate the rest of the people.

But if the enemy chose to fight to the last breath, the victor’s hands were tied.

“So it functions as a social contract. The people agree to recognize the winner as their rightful sovereign, and in return, they are guaranteed their lives and fair treatment.”

“That is exactly it.”

“Understood. If that is the basis of the rule, then there is no cause for concern.”

It wasn’t some empty ritual; it was a survival mechanism designed to save the tribe from extinction. Because it was tied so closely to their continued existence, they wouldn’t dream of violating it.

“Very well. I accept the terms.”

—

Lucian’s group decided to spend one final night at the border outpost before moving on, sticking to their original itinerary.

The journey had taken longer than anticipated, and in the unforgiving snowfields, keeping one’s strength at its peak was the highest priority.

The only difference this time was the larger company and the significantly improved quality of their meal.

Sizzle—

The enticing scent of seared meat filled the small room.

As the others watched with watering mouths, Gunstein sliced a small piece of meat and tested it.

“Mmm.”

Looking pleased, Gunstein carved more meat and carefully arranged it on a wooden platter. Holding it with both hands, he presented it to Lucian with the reverence of a servant offering a gift to a king.

“It is prepared, My Lord.”

Lucian accepted the dish silently and sampled a small piece. Unlike the tasteless rations they had been eating, this had a sharp, spicy kick that was surprisingly enjoyable.

“This has a very distinct flavor. What kind of seasoning is this?”

“Seasoning? I am unfamiliar with that term, but I used the dried, ground liver of a black marten. It provides a savory heat to any dish.”

“It’s quite good.”

“Now, the rest of you must eat as well.”

Gunstein moved around the room, personally slicing and serving meat to every member of the group. The arrogance he had displayed earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a humble and polite demeanor.

The party members took their portions with looks of sheer confusion.

One of Gunstein’s own men, watching his leader with a worried expression, tried to step in.

“Brother, please, let us take over the serving.”

“Stand down. This is my responsibility now.”

Gunstein didn’t budge, ignoring his subordinate’s attempt to help.

While serving food was a sign of high respect even back in the Empire, it clearly carried a much more profound weight in this culture.

Helen watched Gunstein in silence, only speaking once she had received her own plate from him.

“Sir Gunstein, I believe you owe us an explanation.”

“An explanation? For what?”

“Do not pretend to be ignorant. Why did you refuse to listen to my attempts to mediate earlier?”

Helen’s sharp, analytical gaze was fixed on Gunstein, who looked momentarily stumped.

“The man I remember was never so reckless. You were always able to tell right from wrong, and you once showed great deference to my Master.”

“…”

“And yet, you acted as though you couldn’t hear me. You even went as far as to disrespect my Master’s guest. What was the reason for such behavior?”

Her questioning was blunt, and her tone held a noticeable chill.

Gunstein remained quiet for a long interval before finally letting out a defeated sigh. He realized that any excuse would sound pathetic, so he opted for total transparency.

“I wanted to force the Guide to join me so I could claim the position of Chieftain.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My father’s years are catching up to him. While he isn’t bedridden, he has reached the point where he can no longer truly call himself a warrior of the tribe.”

In their society, when a Chief loses his martial edge, tradition dictates the election of a successor. It was obvious to everyone that a power struggle between the brothers was imminent.

As a direct descendant, Gunstein had the right to compete, and he harbored a secret desire for the throne.

“But compared to my brothers, my influence is far too small. The legacy they have built and the time they have spent leading is far beyond my own. My brothers have been commanding their own warbands and earning glory for over a decade.”

If the trial were a simple duel, Gunstein felt he might prevail. However, a candidate’s reputation and the strength of the faction they led were vital components of the selection process.

Unless he could somehow manifest ten years of experience overnight, he had no hope of winning if the contest began now.

“My siblings don’t even view me as a threat. And frankly, they’re right. But I knew there was one person who could bridge that gap instantly.”

“You are referring to my Master.”

“Yes. If I had the Guide’s support, I could have stood on equal ground with them. But there was no indication that would happen willingly, so…”

“So you decided to exploit our arrival when we crossed your path. You intended to claim us as your ‘captives’ through tradition, and then use our freedom as a bargaining chip to force us into an alliance?”

As Lucian stepped in with his cold interrogation, Gunstein nodded, his face turning a deep shade of red. Exposed in his own manipulation, he looked genuinely ashamed of his past actions.

“…Regardless, I now believe it is a stroke of luck that I have entered My Lord’s service. Not one of my brothers possesses the heart of a true Chief.”

He was admitting that serving Lucian was a better fate than being ruled by one of his own kin. Gunstein looked visibly relieved, proving he wasn’t just telling them what they wanted to hear.

“Well, if you truly feel that way, then I suppose it worked out. Regarding this competition—do you honestly think it will take place soon?”

“What? Oh, yes. Likely within the next three or four days. My father has been making his intentions quite clear lately.”

“If that is the case.”

Lucian set his empty plate aside and allowed a small, confident smirk to play on his lips.

“I wonder, could I enter the competition in your place?”

“…!?”

—

The following morning, Lucian’s group departed from the outpost and pressed toward their final goal.

Helen no longer had to strain herself trying to navigate using old memories. They now had native guides—Gunstein and his warriors—leading the way.

“If we maintain our current speed, we should reach the settlement by midday.”

“That is good news. I was beginning to tire of this endless white horizon.”

“But My Lord, are you serious about entering the trial?”

Lucian answered only with a cryptic smile and increased his pace. Gunstein, though burning with curiosity, held his tongue. He knew better than to pester the man he now served if the Lord wished to keep his cards close to his chest.

“The storm seems to be breaking.”

Lucian remarked as he followed behind Gunstein, taking in the surroundings.

This was a region where the blizzards were usually so lethal that a human couldn’t last five minutes without a mage to part the winds. Yet, the further they traveled, the more the air seemed to settle into a strange, expectant calm.

Soon, the howling winds vanished entirely, and the landscape became eerily still.

“We have arrived. This is the home of my people, the ‘Dragon’s Jaw.’”

Gunstein spoke as he reached the crest of a hill and pointed down into the valley.

Lucian climbed up beside him and couldn’t help but let out a breath of genuine awe.

“It’s incredible.”

Nestled at the very edge of the world, beyond the reach of the storms, sat a massive village. It was no ordinary settlement; every person within its walls was a titan, standing several heads taller than any citizen of the Empire.

These giants, draped in heavy furs, were occupied with the daily grind of survival—fixing storm-damaged roofs, butchering massive prey, and moving heavy loads.

Lucian had always thought that humanity lived more or less the same way everywhere, but the scale of the scene before him was almost alien.

“…Is that man carrying a whole tree trunk in each hand?”

“And the beasts they are skinning… those are apex monsters.”

The villagers possessed a terrifying physical power, lifting weights that would crush an Imperial soldier as if they were nothing. Their movements were incredibly fluid, tossing massive carcasses around with the ease of a child playing with a toy.

What was most striking was how mundane it all seemed to them; the residents went about their business as if this level of strength was the bare minimum for existence.

It was clear that any one of these people could snap an elite Imperial knight like a dry twig.

“My Lord, please put this on before we enter the valley.”

While the group stood paralyzed by the sight, Gunstein pulled off his heavy outer mantle and offered it to Lucian. Lucian looked at the massive, thick fur garment with a skeptical eye.

“Is this really necessary? It’s so oversized I’m worried I’ll look like a child playing dress-up.”

“It serves as the visible proof that my rights have been passed to you. You may discard it later, but for your entrance, it is mandatory.”

“Sigh, I suppose there’s no avoiding it.”

Lucian relented and wrapped the heavy fur around his shoulders. To his relief, the hem didn’t quite drag in the snow, allowing him to keep at least a bit of his regal bearing.

The moment the group began their descent and came into view of the villagers…

“Ah!?”

“Look! Look at that!”

“It can’t be true!”

“He’s here! At last!”

The moment Lucian was spotted, a wave of shouting swept through the valley. Lucian stopped, blinking in confusion at the chaotic reception.

‘What is going on?’

He had expected a cold or even violent greeting, but the reaction was one of pure, unadulterated shock and awe. Some looked terrified, while others were cheering with a desperate kind of hope in their eyes.

As he stood there, trying to make sense of the commotion, a voice from the crowd roared above the rest.

“Our King has come!”

“…!?”