Chapter 137

Chapter 137
## Chapter 137

The possibility of sparing Ivar had never been on the table from the beginning.

An established sovereign would never yield to a successor, meaning the only path forward was to eliminate him and clear the way.

Yet, Ivar held significant prestige among the clans. For Lucian, executing him without caution risked planting seeds of quiet, simmering hostility.

‘That is precisely why I sought a result so definitive that the people would have no choice but to submit…’

He hadn’t anticipated that the feeling would transcend respect and turn into genuine dread. The impact hadn’t merely been effective; it had been overwhelming.

‘In the short term, this helps crush any rebellion, but it won’t be healthy if this tension lasts. I will have to soften my approach when the moment is right.’

Subjects who are silenced by pure terror eventually lose the ability to express even basic grievances. While that might speed up logistics for the moment, it becomes a liability when those frustrations begin to accumulate. A ruler must understand the complaints of the people to address them; otherwise, they simply rot in the darkness behind the throne.

‘Still, it makes things simple for now. Since the mood has shifted this way, I should conclude matters swiftly.’

Even if the environment wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned, the wisest move was to capitalize on the situation as it stood. Lucian addressed the gathered tribes in a steady tone, projecting his voice so it reached every ear.

“I offered Ivar multiple paths to redemption. I gave him the chance to abdicate the chieftainship in accordance with the Dragon’s Will and pledge himself to me. However, even after the Dragon’s Protection faded, the chieftain could not abandon his desperate pride and continued to strike at my life.”

“…”

“There is nothing more pathetic than grasping at authority that has already vanished. Therefore, I will make an example of their heads, ensuring this tale is recited to your descendants for generations to come.”

It was to be a lesson regarding the fate of those who cling to outdated seats of power when the true sovereign has arrived. A warning to those who claim rights that no longer belong to them.

At Lucian’s declaration, the tribespeople lowered their bodies even further in a display of deep reverence. To them, Ivar had been the pinnacle of a warrior, but these were the decrees of a monarch who seemed to be the Dragon reborn. Who would dare challenge him when he claimed to see a hidden corruption they had been blind to?

Nevertheless, one courageous tribesman ventured a question toward Lucian.

“Th-then why was Ainar granted mercy—ugh!”

The man, who had lifted his head slightly to speak, was suddenly slammed face-first into the dirt. His wife, paralyzed with fear at her husband’s recklessness, had seized him by the hair and forced him down.

“You fool! Have you lost your mind!? How dare you question the King…!”

“It is fine. Release him. I intended to clarify that regardless.”

Lucian chuckled softly, showing no signs of offense.

“It is because Ainar alone felt the weight of Ivar’s avarice. He never sought victory today. His only goal was to pay for his family’s sins by falling alongside them.”

“W-was that the reason?”

“Do you harbor doubts about my word?”

“No! Not at all!”

The man, petrified by the intensity of Lucian’s stare, pressed his brow against the earth. He had already overstepped by questioning the King once. To doubt a direct explanation now would be asking for an execution.

Once the man fell into a terrified silence, Lucian scanned the crowd once more.

“Because Ainar understood honor and sought his own end, I, as your King, shall grant him a final opportunity.”

The exact same opportunity his father, Ivar, had received and subsequently discarded. It might have seemed like an indulgence of mercy, but in Lucian’s estimation, Ainar had earned it.

“Carry Ainar inside! Once he regains consciousness, I will put the question to him!”

Whether he would serve Lucian faithfully as the new sovereign, or choose the grave to join his kin. At the King’s resolute command, the clans could do nothing but bow in total submission.

‘…Am I still among the living?’

Ainar’s eyelids fluttered as his vision remained hazy. He didn’t need to test his senses to know he wasn’t dead. His frame ached with a violence that suggested he had been thrown from the highest frost-covered peak.

‘If I can feel this much agony, I suppose I haven’t crossed over yet.’

“Are you with us?”

Ainar jolted at the sound of the voice nearby. Straining his pained muscles to turn, Ainar recognized the figure and rasped out a groan.

“The Foreign King…”

“Is that your standard thought of me? You’re quite liberal with your acknowledgments.”

Lucian let out a short laugh at the address from the semi-conscious Ainar. Calling him ‘King’ in such a state proved that Ainar had already conceded the title in his mind.

Ainar, struggling to focus through the waves of pain, spoke with effort.

“What became of my father and Brunda?”

“They are gone. I took both their heads.”

“Was it by your hand?”

“Who else would have the right?”

“I understand.”

Ainar exhaled a heavy, ragged sigh and slumped back onto the floor. It was the conclusion he had foreseen, yet the bitterness was unavoidable.

If only he had embraced the truth sooner and accepted Lucian’s rule. If he had restrained those two, using force if necessary, to make them submit… Had he done that, perhaps their blood wouldn’t have stained the snow.

“Do not dwell on such futile “what-ifs”.”

Lucian’s voice cut through Ainar’s internal mourning.

“Do you honestly believe the outcome would change if you had acted differently? If they could not find it in themselves to accept the shift in power, they would have turned their blades on me eventually. Even if things had held together for a time, I would have been forced to execute them later.”

“…Then why let me live? Would it not be safer to remove me as well, to ensure no legacy of vengeance remains?”

“Why? Do you find yourself suddenly consumed by a need to avenge your father and brother?”

Ainar fell silent. As a son, the duty of blood vengeance should have been paramount, but he couldn’t find that fire within him. Their ends were the harvest of their own choices.

After a long pause, a weary sigh left Ainar’s lips.

“I have no such desire.”

“Then the path is simple. Swear your service to me, just as Gunstein has.”

Ainar’s eyes snapped wide. He had suspected as much since being spared, but was he truly being invited into the inner circle?

“Have you lost your senses? You are the man who slew my kin.”

“And you just stated you have no wish for revenge.”

“That is true, but… what if my heart changes tomorrow?”

“Will it?”

“No, I don’t intend for it to! But that isn’t the point!?”

Frustrated by the logic, Ainar instinctively thumped his chest. He couldn’t tell if this man was incredibly naive or possessed a level of confidence that bordered on the divine. While Ainar fumbled for words…

“This is precisely why you irritate me. You can’t even see a blessing when it’s dropped at your feet; you just stand there shaking.”

Ainar winced at the familiar, mocking tone. Gunstein, who had been lurking in the shadows, was leaning against a wall with a sharp scowl. Before Ainar could defend himself, a cold smirk crossed Gunstein’s face.

“This is why I could never step aside regarding the succession. I realized it would be far better for me to lead than to ever follow a man like you.”

“What are you ranting about? From the start…”

“Do you enjoy being so ‘noble’? Are you that terrified of a mark on your reputation?”

Ainar couldn’t grasp the logic. Wasn’t the pursuit of honor the core of a warrior’s existence? But Gunstein kept pressing, refusing to give Ainar an opening.

“What is it you actually want to achieve? Better yet, do you even have a goal? Do you care if you live an insignificant life and rot away, so long as your name stays ‘pure’?”

“What is the flaw in that? Is the ambition to live as a clean warrior an error?”

“It is absolutely an error!”

“What?”

Ainar was stunned by an answer that felt beyond arrogant—it felt nonsensical. Yet Gunstein leaned in with total conviction.

“Who decided what was right or wrong for us? Our ancestors! Men who aren’t living in the world we are facing now!”

“Are you suggesting the wisdom of our forefathers was flawed?”

“No! I’m saying there is no protocol for the things our ancestors never saw! You can only judge the morality of a path once you’ve walked it!”

“What in the world does that…”

“Are you simply that afraid to face a new era by following my Lord?”

“…!”

Ainar felt as though a physical blow had landed on his skull. Gunstein had stripped away the layers and found the hidden fear Ainar hadn’t even named. Seeing the shock on Ainar’s face, Gunstein scoffed.

“You’re terrified. Because you’ve spent your life as a perfect warrior. Since you’ve lived with more honor than anyone under the laws of these wastes, you’re scared to see what happens when those laws no longer apply.”

“…”

“That’s why you keep pushing away this chance. You’d rather perish as a tragic hero of the snowfields than watch your carefully built honor change shape in an unfamiliar world.”

No.

The denial died in his throat. Instead, as the silence stretched, Gunstein’s words felt more like an anchor dragging him down to the truth.

‘Is that the reality of it?’

Because he couldn’t stop his family, he had prepared to die as a sacrifice for their sins. Even after being spared, he told himself he couldn’t serve the King because he lacked the face to do so.

But was that his true motivation? Or was it all just a convenient excuse to die as an ‘honorable man,’ exactly as Gunstein charged?

“I won’t live that way. To hell with being a ‘noble warrior’; I’m going to burn the name Gunstein into the memory of this world. If I follow my Lord, I’ll have every chance to do just that.”

With that final jab, Gunstein turned and walked out of the room. It was a clear statement: he was moving into the future while Ainar remained stuck in the past.

Even after Gunstein vanished, Ainar remained motionless for a long time. Lucian waited with absolute patience. After nearly ten minutes, a heavy, somber voice broke the silence.

“I will ask only one thing of you.”

“Ask.”

“If I reject your offer and find my grave in this frost… will my name endure in your story?”

“Do you truly believe it would?”

Lucian replied instantly, his voice devoid of doubt.

“What do you think this land is to me? A sacred territory for those the Dragon chose? A vital prize I must win? It is neither. This place is just a step on a much longer journey.”

“…”

“As long as my name is remembered in history, my actions here will be recorded. But your name will not be among them. There will be perhaps one line mentioning your existence, and then it will vanish.”

The son of a chieftain who fell resisting Lucian, following his father into obscurity.

At those words, Ainar closed his eyes. He had spent his life trying to be an exemplar of honor. But the people were now following a new King out of these frozen lands. Ainar, clinging to the old ways of the snow, would be forgotten just like the abandoned landscape.

What was the point of a clean name if it was written in melting ice?

“The choice is yours.”

Lucian’s voice reached Ainar once more.

“If you despise the shame of serving the man who killed your kin, then die here today. But if you still harbor the spark of life and want your story to be told, then stand and follow me.”

“…If I follow you, can my story truly reach beyond these mountains?”

Seeing the tremor in Ainar’s voice, Lucian broke into a confident grin.

“I will turn you into a legend that the world will never be able to forget.”