Chapter 140

Chapter 140
## Chapter 140

“Anyone with a grain of intelligence understands that these frost-covered plains offer no future.”

Several days prior, Einar had laid out the reasons why the leaders of the various tribes had no choice but to yield to Lucian.

“The number of our people drops with every passing season. As the heads of their clans, the chiefs are surely haunted by this reality.”

It was a grim certainty they seldom voiced, yet every group was marching toward a slow death in this icy grave. Even with their fiercest struggle for survival, the prevailing belief among the fighters was that their lineage wouldn’t endure another two centuries.

But in the midst of such despair, what if Lucian declared he possessed the power to quell the storms and guide the tribes to a sanctuary?

“They will lose all composure and scramble to pledge their swords to you. Their singular focus will be fleeing these snowfields by any means necessary. The true difficulty lies in how those chiefs are handled once the vows are spoken.”

Most likely, the leaders would seek to offer mere lip service, hoping to retain their personal power and the independence of their kin.

However, Lucian’s objective was to strip the chiefs of their status and govern the five tribes as a unified nation under his sole command. Unless he chose to execute them all—as he had done with Ivar—a massive internal revolt was certain.

“Fortunately, the vantage point is entirely yours, my Lord. They likely assume that once they cross the frozen border, they can ignore your commands, but…”

“They cannot hope to build a life beyond the frost without my intervention. That is a reality they have yet to grasp.”

The denizens of the snowfields were undeniably formidable. Even a commoner possessed the vigor of a trained knight, and their elite combatants could crush a knight through raw physical dominance.

Yet, that individual prowess would be dwarfed by the sheer scale of the Empire’s civilization. If Lucian did not provide a framework for their integration, they would be labeled as marauders, living off theft until the Empire’s forces eventually wiped them out.

“Indeed. Everyone born to these snows, myself included, is ignorant of the world that lies beyond. I suspect the traditions of the tundra will carry little weight there.”

“To be blunt, they will be practically worthless. The climate, the wealth, and the very statutes of society are fundamentally different.”

“And the master of that realm is Your Highness,” Hugo added, entering the debate.

Hugo exhaled a weary breath and complained, “Truthfully, Your Highness holds enough power to simply command those five to bow and be done with it. Catering to these small-minded fools is becoming quite tedious.”

The other followers nodded in agreement, sharing Hugo’s irritation.

Lucian was the Duke Grimaldi, the warden of Asagrim, and the sovereign of the White Palace, endowed with a Mage’s Immunity. Without Lucian’s personal guarantee, the five tribes would be hunted as public enemies of the North the moment they exited the frost.

It was frustrating to have to coddle such arrogant men who viewed the world through a narrow lens, unaware of their own peril.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to let them leave, let them cause a bit of chaos, and then let reality strike them down? When they finally understand their helplessness, they’ll come crawling back on their knees for mercy. Then we can—”

“Stop. Do you truly wish to see blood spilled between the children of the snows and the people of the south?”

Einar scowled at Hugo’s suggestion. Despite his oath to Lucian, he remained a man of the snowfields at heart. He could not stomach a plan that not only mocked his kin but actively sought their ruin.

“The children of the snowfields wish to serve our Lord as honorable subjects, not as bondservants. Do not speak so flippantly just because we were born under different skies.”

“I only spoke out of sheer annoyance, I assure you.”

Faced with Einar’s sharp rebuke, Hugo offered a thin smile and retreated. Even he sensed his “joke” had crossed a line.

As the tension thickened, Lucian tapped his fingers against the floor to regain their attention.

“Regardless, the chiefs cannot oppose me, whether they remain here or move beyond the frost. Even if they haven’t come to that realization yet.”

“Exactly. Therefore, my Lord, you only need to guide them toward that epiphany themselves.”

Time was a luxury Lucian possessed, so the long-term consequences weren’t an immediate worry. It was more vital to employ any tactic—even harsh ones—to establish absolute authority. As they eventually understood the nature of their new world, they would submit willingly.

As it happened, Lucian held a tool to break the chiefs’ spirits immediately, if only temporarily.

“Subdue them with terrifying power. Every man trembles when faced with the cold shadow of death.”

—

Lucian recalled Einar’s counsel and allowed a faint smirk to touch his lips. For a man like Lucian, who despised unnecessary complications, it was the ideal strategy.

*And it is quite efficient.*

As Lucian’s eyes moved across the assembled leaders, they all recoiled instinctively. Their previous fury had evaporated; they resembled prey frozen under the stare of a predator.

Lucian spoke a single, clipped command to the chiefs, who sat in stunned silence.

“Sit.”

“…”

Though the order was blunt, the chiefs winced and scrambled to take their places. They had come to the terrifying realization that Lucian could end every life in the room in a heartbeat if he so chose.

Once they were settled, Lucian turned his attention to Broindolf, the man who had been the most vocal earlier.

“You. Begin.”

“Wh-what should I say?”

“I gave an order for each of you to step forward and identify yourselves. Tell me exactly who you are.”

“…I am Broindolf, the leader of the Red Wolf Tribe.”

“Is that the extent of it?”

“What more is there to tell?”

Broindolf spoke through clenched teeth, his complexion ashen. It was a hollow display of defiance, a desperate attempt to cling to his pride even as death loomed nearby.

Lucian let out a short, derisive chuckle, finding the man’s stubbornness almost amusing.

“I suppose so. And the rest of you?”

“I-I am Otar, Chief of the Black Hawk Tribe.”

“I am Keyal, Chief of the White Bear Tribe.”

As Lucian’s gaze landed on each man, they stammered through their introductions. Once the five had finished, Lucian gave a sharp nod.

“Excellent. Now that we know each other, let’s be direct. You will either pledge your eternal loyalty to me and follow me out of these wastes, or you can stay here and perish. The choice is yours.”

“Hold on…!”

“There will be no bargaining. Do you honestly believe you are in a position to demand terms?”

The faces of the chiefs paled as the cold truth hit them. He held the key to their survival and possessed strength beyond their comprehension. He wanted for nothing and feared no one; he had no reason to negotiate.

Otar, seeing that their leverage had vanished, spoke with a somber tone.

“Very well. We shall give you our oaths. We arrived with that intent in our hearts. However, I have one inquiry.”

“Ask it.”

“Where do you plan to take us? What fate awaits our people once we leave these lands?”

“What fate? I am moving everyone to my own lands. You will live as neighbors to my current people.”

“Your lands? Your people?”

“It means…”

Lucian dispassionately detailed the social structure to Otar, who seemed lost among the foreign terminology. As the explanation unfolded, the spark of hope in Otar’s eyes faded into a dark, empty stare.

When Lucian finished, Otar asked in a shaking voice.

“W-wait. If what you say is true, does that mean you already rule over territory and a population beyond the snow?”

“I do.”

“And you intend to force our tribes to mingle with them?”

“That is precisely what I said.”

“…Then what happens to us? To the chiefs?”

The title of ‘Chief’ was only relevant as long as the tribes remained separate and isolated. If the clans were dissolved and woven into a single fabric as Lucian intended, their roles would vanish. Lucian would govern everyone as a single ruler, needing no sub-leaders.

“Surely you don’t intend to strip us of our rank and turn us into common soldiers.”

“Why the surprise? That is exactly my intent.”

“You have lost your mind…!”

Otar barely managed to choke back the insult. The display of power Lucian had shown was too fresh for him to act on his anger. However, the loss of their heritage was too massive to accept without a fight.

“Are you serious? Who would ever swear an oath under such an insult?”

“Is clinging to the title of ‘Chief’ in this dying wasteland more precious than reaching a land where your people can live?”

“It may seem like a small thing to you, but this rank has been handed down through our bloodline from the first ancestors.”

Though they didn’t voice it, the goals of the leaders and the led were at odds. For the common tribesman, the identity of the chief mattered little compared to reaching a land of plenty.

However, some of the leaders would prefer to rot in the ice rather than lose their status. Especially since the tribes could likely limp along until the current chiefs passed away from old age.

“Even when cornering a predator, one must leave a path of escape. If you close every door, even a beast will fight to the last breath.”

“Then I shall simply seal the exit and call for my legions.”

“What does that mean?”

“Did you miss my point? I have a territory and subjects. Which means I also command an army.”

“…!”

The leaders went rigid at the mention of military force. They had overlooked a crucial fact: if the storms vanished and allowed them to leave, it also allowed the southern armies to enter.

“If you truly refuse to serve me, then go. I will not strike you down today. But do not expect this fragile peace to last forever.”

He had no intention of allowing those who rejected his rule to remain as hostile neighbors indefinitely.

The chiefs realized they had been backed into a corner and closed their eyes in defeat.

—

“To surrender the legacy our fathers protected for centuries to a stranger.”

“Curse it all, how can we face our ancestors in the afterlife when we have given away our birthright?”

The five leaders walked out of Lucian’s chambers with hollow expressions after finalizing their vows. Though it was their only choice, they had effectively lost their power and their identity in a single hour. Even knowing they might be overheard, they couldn’t stop the flow of bitter words.

“Everyone, get a hold of yourselves. There is still a path to reclaiming our influence.”

“What are you talking about?”

The complaining men turned toward Skal, the leader of the Grey Marten Tribe. Skal scanned his peers with eyes that still burned with ambition.

“He may own the tribes now, but he has no knowledge of our people’s specific skills. As you know, surviving involves more than just swinging an axe, doesn’t it?”

“True. We need builders, and those who know the secrets of the earth.”

“In the end, if he wants to use our people effectively, he will have to rely on us—the ones who know them best. We may lose the name ‘Chief,’ but we can secure new positions of power in his administration.”

Hope flickered back into their eyes as they grasped Skal’s logic. Real power came from management and influence, not just a title. If they were the ones running the day-to-day lives of their former tribes, their authority would remain largely intact.

“So let us be patient. The world isn’t governed by strength alone; a time will come when he realizes he cannot rule without our expertise.”

“I see.”

Just as the leaders began to feel comforted by Skal’s optimistic outlook…

Otar, who had remained silent, let out a dry, mocking laugh and whispered a freezing truth.

“You’re living in a fantasy.”