I Have Become The Snow Maiden I Created

Translator: Marctempest

Editor/Proofreader: TempWane

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Chapter 18: The Spiral of Fate (2)

Among the renowned noble families of the Empire, the Grypheon Ducal House ranked at the top.

Its lineage was so extraordinary that even the current generation of heirs shone brightly.

Although less mentioned compared to Artan, who was hailed as a god-given talent, the genius Lady Bulizé Grypheon was a prodigy destined to leave her mark on the era.

And then there was the Swordmaster Harold Grypheon, whose already blossomed skills spread his fame far and wide.

Even within the Grypheon family, which had produced many exceptional individuals throughout its history, these two stood out as anomalies.

They were truly the pride of their bloodline and the pillars of the Empire.

Shortly after Quellière left, Bulizé murmured quietly.

“…She was incredibly beautiful.”

“Yeah, if only someone like her were my wife— Ah!”

Harold stopped mid-sentence, his face showing a flicker of embarrassment.

A sharp, piercing gaze quickly brought him back to his usual brazen attitude.

“You’ll grow up to be even more beautiful.”

“It’s already too late for that. And was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Bulizé sighed and walked between the bookshelves, steering the conversation to a different topic.

“The paper that person was holding earlier—it was a publication about the ruins. It seems really popular these days.”

“Guess it’s not for nothing that someone like him got obsessed with it.”

The mysterious structures called ruins, said to date back to ancient times, were things everyone had heard of but very few had actually seen.

That was why the sudden appearance of new ruins within the Empire’s borders had become the talk of the town.

“Thanks to that, the eunuchs must be having a hard time.”

The “someone” they referred to was Harold’s lord and a troublemaker to him, while to Bulizé, he was a childhood friend she had known since they were little.

The Crown Prince, Artan Fricas.

“Hmm, even I’ve never seen the ruins before. It sounds quite fascinating.”

Although she didn’t mention his name outright, she knew Artan was deeply engrossed in the ruins at present.

This wasn’t a passing fancy that would fade in a few days—it was a profound interest.

Harold furrowed his brows.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting interested in that too. You know as well as I do that those ruins are entirely different from what we’ve seen in the records. Don’t even think about going near them.”

“Well… I know. If I got hurt or something, it would be a huge inconvenience to a lot of people, right? I don’t plan to go. But I can’t say the same for him.”

Bulizé thought back to her younger days, when she was still too immature to understand much about the world.

She remembered the magic tutor who had taught her back then—a kind and gentle woman.

Bulizé had liked her, thinking of her as a friend. She was naïve in many ways at the time.

But after a mere scratch appeared on her hand, that woman disappeared the very next day.

“As long as you understand. That guy wouldn’t… surely he wouldn’t run off again like last time, would he?”

Unlike ordinary ruins, the newly discovered ones were dangerous even from a distance.

Natural disasters were a daily occurrence near them.

Currently, court mages and scholars were working to figure out a solution, but until then, the best course of action was to leave them alone.

However, the Crown Prince wasn’t the type to listen to such warnings.

He had already sneaked out of the palace on his own once before, driven by youthful impetuousness.

Artan hated being treated like a weakling, constantly protected and restricted by the adults around him.

He was born with immense talent, but that talent had become a double-edged sword.

While he was destined to become a wise ruler one day, for now, he was still a reckless child.

“He’ll definitely run off. Brother, you really don’t understand Artan… or, well, him.”

But Bulizé nonchalantly declared that Artan would cause another uproar.

Having watched him for so long, she could tell.

When he became that interested in something, there was no way he’d just let it go.

Harold flinched, a bit flustered.

“Is that true? Then we can’t just sit around like this—Ah! I see. So that’s what this is about.”

As he hurriedly spoke, Harold nodded as if he had just realized something.

“So that’s why you’re here at the library? To research the ruins and stop him? You’re moving one step ahead, as expected of my sister.”

“What are you talking about? Why would I stop him?”

Bulizé’s indifferent response doused Harold’s smile like cold water.

She continued flipping through the books with a nonchalant expression.

“It’s just that the ruins have been the talk of the town lately, so I came to satisfy my curiosity. Since I can’t go there myself, I might as well enjoy it this way.”

Her words were completely honest, without any embellishment.

Sensing this, Harold momentarily lost his words before speaking again, almost reproachfully.

“…At least show a little concern. He’s been your childhood friend for years, hasn’t he? Sure, nothing happened last time because he got caught quickly, but this time it could be different. If he ends up in trouble while alone, it’ll be disastrous.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

The Swordmaster’s worries were met with a sly smile from the young lady.

Harold frowned.

“What?”

“You can secretly follow him. If it looks like he’s in danger, help him out. It’s not like he’d listen even if you tried to stop him anyway.”

Bulizé didn’t dislike Artan.

She even had some affection for the boy.

However, his recent behavior had been insufferable from her perspective.

That immature attitude of his reflected her own flaws back at her, like a mirror.

And the fastest path to growth was through hardship. He needed an opportunity to reflect on himself.

Bulizé gave a bright smile.

“Actually, it’s fine if he gets hurt a little. Maybe then he’ll come to his senses.”

*

The ruins were located not far from Robrok.

I paused at a spot where I could see the capital in the distance. I thought of Artan Fricas, who would be inside that city.

“Artan the Great, the ruler of his age…”

Even a thousand years later, his name was known, rivaling the heroes of his era.

I speculated that he was likely one of the key figures in the Second Four Seasons War.

If that was true, he would be someone very close to the mainstream narrative of this world.

Thus, understanding his current state, objectives, actions, and the surrounding circumstances could greatly help me grasp the flow of this world.

Frankly, the thought intrigued me.

It might be more worthwhile to speak briefly with Artan than to spend time thoroughly combing through the library.

To be honest, I was deeply tempted.

There was always the possibility that the history of the Four Seasons War and the Second Four Seasons War that I had drained dry might differ here.

After all, while they shared the same setting, it was entirely possible for them to branch off into completely different narratives.

“That makes sense.”

In the original work, there wasn’t much detail about corruption.

All I knew was that the families were the agents of corruption.

If the Serpent God buried in Sato had existed, the likelihood of history being rewritten was close to zero.

That thing still exists in this world, brazenly so. And if I couldn’t deal with it, corruption would continue to spread endlessly.

It was unfortunate, but the city’s devastation paradoxically served as proof of the world’s safety.

Well, even if the Serpent God was dealt with, it wouldn’t make the world fall into disarray.

But expecting me to handle it was simply unreasonable.

“Even if I follow the same path as in the original work, I should still learn more.”

At this point in time, there were too many unknowns.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed investigating Artan was the fastest route.

Now then, wasn’t there a good plan?

“I can’t just barge into the imperial capital.”

He’s the crown prince, after all.

Not only was he someone you couldn’t meet easily, approaching him without permission could be considered a crime.

Visiting the imperial palace was out of the question.

I needed a way to meet him naturally and without issue.

“Hmm…”

I racked my brain.

I sifted through Artan Fricas’ history.

The countless incidents he had experienced—wasn’t there a clever way to make contact by tying it to one of those events?

With that in mind, I began tracing the events he had been through or was about to go through in chronological order.

In his childhood, one particular event came to mind immediately.

It was a significant incident, one that Artan himself later said had a profound impact on his growth as an adult.

But that event must have happened a long time ago, so there was no need to consider it…

“…Come to think of it, how old is Artan right now?”

I had naturally assumed he would be an adult since he was one of the main characters of the story.

But as soon as doubt arose, something flashed through my mind.

The imperial history book I had seen in the library.

The current year was Imperial Year 572.

When my thoughts reached that point, I froze.

Artan’s adult years… were definitely ten years later, in Imperial Year 582.

A stunned voice escaped my lips.

“…Are you telling me Artan is just a kid right now…?”

*

Sorab had to guard the patriarch as the sharpest blade.

Because of that, Sigila temporarily assumed the position of leader and commanded the assassination squad.

The assassination squad not only had excellent combat abilities but also moved at a speed entirely different from regular infantry.

They quickly reached Rivhae, the last known location of Quellière.

Sigila gazed out at the vast sea beyond. The still waters were calm.

“We’ve thoroughly searched the area, but we found no traces. No signs of anything being built, nor marks of a ship having set sail.”

“I see.”

At her subordinate’s report, Sigila narrowed her eyes.

Quellière had definitely come here.

Before parting ways with Anasha’s group, Sigila had roughly grasped her movements.

From Rivhae, she would have gone toward the empire.

Many witnesses testified that her destination was Arundel. Quellière hadn’t particularly tried to hide that fact.

It could have been a lie, but she didn’t seem like the type to do so.

“In that case…”

How had she traveled?

There was indeed a route from here to the empire.

However, the terrain was rough, requiring a roundabout and troublesome journey. In that case, it would have been better to follow Anasha Sheryl.

There was no reason for her to endure such inconvenience.

So, was there an even simpler route? Sigila, to her knowledge, didn’t know of any such passage.

If she had to guess… it would be by crossing the sea.

“Crossing the sea…”

It was a notion that would make anyone question their hearing.

There were no docks near the undeveloped Rivhae area.

Nothing had been set up for human passage.

Humans couldn’t cross the sea with their bare bodies. Even a naïve child knew that.

But, was Quellière even human?

What Sigila had seen that day sent shivers down her spine, even as someone who had fought countless battles in the shadows.

It was a spectacle reminiscent of a legendary Archmage.

Could a human being wield such power as to stir nature and summon winter?

“She must have passed through here using the most efficient method possible. That’s the only conclusion.”

It wouldn’t do to make hasty assumptions.

Quellière had passed through this waterway. That was the belief Sigila needed to pursue her.

Sigila led the assassination squad on a march through the rough terrain instead of the sea. She judged that Quellière had chosen the shortest route rather than following Anasha.

That meant they had to chase right after her trail.

To the place one would reach by swiftly crossing Rivhae.

The path led to the capital city of Roblock.