I Have Become The Snow Maiden I Created

Translator: Marctempest

Editor/Proofreader: TempWane

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Chapter 24: The False God

“Follow them secretly, and help if it looks dangerous. There’s no point trying to stop them—they won’t listen anyway.”

I heard Bulizé’s words, but the imperial palace’s defenses had grown even stricter, and the distance to the ruins was significant.

It wasn’t like sneaking out of the palace had been easy before, so I let my guard down.

Upon hearing of Artan’s absence, Harold immediately sprang into action.

Unlike the disoriented royal guards, he knew the crown prince’s location.

Dense magic coiled around his legs, and a spell activated his steps.

When Harold finally arrived at the destination, he was struck by dismay.

A shattered carriage—a clear sign of an incident.

If anything had happened to the crown prince, it would be catastrophic.

Burdened by belated regret, he followed the traces downward.

Then he stopped.

Though injured, Artan was safe.

He didn’t appear to be in any life-threatening danger.

In front of the crown prince stood a woman—a face Harold recognized.

Harold blinked.

“Why is she…?”

He wasn’t acquainted with her.

Their only encounter had been at the central library.

Still, her unforgettable face made him certain of his memory.

But why was she with Artan?

Harold remained cautious, wondering if she might harm the prince.

Yet, the woman aided him instead.

Using mysterious magic, she transported the prince to the carriage.

It was a spell he’d never seen or heard of before.

“To transform a body… What kind of magic is this?”

For now, comparing Quellière’s abilities to humans was an error.

Harold, unaware of this, was astonished.

In all his years of conflict, he had never encountered such magic.

Seeing her help Artan suggested she might be an ally.

While maintaining a faint sense of caution, Harold listened as she spoke softly, almost like a reprimand.

Harold’s eyes widened.

Each of her words was concise and to the point.

Even Artan appeared stunned, standing there with his mouth agape.

Was this truly the same boy who used to dismiss every piece of advice with stubborn defiance?

Perhaps this reckless youth might change.

But just as that hope surfaced, darkness loomed.

“Those bastards…!”

A group clad in black robes appeared.

Harold, as the Sword Master, identified their nature immediately.

He had seen such beings countless times while serving as the empire’s sword.

Assassins—shadows from the underworld.

His hand reached for the sword at his waist.

The crown prince was in danger.

Whoever had hired them could be dealt with later.

But the situation took a strange turn.

“Were they after her, not Artan…?”

It seemed so.

Surprisingly, the assassins showed no interest in Artan.

The crown prince of the empire being ignored by assassins—what a bizarre sight.

Harold became deeply curious about the woman’s identity.

Despite their numerical advantage, the assassins appeared tense.

Judging by their demeanor, they were skilled combatants.

This was especially true of the woman who seemed to be their leader.

While they might not pose a threat to someone like Harold, an exceptional Sword Master, ordinary warriors would soon find themselves “hunted.”

Harold prepared for battle.

If the woman were captured, her fate wouldn’t end pleasantly.

The woman’s choice would come down to either fight or flee.

Either option would leave the abandoned crown prince at risk.

However, Quellière made an unexpected decision—one no one in the room could have foreseen.

“Let the boy go.”

She chose to protect a boy she barely knew, sacrificing herself.

Harold froze, his hand still resting on his sword hilt.

He had thought she was merely a cold-hearted woman.

Judging by the mysterious techniques she used earlier, she seemed skilled, but her core nature appeared unchanged.

Thus, her actions were incomprehensible.

Fight or flee.

Even if the assassins were after Quellière, the choices were clear.

There was no reason for her to help an unfamiliar boy.

Yet by sacrificing herself, she revealed a glimpse of her true nature.

If she was that strong, she could have chosen to fight immediately without issue.

But doing so would have surely made Artan a target.

Moreover, the assassins specialized in speed and killing.

So, her decision to follow them seemed driven by Artan’s safety.

There couldn’t be any other reason.

“…How surprising.”

She wasn’t just any woman.

She carried the sword of unyielding conviction in her frail body—a warrior.

In Harold’s eyes, she seemed nobler than any noblewoman.

Even so…

“Aaaaagh!”

As Quellière left, Artan let out a scream.

He pounded the ground, crying out in despair.

Surely, this wasn’t the reaction she had wanted.

Clicking his tongue, Harold approached him.

“You’ve truly learned nothing.”

Startled, the crown prince turned around, meeting Harold’s gaze directly.

Rarely did Harold feel such burning anger.

Was the expression Artan wore, as if enlightened by the woman’s words, merely an act?

“Sir Harold…?”

“Do you think this is what she wanted you to do?”

Ignoring his question, Harold continued.

“She hoped for you to become a flower—a noble one that rises above weeds, capable of thriving without the shelter of a greenhouse.”

“…”

Artan’s pupils trembled.

“But look at yourself now. Anyone can see you’re just a weed stuck in the mud.”

Despite Harold’s harsh words, the crown prince wore a dazed expression.

Ordinarily, he would have lashed out angrily.

Instead, Artan snapped back to his senses and made a plea.

“Sir Harold! Help her—help Quellière! It’s not too late!”

“You still don’t understand your position.”

His request, filled with desperation, was coldly rejected.

“I, too, respect and want to aid her more than I do you, but I cannot. You are the crown prince and the future leader of this empire, destined to become the father of its people.”

Harold Grypheon, the noble Sword of the Imperial Family, uttered these words, blending respect with rudeness, as though devoid of fear.

“Even heroes who dedicate their lives to relentless training humbly accept the Sword Master’s blade. You, on the other hand, were born holding it.”

It was the weight of a status Artan had never fully grasped.

The heavy tone of Harold’s voice bore down on him.

“Do you understand? The uncertain danger of a pitiful boy like you is a far greater concern than the certain peril of a woman whose name you don’t even know.”

The identity of the enemy was unknown.

Neither their scale nor the possibility of ambushes could be ascertained, and the lurking forces behind them were shrouded in mystery.

Even for the Swordmaster, protecting the Crown Prince without any information was a daunting task.

“That kind of…”

Artan bowed his head, his eyes filled with dismay.

“If she were to see His Highness now, she would regret it as well.”

The boy flinched at those words.

Gritting his teeth, his tightly clenched fists trembled.

As frustrating as it was, the words rang true.

Her advice, though cold, had always been sincere.

Her statements, though harsh, were meant to guide him to become a more steadfast person.

And yet, what of his current self?

Wasn’t his appearance the complete opposite of her intentions?

He couldn’t remain sitting idly like this.

He had to change.

No, he wanted to change.

He had to become a man she would not regret.

“…I will break free from being a greenhouse flower.”

It wouldn’t happen immediately.

The path ahead would be arduous, but he believed it wasn’t too late yet.

After all, he was still young.

What about her?

She wouldn’t die.

She wasn’t the kind of person to be undone by such a trivial crisis.

If they were both alive, a day would come when they’d meet again.

A small yet intense spark ignited within him.

It was the moment that accelerated the growth of Artan Fricas, who would later become a great ruler remembered in history.

*

It felt like just yesterday that I had arrived at the Empire.

Now, I was returning to that cursed city once more.

I thought I would never be entangled with it again, but life is full of unexpected twists.

True to their profession as assassins, their march was much faster than before.

As someone being dragged along, I couldn’t exactly ask them to slow down, so I trudged along as best as I could.

Surprisingly, they didn’t treat me harshly.

In fact, they seemed worried about even the slightest injury I might sustain.

Perhaps the Patriarch had ordered them to bring me back unharmed…

“Which one could it be…”

The fat one? Or the skinny one?

Both were equally repulsive.

As we crossed a hill, Sigila spoke to me.

“The Patriarch is in a difficult situation.”

Her expression was endlessly serious.

“We need your help.”

It was absurd.

I already had a good grasp of the Patriarch’s intentions.

There was no reason for him to genuinely seek my help.

And a difficult situation?

What could possibly trouble a man who exploited citizens for his own gain?

Perhaps he was afraid of assassination attempts.

Or maybe he mistook my skills for something greater after seeing me deal with the Serpent God’s followers and wanted to recruit me.

When I thought about it, that possibility seemed plausible.

Still, I had undeniably killed his followers, so refusing would likely make this a dangerous and coercive proposal.

Either way, the reasoning was despicable.

“Disgusting.”

Though my words were dangerous, I didn’t hold back this time.

My yearning for freedom flared up.

“Why work under someone so base?”

Assassins were highly sensitive to movement and kept their sleep schedules remarkably short.

The odds of escape were slim, and my accumulated frustrations erupted.

Sigila furrowed her brows but didn’t get angry.

Still, the previously calm atmosphere was disrupted.

“The previous Patriarch, our current Patriarch’s father, took me in when I was an orphan wandering the streets.”

“Repaying a debt?”

“Yes. From that day on, I decided to bet my life on the family.”

It was a pathetic reason.

Repaying a childhood debt by carrying out such dirty work without hesitation.

People like this were impossible to persuade.

They hadn’t even formed a proper moral compass to begin with.

Feeling it wasn’t worth continuing the conversation, I fell silent.

After a while, Sigila spoke again.

“The Patriarch has potential, but they are still immature.”

I clicked my tongue inwardly.

Whether it was the fat one or the skinny one, both were wrinkled old men.

If they were still immature at that age, what hope was there?

“They have been fighting against the pervasive unrest surrounding them since childhood.

They hasn’t given up, no matter how difficult it’s been.

No matter how painful it was, they believed in tomorrow.”

······Wasn’t she over-glorifying him because he saved her as an orphan?

There’s a limit to how much you can embellish the truth.

Pervasive unrest? That’s likely the voices of the people trying to oust a corrupt ruler.

Annoyed, I mocked her as harshly as I could.

“Even if tomorrow comes, the miserable reality won’t change.”

Fundamental change required transforming oneself.

Living so despicably, it was only natural to face backlash.

Sigila’s eyes widened as if startled by my words.

After a rare moment of surprise, she nodded as though realizing something.

“Ah… You’re right. Nothing has changed.”

Immediately after, her sharp gaze turned to me.

Her expression was more serious than ever.

“Do you understand, Quellière? That’s why you appeared at such a time.”

*

Though I seized every opportunity to find an opening, there was no chance of escape.

Night seemed like the only viable option, but their vigilance during watch was flawless, and they never let go of their weapons.

It was incomprehensible how such people could exist.

Even if I managed to escape, a single signal from them would bring everyone running.

Their preparation was that thorough.

Under the pressure of needing to escape and the growing anxiety as we neared the city, the inevitable day finally came.

“We’re here.”

Before me stood the familiar gates of Yulistia.

The place I had reached previously by following Petras, the researcher.

At that time, I had escaped well…

But this time, it was different.