Sigrid

Rumors about Beramund were widespread even in the west.

Himself, Beramund, and Casus.

He was used to people constantly debating and ranking the three of them. Of course, westerners claimed he was the best.

Compared to him, they said Beramund was weak from lack of real combat experience in the capital, just a pretty boy chasing women, while Casus was a wandering knight with many rumors but ultimately unable to settle anywhere, like a little girl.

He thought he wasn’t swayed by such talk, but perhaps he was.

Sparring with Beramund showed he was strong enough that victory couldn’t be easily predicted, and Sigrid, a woman, possessed techniques he’d never seen or heard of before.

He felt like a country bumpkin from the west.

“If my sudden words earlier surprised you, I apologize.”

Uncharacteristically, he apologized for the same matter a second time. At those words, Sigrid raised her head and shook it.

“No. But is that how proposals are made in the west?”

“Proposal? No, I just—”

Utulu suddenly stammered, making Sigrid feel even stranger.

“So you really just wanted me to bear a child?”

“Women from the capital don’t like to stay in the west.”

Utulu quickly said, as if defending himself. Sigrid lowered her hands from the fire and said,

“Then it’s not okay. I’m not a tool for bearing children, nor am I someone who would abandon a child after giving birth. I have no intention of selling a child for financial gain either.”

Sigrid’s expression hardened. Her words were right, leaving Utulu with no excuse. To be more honest, even asking her to bear a child was an impulsive statement. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t understand why such words had suddenly come out.

Had he drunk too much?

“I apologize. I absolutely didn’t mean to belittle you. Let me retract everything I said. Please forgive me.”

Utulu bowed deeply. Sigrid thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright.”

“A western man’s apology isn’t just words. Is there anything you want?”

At Utulu’s words, Sigrid blinked and then grinned.

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Duke Fienscha gazed beyond the dark city walls. Beramund exhaled a long breath. In the darkness, the white breath was blown away by the wind, disappearing behind his back.

“It’s even colder up here on the wall.”

“Beyond this lies barbarian territory.”

“With many magical beasts, I hear.”

Beramund casually responded to the Duke’s weighty words. Duke Fienscha turned around with a slight smile. Though in his mid-forties, the Duke’s graying hair was impeccably styled, and his beard perfectly groomed.

“I despise that flippant attitude of yours.”

“If that’s all you see, you’re misjudging me.”

Beramund said with a broad smile, causing Duke Fienscha to furrow his brow and say,

“That’s exactly what I mean. This is a crucial moment; shouldn’t you be tense and listening to my words?”

“Like a new recruit at the training grounds?”

Smiling as he said this, Beramund assumed a relaxed stance.

“Then speak, Your Grace.”

The smile vanished from Beramund’s face. Duke Fienscha tapped the ground with his cane and said,

“How is His Highness?”

“Well.”

“And Her Highness the Crown Princess is also well?”

“Of course.”

As he answered, not a trace of expression could be found on his face. Duke Fienscha truly thought Beramund’s eye color was strange. How could a human, not an animal, have such eyes?

“I know your brother too.”

“His Grace the Duke is also in good health.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad to hear news of the Crown Prince. After what happened last time, I was worried something might happen to the royal couple.”

“We were also concerned for Your Grace’s well-being.”

“You mean you didn’t suspect me?”

Despite the direct question, Beramund didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Isn’t it the same for Your Grace?”

“So it was a third party after all……”

Duke Fienscha muttered, lost in thought. After a moment, the Duke spoke again.

“We’re half barbarians here. The blood of nobles who came down from the capital alone isn’t enough to survive here, so we’ve built our own castles, sometimes marrying the barbarians beyond the walls, sometimes fighting them. The capital might not like that. We, too, detest those weak nobles.”

Thud—!

The Duke struck the ground hard with his cane.

“But thinking like that would make us no different from those who consider all westerners to be uncivilized barbarians.”

Beramund slightly bowed his head. He, too, was well aware of the west’s position in high society.

“Besides, it’s about time we made our way into the capital. Politics can kill more people than force.”

“It can save more too.”

At Beramund’s words, Duke Fienscha smirked.

“I’ll meet with His Highness.”

“Thank you for your gracious decision, Your Grace.”

Beramund clicked his heels together, placed his right hand on his chest, and bowed. Duke Fienscha snorted and turned his gaze, then narrowed his eyes.

“What’s going on down there?”

Beramund turned and looked down at the castle courtyard. Soldiers had gathered around several braziers, holding torches. With the courtyard now brightly lit, Beramund could quickly see what was happening.

“It seems my subordinate is about to fight.”

‘Oh dear,’ Beramund thought, leaning casually against the wall. Duke Fienscha said, exasperated,

“With Utulu?”

“Siri can be a bit competitive, you see.”

“We don’t take responsibility for injuries during sparring matches.”

“The same goes for us.”

Beramund said with a grin. Duke Fienscha sighed and said,

“Isn’t that too unfair for Lady Ankertna?”

Even from a distance, the size difference between the two was obvious. It seemed Sigrid might go flying if she tried to block Utulu’s greatsword.

“I don’t think so.”

She’s the type to charge at me with killing intent, after all.

Moreover, she would surely enjoy a fight with a highly skilled opponent. He could clearly imagine her face, unable to hide her excitement, filled with a smile in the flickering firelight.

Soon, the two bowed to each other. As they circled and clashed swords a few times, Sigrid seemed at a clear disadvantage due to her shorter reach.

Duke Fienscha felt uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to see Utulu one-sidedly overwhelming a knight from the capital, especially one who had just become a hero by defeating a magical beast. It would be awkward whether he won or lost.

“Should we stop them now?”

Beramund said, resting his chin on his hand.

“No, not yet.”

The Duke decided not to say anything more at Beramund’s muttered words, his gaze fixed downward. The next moment, the Duke involuntarily leaned forward.

“That, that—!”

The soldiers also let out short exclamations of surprise or something similar. Sigrid had suddenly closed the distance, leaping inside Utulu’s reach.

“!”

Utulu was equally surprised.

Just as it seemed she would be cut in half by the greatsword, the movement stopped. Beramund, who had been watching the sparring match blankly, suddenly shouted,

“I told you not to do that!”

Hearing the voice from far up on the city wall, Sigrid sheepishly released her grip on Utulu’s blade. Amazingly, she had stopped Utulu’s sword swinging towards her side with her bare hand and placed her own blade against his neck.

Utulu stared at his sword and the hand holding it.

‘Just now? Surely……?’

His Aura had moved. Without him willing it to. As if it had been absorbed by Sigrid…….

Sigrid lowered her sword and stepped back.

“Thank you for the good match.”

“Just now—”

Utulu wanted to confirm what had happened. The urge to grab Sigrid and demand answers, to make her spill the truth about whether she had controlled his Aura, welled up inside him.

But sword techniques are only secret until yesterday.

Utulu suppressed his curiosity and returned the greeting.

“It was a good match.”

“Sigrid Ankertna!”

Beramund shouted angrily from behind again, making Sigrid flinch and turn around. Beramund, with a completely stiff face, was striding towards them. Duke Fienscha followed leisurely behind.

“You, really—!”

Beramund didn’t know where to begin.

He was angry.

He was angry, but he couldn’t unconditionally berate Sigrid in front of all these people. Sigrid realized her mistake.

‘He said we need to get along well with the west…….’

She had defeated Utulu, who was like the west’s pride, and not even Beramund had done that. The people wouldn’t be happy about it.

‘But I couldn’t just lose either.’

She thought about why she couldn’t lose, then reflected, ‘I shouldn’t have agreed to the sparring match in the first place.’ If she could turn back time, she would.

“It’s alright, I learned something from this match too. Don’t be too angry.”

Utulu shielded Sigrid.

“Ha—”

Beramund sighed deeply and rubbed his brow. He reached out and grabbed Sigrid’s left wrist, turning it over.

“……?”

Sigrid looked quizzically at Beramund as he flipped her hand this way and that. He then dropped her hand and said,

“Well then, I’ll be retiring now, Your Grace.”

“The conversation was enjoyable.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

After exchanging farewells, Beramund withdrew, and Sigrid hastily bowed before following him. Beramund didn’t say a word until they reached their room. Given the unusual atmosphere, so unlike his usual self, and knowing her own mistake, Sigrid was dejected.

‘He said we need to bring the west to our side.’

To forget the mission.

It was truly shameful. She wanted to somehow make up for this mistake. Surely the meeting with the Duke hadn’t gone poorly because of her?

As they entered the room, Sigrid stood rigidly by the door. Beramund glanced at the roaring fireplace.

‘The treatment has changed in one night.’

From ‘Light the fire yourself’ to ‘We’ll light it for you.’ It seemed a servant who hadn’t come near the room the day before had entered and lit the fireplace.

“I’ll accept any punishment gladly.”

‘Huh?’

Beramund turned around, pausing in the middle of removing his cloak, at Sigrid’s sudden words.

“What punishment?”

“For sparring with Utulu. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have fought him.”

Seeing her bow her head deeply and list her faults, Beramund suddenly felt a wave of fatigue. He slowly removed his cloak and tossed it onto the bed. After unfastening his gauntlets, pulling them off finger by finger, and even taking off the uniform coat he wore underneath, Beramund said,

“You think I’m angry about that?”

What on earth did this woman think of him?

Beramund was exasperated.

It’s natural to want someone precious to you to be unharmed.

Sigrid, who had been silent, raised her head at those words.

Not because of that?

Then what else had she done wrong?

As Sigrid was racking her brains, Beramund approached and placed his right hand on the wall.

He spoke directly. Otherwise, she seemed unable to understand.

“Sigrid Ankertna, do you want to lose an arm?”

At those words, Sigrid’s face went “Ah!” Seeing that expression, Beramund was dumbfounded.

“That, no, I was confident I wouldn’t get hurt… So……”

Realizing it was personal concern rather than a mission-related issue, Sigrid didn’t know how to react.

“You stopped a sword with your bare hand? Hm?”

Beramund grabbed Sigrid’s left hand with his own and flipped it over. Only then did Sigrid realize that when Beramund had turned her hand over at the training ground earlier, he had been checking for injuries.

“I’m not hurt. It’s fine!”

Sigrid wiggled her fingers energetically, trying to prove her well-being. Seeing her desperate efforts, Beramund’s anger melted away.

Even if she forgot, at least she feels remorse, right?

He was relieved that Sigrid hadn’t responded with something like ‘What’s it to you?’ Beramund forgave Sigrid with a light knock on her head.

‘After all, you can’t help but be weak to someone you like.’

Seeing Sigrid rubbing her forehead, Beramund smiled mischievously and added,

“And no matter how close we’ve gotten to the west, don’t show all your cards.”

At those words, Sigrid reflected again. The truth was, she had wanted to test her new technique. And without letting Beramund or our side know about it. Now that she knew it worked on Utulu—

‘Maybe I could beat Beramund?’

Sigrid was frustrated by her low win rate against him.

“Did the talk go well?”

To Sigrid’s question, Beramund nodded. He ran his hand through his hair.

“We’ve got our foot in the door, but the rest depends on Serios. If the Duke judges him trustworthy, he’ll cooperate.”

“That’s good.”

Sigrid sighed in relief. She had worried that things might have gone wrong because of her, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. Beramund grinned and said,

“You’d better prepare yourself when we return to the capital.”

“What?”

“You’ll be surrounded by people wanting to hear about your heroic deeds.”

“Ah—”

Sigrid gave an ambiguous response, unsure whether to be happy or sad.

‘People, huh.’

How could she know what it’s like to be surrounded?

But Sigrid wouldn’t have that experience for a while.

A three-day snowstorm hit the west, isolating them within the castle walls.

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In the eastern part of the empire, a land of gentle plains and moderate forests.

Yarel was the estate of the Deforest Viscounty. The Deforest family, just over 130 years old, had lived in this cozy estate without major upheavals.

Compared to other regions, the weather in the east was mild, and even now, when the central, western, and northern regions were in chaos due to snow, the east remained quiet. Snow did fall, but it wasn’t a storm, and the gently accumulated snow was even charming.

—It’s a gentle snow.

Northerners described the eastern snow this way.

Morris closed the curtains. He loved all these scenes of his hometown.

‘But I might never see them again.’