Chapter 87

Russel Nabilov was a born warrior.

When he held a sword at the age of two, everyone around him was amazed,

And by the time he was seven, he had already become a well-known prodigy in the area.

But at some point, he grew tired of mechanically practicing swordsmanship.

What is a sword?

Does a sword have no purpose other than personal achievement?

Surely one wouldn't swing a wooden sword for thirteen hours a day just to catch foxes or deer.

Then what is a sword for?

He sought answers for himself by deliberately seeking out a remote provincial area and joining the Holy Knight Order.

While training there, Russel realized that the significance of the sword lies with people.

It is humans who wield it.

And it is humans who are saved by it.

Like a sheepdog protecting helpless flocks from threats coming from all directions,

He was simply wielding his sword to protect ordinary and weak people.

A sword can be someone's salvation.

Having readily arrived at this exceedingly ordinary and good answer, Russel had lived accordingly all this time.

This moment was no different.

Russel closed his eyes as he faced the approaching demonic beasts.

"The Lord said, 'I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy.

Behind him were the weak ones.

Pitiful and lovable humans who would break if just a little force were applied.

Russel's hand gripped the hilt firmly.

"Nothing will harm you.' He said."

The Yeti charged like beasts.

As one leaped high despite not being slowed by the snow field, Russel kicked its exposed belly.

As one that had been thrown far away was replaced by another emerging from the fog with yellowed teeth bared, he swung his massive claymore like a club, cutting off its head and then driving the blade straight down.

The sensation of crushing bones and the death cries of dying beasts soiled the white snow plain.

Thrusting, slashing, slicing.

With each spray of blood, an inexplicable excitement boiled within him.

Though clearly outnumbered, Russel was not intimidated at all.

The fur was tough but no match for the sharp demonic beast weapon.

Moreover, Duke Arenheit had given him a tip before he had disembarked from the sled.

-They are smaller and weaker specimens than Vormi. They're only strong against the cold; their intelligence is low. Though their skin is thick, your newly received sword should handle it without difficulty.

How did His Grace know such things?

Russel took a step back to avoid the swinging forearms before parrying the claws.

A sharp, metallic sound rang out as the claws slid off the blade.

Then, from behind, Max's urgent voice saying "oh no" was heard.

Russel smiled a little.

Protecting weak people seemed to suit his temperament very well indeed.

* * *

Russel's battle was large and flashy, as if he was purposely showing off.

Of course, using a massive claymore naturally made his movements larger.

The flowing cloak against the background of hazy fog on the snow plain, the golden hair substituting for the sun, the gleaming sword, the brave appearance that didn't retreat an inch even when facing terrifying demonic beasts.

It was certainly enough to leave a deep impression on a child.

The Yeti corpses scattered around were no longer moving.

Russel stood in place for a moment to catch his breath, then swung his sword once to shake off the blood.

The claymore seemed to spit out the dirty blood by itself, quickly becoming clean again.

Russel returned to the sled and reported.

"Combat terminated. It seems we can advance further for the time being."

"Good work."

"Sir knight, you were truly amazing! How can you wield such a large sword as lightly as if it were a tree branch?"

"For some reason, my physical condition is better than usual."

Russel climbed onto the sled with a slight smile.

The sled began to move slowly forward again.

Max was excited and asked Russel various questions, which Russel kindly answered.

While watching them, he suddenly noticed that Jonas, who was in his arms, was turning his head away.

Since Russel had finished the battle, the boy had been looking intimidated and uncomfortable.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

"What's the matter?"

At the question about pain, both Russel and Max turned their heads toward them.

Jonas, who flinched upon seeing Russel, soon shook his head.

"Ah, perhaps you're sleepy? Then you can lean on me for a while. It's warmer here, right?"

His cloak certainly looked much thicker and warmer than what Max was wearing.

Jonas raised his head as if that wasn't it, looked at his father who was by Russel's side, and then just leaned against him and closed his eyes.

Somehow, he seemed to dislike going to that side.

No, that couldn't be it.

He dismissed the thought and looked outside the moving sled.

Throughout their journey upward, toward the direction where the "giant" they had first seen had gone, minor confrontations kept occurring.

The fortunate thing amidst the misfortune was that many of the monsters in the new area were similar to those they had seen below.

But occasionally, they weren't.

"Ah. Damn. What are those things doing?"

Painful screams came clearly through the cutting wind.

They were half-floating and half-standing on the ground.

Around them, air or snow was freezing and falling to the ground.

Their transparent bodies were constantly changing shape as they rippled, but there was no sense that they formed a single entity.

They were like ghosts made of snow and wind.

These beings, which seemed impossible to cut, approached the snow sled with eerie and chilling screams.

Even Sleigh reared up and struck them with his hooves, but the ghosts merely scattered momentarily before reforming.

"What is this? These things, get away!"

Max's axe and Russel's giant sword had the same effect.

As the ghosts, which merely passed through all weapons, approached the sled, his teeth began to chatter involuntarily.

A cold chill began to seep into his entire body.

The ghosts merely circled around the sled, but gradually his hands and feet began to freeze, and he lost sensation.

It was cold enough to finally understand what it meant to be chilled to the bone.

Jonas was also trembling and helplessly burrowing into his embrace.

"D-do something about these things! What are they? Nothing works on them!"

Max shouted.

His frozen fingers curled up, and his axe clattered loudly onto the sled floor.

The cold was so intense that even his brain felt frozen.

Think, please think!

"F-fire! L-light a f-fire! They're m-made of snow and v-vapor!"

Russel took out a portable flint with trembling hands.

But the stone kept slipping due to his numbed hands.

After failing to pick it up several times, Russel was now reciting prayers for the dead.

You madman!

"Run, Sleigh! Just run!"

-Neigh!

The sled bolted forward.

The frost attached to Sleigh's frozen black hooves broke and fell off.

Like running on the mud of the east, Sleigh flew like a bird even on the frozen snow plain.

The ghost crowd seemed to follow at first but gradually became blurry or blown away by the wind created by the sled.

"Fire! Fire!"

The hastily prepared torch was finally lit.

Though pitifully small compared to the weather, it was enough to swing at the ghosts that had been pursuing them.

The ghosts spat out resentful screams but could no longer follow the sled.

The moment they confirmed this, everyone's legs gave out, and they slumped down.

"W-what were those things? Does Your Grace happen to know?"

"They're different from the ones that appeared below. I don't know exactly either. But typically, creatures living in such places dislike fire."

"To think they wouldn't die even when cut. I don't want to encounter them again."

His thoughts exactly.

As everyone was sighing from exhaustion, Jonas, who was in his arms, sniffled.

"Jonas? What's wrong?"

Jonas's body trembled.

When he parted the blanket that was wrapped around the child, Jonas's reddened skin, curled up, was revealed.

The left half of his small face, his ear, and the left side of his neck were all turned red and were gradually swelling.

These were parts not covered by anything except the blanket, not by a hat or clothes.

Small blisters were beginning to form along the earlobe.

Russel was startled when he saw Jonas's condition.

"Your Grace, this is frostbite. If not treated immediately, the skin might necrotize."

"Is the situation that serious?"

"It doesn't usually occur unless exposed to fairly strong cold for a long time. It seems to be due to the ghosts we just encountered."

It had indeed become extremely cold when the ghosts came near.

It had felt like all the clothes they were wearing became completely useless.

Was this the ability of those ghosts?

"That could be the case. Will it get better if exposed to fire?"

"Rather than fire, the skin should be moistened with warm water, but that's just emergency treatment. We need to find a physician quickly."

He had forgotten the fact that without a healer in the party, they would quickly be annihilated.

As he handed Jonas over to Max, he said.

"Let's go a little further, then disembark and take a rest. We can't boil water on the sled. Cover the child well."

Max hurriedly took Jonas into his arms.

It was pitiful to see him unable to touch the swelling skin, instead tucking the child under his cloak and blanket.

After rushing through the wind for a while, they descended to a bumpy valley.

They were able to dig a small cave beside a snow hill that blocked the wind, set up a temporary camp, and light a fire.

With ice blocks scattered everywhere, boiling water wasn't a difficult task.

While Max was washing Jonas's frostbite with water, they prepared dinner.

After that, they decided to take turns standing watch and rest in shifts.

The people who had gathered closely around the fire were either dozing off or staring at the flames.

Russel spoke quietly.

"Your Grace, you should rest a bit. You look very tired."

"I always look like this. How far have we come?"

"From what I saw of Jonas's last record, it seems we've come northwest from the Margrave's castle. We're still far from the border."

"I see."

"Are you thinking of sending this father and son back?"

"...Wouldn't that be the right choice?"

After hesitating for a moment, Russel answered.

"Ask for their opinion. Since they were the ones who decided to follow, going back should also be their choice."

"Anyone would want to go back after seeing their child like this."

"I'm not so sure. I understand the heart of parents who think they must protect their children because they're weaker. But at the same time, trying to survive together is not an easy thing either."

Despite his age, Jonas was a proper member of the mercenary band.

He was a mercenary who could pull his own weight alongside his father.

So, as Russel had subtly implied, he also knew that it couldn't be helped if a mercenary got injured while carrying out a commission.

But.

"Still, I think children should be happier."

Jonas was different from him.

At least this child had chosen to wander the world with his father of his own will.

But could that choice truly be considered his own?

Wasn't it an inevitable choice made between a father who seemed like he might leave behind his dead mother and himself, and villagers and peer children who mocked him for not being able to speak?

If so, whose fault was this frostbite?

Russel silently poked at the bonfire.

The pot beside the bonfire was failing to melt the snow properly, so as he stood up to move the pot's position, it happened.

From somewhere, the sound of wind and death was heard.

A desolate, cold, storm-like noise.

A being with ominous star-like eyes shining in the high gray sky was coming, riding the wind.