Chapter 90: Chapter 90

At last, Oscar, having crossed the mountain range, arrived in Northland.

He gazed out toward the distant Gigantes Mountains rising over the horizon, a strange sense of emotion washing over him.

With his eyes fixed on the mountains, he called for his adjutant.

"Nineteen, sir. Of those, five are gravely sick with fever."

"Abandon the stragglers."

The imperial guard had set out from the capital, Gerinhild, with fifty men to pursue the crown prince's assassin.

Yet Oscar felt little about it.

'After Iravan, I lost Bulka as well.'

A comrade-in-arms among his own race and two eyes with irises of different colors—signs of Mukesh's mark, which Dakir's stain had failed to consume and left behind.

Oscar brushed his right hair, slicked back behind his ear, as if smoothing memories away. His violet eyes sank coldly. Read complete versıon only at novel·fire.net

"Ran, Ran, Ran. You son of a bitch, Ran. How should I kill you to finally calm myself?"

He muttered almost in a tune. His adjutant, beside him, cautiously interjected.

"General, your orders?"

Oscar pointed at the snowy mountain. It was impossible to tell whether the white mist that wrapped the peaks was cloud or falling snow.

The adjutant swallowed hard.

'One mountain after another...'

It was awful. The pride of the imperial guard, the Emperor's command—they simply wanted to run away.

"General, the men are exhausted. To cross a snowy mountain in this state—?"

The adjutant's body shivered. Oscar placed an arm around his shoulder.

Oscar's profile was sharply before him. His straight nose over white skin seemed sharp enough to cut, and the eyelashes of his subtly double-lidded eyes were long and thick.

'W-what are you thinking?! Snap out of it, you idiot!'

Oscar smirked seeing his sweating adjutant, then slapped his cheek. A red handprint was left behind.

"Listen well. In the Empire, once a warrant goes out your face is everywhere and the Special Unit ferrets you out like rats, but not here. Here, it's nothing but beasts and beast-like men on all sides."

The rest of the Special Unit members formed up behind the two.

Oscar straightened and faced them. The adjutant awkwardly joined the line as well.

"How do you expect to find him in these vast lands? There's only one answer. Ortega. It's a place we must conquer to bring Northland under the Empire's rule. We seize it, settle in, and search for him."

Suddenly, a cold wind blew. It swept Oscar's hair, which was long only on the left side.

His green eyes shone coolly between flying strands of hair.

"But right now, we can't subdue Ortega by force. Because you fools keep dropping dead and now we lack numbers. Even against barbarians, if you're outnumbered, there's no answer."

"Th-then what do we do?"

"Ortega opens its gates and gives a warm welcome to any guest who brings the head of a Gigantes yeti."

Oscar turned his back. His white cloak fluttered with his movement.

"A truly primitive tradition."

A blizzard raged in all directions.

Oscar and his guard climbed in single file along the mountain ridges. The fierce snow made their bodies sway. Even their thick thermal gear was useless before the slicing winds of the Gigantes.

A groan from the rear was quickly lost to the wind. Frosted eyelashes drooped. The sound of the wind pierced their ears and pushed deep into their heads.

"This is madness...?"

In the end, even his last moment was soundlessly buried.

'We're almost there.'

Oscar's eyes opened wide. He was in the lead.

Once they crested the hill, a vast snowy plain stretched out. The white land extended endlessly.

Beyond the pure white horizon, a yeti appeared.

It looked more like a massive ape than a man. Each movement of its hulking body sent tremors through the earth.

"Haha, still ugly as ever."

Oscar breathed out white fog, laughing. He alone approached the yeti, his feet sinking deep in the snow.

He drew his sword from his waist. The thin blade caught sunlight even in the blizzard and gleamed dazzlingly.

Drool dripped from the yeti's mouth. Its blood-red eyes fixed hungrily on Oscar.

Oscar halted at a safe distance. Facing the yeti side-on, he adjusted the gap between his feet and lifted his chin.

He said it in a whisper.

The yeti charged, as if it had been waiting for this.

Its ferocious, four-legged rush shook even the ground beneath the distant guards. Some fell, others barely kept their balance.

Oscar stood unmoving. Only the tip of his cloak fluttered.

Suddenly, the wind howled even more violently.

Bursts of gleaming light appeared and vanished in irregular lines. Amid the snowstorm, the radiance was vivid.

The swirling snow gathered around Oscar, then scattered again.

The howl of the wind quickly faded. Compared to a moment ago, it was almost peaceful.

Someone among the guards muttered. Though they had suffered much of late, these were men who had walked the path of the sword for over half their lives. They all knew exactly what had happened.

Oscar and the yeti both stood frozen, as if time itself had stopped.

Oscar held his sword horizontally, after having just let it dangle down.

Nothing else changed: his upright stance, billowing cloak, even his hair's movement.

A droplet of blood fell from his blade. In the gray-white blizzard, the blood was a bewitching crimson.

Oscar sheathed his blood-stained sword. In that instant, the yeti's body fell to pieces and crumbled. Even at the cleanly cut surface, not a drop of blood flowed.

Imperial swordsmanship had many schools. Oscar stubbornly used quick sword only because he thought it elegant and beautiful.

Oscar and his guard descended two days later.

Only ten, including Oscar, had survived.

"Heh, so this was a way to sort the wheat from the chaff. You really are worthy to be called elite."

Oscar twisted his mouth. He exuded composure. His skin, already white, now seemed to glow as if bathed in the mountain's light.

Someone replied first, and the rest echoed.

In contrast to Oscar, their faces were shadowed, their voices dry and parched.

They were survivors. Each time they crossed another death trap, their rage toward the crown prince's assassin who had brought them to this state only burned brighter.

A guard pointed to a distant sight below.

A large village surrounded by hills, battered wood and muddy ground tangled with melting snow all over.

"It's like a beast's cage pretending to be a human city."

Someone scoffed, and the others chuckled too.

Oscar squatted at the cliff's edge. He was a little surprised at his lack of emotion.

Ortega was exactly as before. Nothing had changed.

"Ortega, I have returned."

That alone was different.

Oscar stood before the gates of Ortega.

Snow fell from the sky in a fine powder.

"Why didn't I realize how beautiful this was back then?"

He cupped his hands, catching the falling snow. The snow piling up was like white petals.

"I warn you again! State your identity!"

A harsh shout rang out from inside the walls.

Only then did Oscar glance their way. The log wall, built layer upon layer, was just as he remembered.

"Tell them your former lord has returned."

"What nonsense is that?!"

The Northmen atop the walls drew their bows.

Oscar grinned and licked his palm. Behind him, one of the guards stepped forward and held up the yeti's head.

The Northmen squinted and stared at the yeti's head.

"A G-Gigantes yeti?!"

Uncertain, the Northmen were suddenly horrified.

Ash-gray mane, red eyes, broad flat nose, sharp fangs, closer to an ape than a man.

Most Northmen go their whole lives without seeing a Gigantes yeti. Even they avoid the snowy mountains.

But every Northman knows the tales of the legendary yeti from childhood. All have spent sleepless nights as children listening to its stories.

A man appeared among the Northmen.

On his tattooed, bare upper body he wore only a wolf pelt. His eyes were sharp as a honed blade.

Oscar looked up at him intently.

"You're not of the Sabertooth Tigers tribe, are you?"

"I am Lycan, chief of the Snow Leopards, Lord of Ortega, and the next high chief of Northland."

He felt not anger, nor grief, nor relief. It all seemed to concern someone else.

'It's true—there's no longer any trace of Mukesh the Sabertooth Tiger in me.'

On becoming Oscar, mukesh's emotions crumbled to pieces.

With time, those fragments faded, one by one.

Yet some remained. The lingering vestiges of Mukesh sometimes twisted inside Oscar like something struggling to break out.

Oscar wanted to know exactly what those remnants consisted of.

The name Sabertooth Tiger, and the many achievements with that name?

He confirmed those weren't it.

"I've brought the yeti's head. Now, according to your custom, give me your welcome."

Lycan frowned. He had occasionally heard of imperial customs from Dario.

That an imperial noble could speak fluent Northlandic, and know their deep-rooted traditions, was astonishing.

A Northmen warrior beside Lycan drew his bow again.

"Lunatic imperial, shut your mouth—!"

Lycan stopped him. He recalled things he'd heard from his men.

'Your former lord, you said...?'

Suddenly, something flashed in his mind. His eyes gleamed.

The great Mukesh who became imperial general Oscar.

Those who knew, knew.

"Open the gates. It's him."

Oscar looked around. With each step, the wooden floors creaked beneath him.

"Ha, nothing's changed at all."

A large hall made of wood.

The brazier in the center and torchlight from the ceiling beams cast flickering shadows on the bones and furs hanging on the walls.

The 'throne' of Ortega's lord was beyond the brazier.

Oscar's eyes lingered there for a moment.

'That man—is he really Mukesh?'

Northmen crowded around him, faces tense, wary of Oscar.

'Impossible. How could that great Mukesh be like that?'

To their eyes, there was only a delicate, fair-haired woman. For some, memories of Mukesh were still vivid.

"Would you like to take a seat for old times' sake?"

Lycan pushed through the crowd and spoke. Oscar shook his head.

"No need. It's improper for an imperial subject to sit on a foreign throne."

"Speak freely. I, too, grew up admiring the great Mukesh."

"He is dead, northman. Treat me as an imperial official."

Lycan bowed respectfully. As Oscar pursed his lips as if unimpressed, a voice shouted.

"How dare a wench not only ape a man but also insult the great Mukesh! You bitch—!"

Lycan flashed him a warning glance.

Eirik, calming his anger, stepped back one pace.

Though not all spoke out, most gathered felt the same. They found Lycan's deferential posture incomprehensible.

Oscar merely smiled in Eirik's direction without even glancing at him.

"It's all right. I'm used to it by now."

"Forgive the discourtesy, General."

Silence settled. Oscar spoke with as much dignity as he could muster.

"By His Majesty the Emperor's command, I will lead the army here soon. Offer no pointless resistance and greet us warmly. Be grateful that I still hold some pity for the Northmen."

Oscar slowly walked the hall.

"Before that, let me say—my purpose here is not to threaten you. I've come to hunt a high imperial traitor who has fled to Northland. His name is Ran!"

With a solid step, he spun halfway around. The Northman in his gaze flinched.

Oscar stared pointedly at him and spoke so all could hear.

"Assist me in capturing him, dead or alive. Whatever means it takes, bring him to me. If you do, until we meet again, you'll have ample time to put your affairs in order."

His gaze shifted to Lycan.

Lycan's face was calm.

'Dario, you really have your uses.'

Through Dario, lycan had read the flow of the imperial civil war. Predicting the Emperor's moves wasn't hard. He'd prepared accordingly.

He lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Of course, General. We follow our high chief's lead."

A murmur of protest rose from the crowd. Those from other tribes who didn't know Lycan's situation vehemently objected.

Amid such noise, Oscar cocked his head.

"I'm not sure if Northmen have become more discerning since I left, or if you've simply gotten better at cunning. It's hard to tell."

Lycan inclined his head, eyes looking up slyly.

"The same goes for me, General... or, chief."

"Yes. Our Snow Leopards despise Dakir. Most here feel the same. Uniting such like-minded comrades is what brought me to this position."

Oscar sighed briefly. Frankly, he felt little about it.

"Let me correct you. Dakir now is nothing but a crude, unsightly wraith to me. I haven't the spare time to waste hatred on such a wretch."

"And remember this: I am the Emperor's closest aide, standing against the authority of the Holy Church. Even the priests bow before me. I reign above them."

"Good. But I am curious."

Oscar drew up close to Lycan.

At such a near distance, lycan didn't flinch. That irked Oscar.

"You act as if you know me well. That sort of confidence, as though you expect my mercy, irritates me greatly."

"I was certain because I did not see the wraith of Mukesh upon you, General."

"Certain? Upon what basis?"

Lycan slowly raised his head. The faint dark tattoos on his face rippled slightly.

"You never mentioned the Sabertooth Tigers to me, General."

In the past, mukesh had wanted to be known as Mukesh of the Sabertooth Tigers, not high chief Mukesh.

Lycan habitually arched one eyebrow.

"You said the great Mukesh was dead. I can believe it now. I wish to eradicate all of Dakir's remnants from Northland. If you lend me your mighty name, my work will go much more smoothly."

"You intend to put my name at the fore?"

"Which Northman would dare defy the General?"

Oscar picked up the small hand axe at Lycan's waist.

Even as he ran the blade along his own cheek and neck, lycan didn't blink.

Oscar turned and threw the axe, and it embedded itself precisely in the forehead of Eirik, who had mocked him earlier.

Oscar murmured in imperial tongue,

It had been a long time since he'd thrown an axe.