CMH Chapter 4.2

Volume 4 part 2

 

“Of course, the challenge is that your vision includes commoners rather than just nobles. That alone is a major issue. Your ideas challenge the monarchy and threaten the aristocratic hierarchy—it’s basically treason.”

To those in power, commoners and slaves were indistinguishable.

Sitting cross-legged in the snow, Ixor folded his arms confidently.

“Garion is a port city, meaning merchants from all over pass through. That means wealth and resources are easily accessible. So, what else do you want to do besides clean up the trash?”

“You said it was dangerous,” she reminded him.

“It’s exciting because it’s dangerous.”

“No,” she stated firmly.

“You’re cutting me off too quickly. You’re starting to sound as stubborn as Zephar,” he grumbled.

Daon almost—just almost—smiled.

Ixor leaned in, playfully pressing his nose against hers.

“So, my dear chef,” he mused, “How do you think I should spend this long, tedious winter?”

“….”

“Can’t answer? Hmm. Then I’ll figure it out myself.”

He stroked his chin, pretending to think deeply.

“Let’s see. Even if the world changes, people won’t automatically change with it. That’s just the nature of things. Humans are the most stubborn creatures of all. Even if someone hands them a better world, there’s no guarantee they’ll know how to use it properly. But if people change first, the world will follow. So…”

Snap!

He clicked his fingers together, arriving at his conclusion with enthusiasm.

“Schools. That would be the answer.”

“That’s…”

Daon’s face paled. She looked startled, concerned.

Ixor suddenly stood up, dusting the snow off his knees.

“For now, it will just be during the agricultural off-season. Well then—”

He stretched with a grin.

“Shall we build a snowman?”

“…What?”

“A big one. What do you say? A really big one.”

Daon was suddenly grabbed by the waist and set upright.

He firmly packed two small snowmen into one to serve as the central axis and began rolling a snowball.

Urging the dazed Daon to make the head, the two of them roamed around the front yard, where thick snowflakes were pouring down, rolling snow.

“Excuse me, minor collision.”

Ixor playfully called out as he ran from a distance, rolling a snowball, and bumped into Daon.

When one side of the carefully rounded snowball broke, Daon let go and looked at him.

Her expression showed slight annoyance as she subtly narrowed her eyes. Then, biting her lower lip, she changed direction.

Ixor knew all too well—when Daon found something amusing, she bit her lower lip. Probably without realizing it herself, as if suppressing laughter on instinct.

This girl had likely never laughed out loud in her life. Nor had she ever cried out loud.

Daon brushed off the broken side with her palm and continued rolling the snowball.

The sight of her bending over, dragging her oversized cloak behind her, was utterly adorable.

Ixor set up a giant snowball in a shaded spot. Then, he carefully placed the one Daon had made on top.

As they pondered how to decorate it, he roughly broke off thick, long branches to make arms.

While Daon went to fetch a carrot for the nose, Ixor stuck a bunch of small twigs into the head as makeshift hair.

He placed potatoes for eyes, attached a carrot for the nose, and used dried brown leaves as eyelashes.

Finally, he borrowed Daon’s cloak and draped it over the shoulders. The result?

A surprisingly decent-looking snowman.

The first person to lay eyes on it was Zephar. He stepped out of the building with a dark expression but froze in place upon seeing the snowman.

Ixor proudly puffed up his chest.

“Thoughts?”

“If seen at dawn, it would be enough to make someone scream. It looks like a chubby man who got struck by lightning and has his hair standing on end.”

“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for…”

“But quite accurate.”

Daon, sensing the mood, subtly lowered her head and soon walked away.

Zephar surveyed the surroundings before reporting,

“A reply has arrived regarding the invitation you were sent.”

“From whom?”

“Zelgirk.”

As expected. The only one who would be interested in confirming whether Ixor was alive.

Seeing the murderous intent in his eyes, Zephar lowered his voice more cautiously.

“He says he wanted to apologize for his previous rudeness and was preparing a banquet, but unfortunately, it seems that won’t be possible. Since he has already stocked up on ingredients, he asks when you might be able to come.”

“Pack up.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re going now.”

Though he had fully expected Ixor to say that, Zephar still tried to dissuade him.

“My lord, your body is still—didn’t you just get out of bed yesterday? Traveling would be too much. At the banquet, you’ll have to drink and sit for long hours.”

“I know. Zelgirk must think the same. Since I was hit by a poisoned arrow, he probably assumes my survival is uncertain. Have a small cavalry unit and knights ready immediately. Oh, and prepare a club. I need to give him a beating.”

“Of course, I’ll have the club carved. But since we don’t have confirmation yet, please limit it to just a threat for today.”

“I’ll decide after seeing his face.”

With a chilling expression, Ixor twisted his lips.

 

***

 

A small escort cavalry unit, flying Ixor’s blue banner, galloped across the snowfield.

Even after entering Zelgirk’s domain, Ixor did not slow his pace.

Racing like a storm, they arrived at Zelgirk’s castle just before sunset.

The sound of hooves clattered as they halted before the drawbridge.

Soon enough, Zelgirk appeared atop the castle wall, his face pale.

Ixor raised his voice cheerfully,

“You said you wanted to have some fun! Open up!”

Zelgirk, visibly terrified, disappeared in a fluster. Finally, the heavy drawbridge was lowered to the ground, and the castle gates swung open.

Without hesitation, Ixor charged inside.

At the top of the castle stairs stood Zelgirk, wrapped in a thick, expensive fox-fur cloak, his hands trembling.

Ixor climbed the snow-covered steps at a leisurely pace and sarcastically remarked,

“It seems in this castle, dogs act as the masters.”

Zelgirk’s face immediately contorted in humiliation.

Ixor turned his fierce gaze to the hunting dogs growling at him from Zelgirk’s side.

Sensing the killing intent in his cold, piercing eyes, the three dogs tucked their tails between their legs and immediately lowered their heads.

Striding up the steps, Ixor casually tapped the dogs’ heads and then stood before Zelgirk.

“Usually, the host offers a greeting first, but since in this castle, the dogs bark first, I had to say something.”

Their faces were so close that their breaths could be felt. Without blinking, Ixor locked eyes with Zelgirk.

At a loss for words, Zelgirk flushed red with fury, clenching his fists.

Ixor smirked and teased,

“Viscount, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“N-no, I just… didn’t expect you to come without notice…”

“But I was invited. You sent the invitation, didn’t you? That means I’m not an uninvited guest.”

Tap, tap. 

He patted Zelgirk’s shoulder twice before suddenly gripping it tightly.

Then, walking ahead, he felt the tremors running through Zelgirk’s body.

As he leisurely passed by, his sharp gaze never left Zelgirk.

“Drinks! Women! Music! Let’s have some fun!”

 

***

 

“Ha ha ha ha!”

Knight Rob clutched his stomach, laughing heartily.

His booming laughter, as loud as a bear’s roar, startled the servants, who peeked over the castle walls.

Zephar, who had sighed deeply, quietly swallowed his laughter.

On the castle wall, where they had cleared a rectangular patch of snow and lit a bonfire, Zephar and Ixor’s five knights—Rob, Renaud, Garun, Mark, and Ace—sat in a circle on laid-out blankets.

Passing around and emptying a barrel of hot liquor, they soon ran out of alcohol.

“Zelgirk was at a loss,” Rob chuckled, continuing,

“He tried to serve our lord a drink, but, well, he has lost an arm. The poor guy turned red in embarrassment, then even redder with anger later on.”

“He had it coming.”

“Of course! The five of us drank so much that he ran out of supplies. By dawn, Zelgirk was frowning, saying they had nothing left. We told him to raid the storage and kept drinking and eating until morning.”

“You should’ve stayed for breakfast, too.”

At Zephar’s subtle jest, Rob shrugged.

“Eh, breakfast is best at home. Besides, we were worried about our lord… Is he asleep?”

“No, not yet. He said he was going to visit the cure-all.”

“Ah, that woman.”

For a moment, the conversation paused.

Zephar carefully observed the expressions of the five knights. They were once furious whenever Daon was mentioned, but now, while they weren’t friendly, they had at least taken a step back.

She was the only woman their lord truly treated with sincerity.

Zephar changed the subject.

“So, did you get Zelgirk’s apology?”

Rob, as if waiting for this question, answered triumphantly.

“Of course! He tried everything to get out of it, but what choice did he have? It was a banquet meant for an apology, after all. He ground his teeth as he apologized. Then he had the audacity to say he deserved an apology too—for losing his arm!”

The remaining four knights scoffed, and the bear-like Rob took the lead in continuing the conversation.

“When he acted like that, the Lord spoke formally, saying: ‘Since the offense was so great, it would be best to apologize in front of a large gathering. And wouldn’t Orlank Castle, where the incident took place, be the most appropriate location? Someday, in the future, I will formally invite Viscount Zelgirk. I will accept your apology then.’”

“Oh-ho.”

“If he comes, he’s dead.”

Rob crushed the cup in his hand as if it were a piece of paper.

His frustration over failing to prevent Ixor from being hit by the poisoned arrow must have built up significantly. Renaud, too, still harbored resentment towards Zelgirk.

Zephar carefully scanned the knights.

“Tell me, did anything in Zelgirk’s castle particularly stand out?”

“Particularly? Like what?”

Rob, tossing the crumpled cup outside the castle, asked in return.

Zephar remained silent.

While Rob was notoriously slow-witted, the other four knights were observant enough to report anything suspicious. Since none of them mentioned anything, it likely meant there was nothing noteworthy.

They brought out a new barrel of liquor and added a roasted piglet with crispy skin to their feast.

With the warmth of the alcohol settling in, Rob leaned back against the cold castle wall, his eyes drifting over the landscape.

“Something that stood out… Well, this little countryside castle is actually quite nice? I never noticed before, but now I get it.”

“What do you mean?”

At Zephar’s question, Rob gestured towards the clustered houses at the bottom of the hill.

“The filth, the garbage. That bizarre law the lady insisted on.”

“Oh, and why do you say that?”

“The moment we entered Zelgirk’s domain, the stench was unbearable. Since I’ve gotten used to living here… Ugh! That awful smell nearly suffocated me.”

“Garion was the same until recently, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. Actually, anywhere on the continent, even the royal capital, castles all have it. The roads are full of filth, rivers reek from the butchered offal dumped into them, and galloping horses splash manure everywhere. Sometimes, a chicken or a pig gets kicked and sent flying.”

“Hahaha!”

The other knights roared in agreement.

Mark, the least talkative but most reliable of the knights, took over in a good-natured tone.

“Right. It’s such a small change, but it makes such a big difference.”

“Exactly! In Orlank, even the commoners are clean and cheerful. Usually, when knights pass by, peasants shrink away. But when we rode into Orlank, they all smiled brightly and greeted us, ‘Sir Knights, Sir Knights!’ That was a first, and it felt good.”

“Is all of that because of them smiling brightly at you?”

Zephar joked, and Rob laughed, patting his round belly like a drum.

Throughout the kingdom, nobles were constantly at war over territories, draining military resources, which led to endless tax increases and a surge in banditry.

But in Garion and Orlank, there were almost no bandits.

With no corruption or exploitation, travel along major roads was safe, and taxes were managed fairly. As a result, Garion’s harbor became the most renowned trade hub on the continent.

And Daon added cleanliness and elegance to this equation.

This strange transformation…

Ixor was the one driving these changes, but Daon was the one who inspired him.

For so long, Zephar had wondered—was this truly a good thing? He had worried.

But now, all those concerns had vanished.

The greatest lord had chosen the greatest woman.

“Oh! What’s that monster in the front courtyard? Scared the hell out of me coming in.”

Rob stopped laughing and asked. Zephar calmly replied,

“The Lord made it. It’s a snowman.”

“What, to curse Zelgirk?”

“Who knows.”

“The Lord must be furious. He put such a ghastly thing right in front of the castle. Maybe it’s a declaration—‘I won’t stop seeking revenge until the snowman melts.’”

The other knights chimed in, saying they had nearly drawn their swords upon seeing it at dawn, mistaking it for a demon.

“Alright, time to rest.”

The knights, having spent the night drinking and reveling, decided to turn in.

As they began to disperse, Zephar gave Renaud a subtle glance.

Soon, only Zephar and Renaud remained atop the castle wall.

Zephar spoke first.

“I assume you already know what I want to ask.”

“I do.”

“Have you made up your mind? Or are you still struggling?”

“I decided long ago.”

Renaud poured the last of his drink into his cup and let out a short chuckle. From that laugh, Zephar could already guess the answer and spoke gently,

“I often serve as a counselor to you all. And I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

Renaud quietly drained his cup and admitted,

“When we were charging towards Zelgirk’s castle… the moment it came into view, the Lord told me something. Without even looking back, in that usual cocky yet commanding tone of his.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Next time we march to this spot and see that castle, Renaud, you will be at the front.’”

“…”

“In that instant… I knew. This is my Lord. And his woman? I can’t even dare to look at her that way. The woman he loves? She deserves nothing but respect.” ¹He kind of indicated that Ixor’s woman and the woman he loves are different people, but we shall see.

Zephar smiled faintly and poured more liquor into his glass.

Renaud raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Zephar, do you drink?”

“When the occasion calls for it.”

As he downed the strong drink, his gaze drifted to the front courtyard, where Ixor and Daon were playing rock-paper-scissors.

It seemed they had predetermined a number, and the winner would take that many steps toward the castle.

Ixor took five steps forward and held up three fingers.

Daon showed seven.

They were playing another round.

Her body language betrayed both urgency and determination—she wanted to end the game quickly.

She probably intended to drag the stubborn Ixor back to his chamber.

Zephar and Renaud silently watched, a soft smile forming on their lips.

They were an adorable, well-matched couple.

Even from a distance, it was obvious how deeply they felt for each other.

But…

Shouldn’t he be resting?

After an all-nighter at Zelgirk’s estate, he had just returned to Orlank, and now he was out in the cold playing games.

Zephar clicked his tongue in disapproval.

He must really adore her.

Enough to forget pain and exhaustion, just to stay by her side.

“Whew.”

Zephar pressed his shaky knees and stood up.

It was about time he went over to help Daon.

“Ahem!”

As soon as a loud and deliberate cough was made, Daon slightly lowered her head in acknowledgment, then quickly left, grateful.

Ixor, seemingly annoyed that a nagging presence had interrupted the game, scowled.

Zephar immediately sneered.

“You think you have the stamina of steel?”

“Oh, the smell of alcohol. Zephar, do you drink too?”

“I do drink, occasionally.”

Responding bluntly, Zephar received a chuckle from Ixor, who then climbed the stairs.

“What did you find out?”

He debated whether to reveal everything, but concealing something from his lord was not an option.

Carefully choosing his words, he reported,

“Most of Zelgirk’s soldiers are mercenaries, and their numbers increase significantly in winter.”

“Pirates, then.”

Ixor’s sharp intuition was evident. Zephar had tried to steer the conversation carefully, but Ixor had already drawn his own conclusion from a single statement.

“That ***** Zelgirk—his territory borders the sea, so it makes sense. He lets the pirates run wild like stray dogs in the summer, then hires them cheaply as bodyguards in the winter when they have nothing to do. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Their relationship?”

“There’s no particular loyalty or closeness between them and Zelgirk. Pirates just take the job to make extra money during their idle winter months.”

“Good.”

There was no need for further discussion—Ixor could already predict the rest.

Hiring criminals like pirates at low costs served as an intimidation tactic against other lords.

As long as his domain appeared heavily guarded, the risk of invasion decreased. Meanwhile, pirates enjoyed the protection of a noble, sparing them from the gallows.

“And… there’s one more thing.”

Sensing something disturbing in Zephar’s tone, Ixor suddenly halted. Zephar took a deep breath before confessing,

“The pirates regularly offer Zelgirk young girls as tribute.”

“In the summer?”

“Yes. A symbiotic relationship. Zelgirk gets what he wants, and the pirates are free to plunder.”

“He must have received quite a number of girls by now. But I’ve never seen any.”

“Well…”

Recognizing the gravity of the situation, Ixor didn’t press for an answer but simply watched Zephar in silence.

Zephar struggled to suppress his rising disgust as he continued his report.

“There are rumors that Zelgirk practices cannibalism.”

“Cannibalism?”

“Yes. He locks the girls up somewhere, torments them cruelly, and when they mature into proper women, he… eats them.”

BANG!

Ixor’s fist slammed against the door, making the thick wooden panel creak and tremble.

Zephar swallowed hard.

Daon had escaped Zelgirk’s grasp when she was thirteen. That was the age when other girls like her were brutally killed, one by one. She must have lived in constant danger of death in such a horrifying place.

Ixor clenched his teeth, his voice heavy with fury.

“She might have seen it.”

The unspoken words missing from his sentence were clear: ‘She might have seen Zelgirk eating people.’

The murderous aura radiating from Ixor made Zephar’s skin prickle, sending a cold chill down his spine.

He remained motionless, barely daring to breathe.

Creak.

Ixor’s fist tightened, his grip twisting against the door as if trying to suppress his seething rage.

“And yet… she still tried to go back to him?”

“My lord.”

“Did she hate me that much?”

Hearing the low growl through Ixor’s clenched teeth, Zephar instinctively defended Daon.

“She must have had her reasons.”

Ixor’s cold, pale eyes flicked sideways, his gaze sharp.

Zephar forced strength into his stiffened neck and voiced his opinion in a hoarse tone.

“She’s an intelligent and calculating woman. She’s not weak either. Hasn’t she stood up to you several times before? Do you really think a woman like that would willingly follow such a monster just to avoid you?”

“…”

“That’s impossible. She must have had a clear, personal objective.”

Even in his furious state, Ixor was a man who acknowledged logic when he heard it.

Decisiveness and clarity—those were his greatest strengths.

Ixor’s expression relaxed slightly. Seizing the moment, Zephar continued his reprimand.

“Judging others from your own perspective is one of the greatest mistakes a ruler can make. Please don’t say something so foolish in front of me again.”

Ixor, his expression murderous, ran a rough hand through his hair without a word. Then, like a scolded child, he responded with a sulky face.

“I know. And I’ll take your advice to heart.”

A long sigh of relief escaped Zephar.

Wanting to ease his lord’s concerns, he made his decision known on the spot.

“I still don’t fully trust Lady Daon. But I admit she brings more benefit to you than harm.”

“Wow. Is that the mother-in-law’s approval?”

“Not exactly my preferred wording.”

“But accurate.”

Ixor shot back immediately, chuckling. Zephar simply raised his hands in surrender.

Though he smiled, Ixor’s gaze remained dark and thoughtful. He patted Zephar’s shoulder twice before speaking seriously.

“She’s a woman with many scars. I’ll protect her, so you, my most trusted men, should do the same.”

“Go get some rest.”

“I doubt I’ll sleep, but I’ll follow orders like a good boy.”

With that, Ixor strode into the castle.

It was clear his anger still burned like molten lava inside him.

Watching his retreating figure, Zephar gently placed a hand on the shoulder Ixor had touched. Then, he bowed deeply.

 

***

 

The vast underground chamber, carved from a cave, was dark as hell itself and damp with moisture.

Bang!

Zelgirk slammed his severed right arm against the table.

He had been sure Ixor would be dead—or at least on the brink of death. Had the report about the poisoned arrow been false?

Throughout the banquet, Ixor showed no signs of illness. Far from being weakened, he had eaten, drunk, and enjoyed himself immensely.

Worse, the knights he had brought along had devoured food like pigs, leaving a significant dent in the winter food stores.

Losing his slave, having his hand severed, and being forced to offer a false apology—he had to get revenge for this humiliation.

His furious gaze swept across the underground chamber.

There was a perfect way to satisfy his wounded pride and vent his rage.

The terrified screams of girls begging for their lives were always the best remedy.

As Zelgirk’s gleaming eyes darted around, the girls suspended in iron cages from the ceiling shrank in fear.

Each had a delicate, beautiful face, yet none were quite to his liking.

Among his collection, Daon had been the finest. That wretched girl—on a day just like today, when the snow fell white and thick—

He pressed his wide palm over the burn scars on his aching face. His breath came out in short, angry bursts.

He hadn’t even cut her with a blade, sparing her beauty. When he beat her, he had wrapped the club in thick cloth to prevent scarring.

He had cherished her—yet she had betrayed him, escaping and bringing shame upon him.

Holding a candlestick with elegant precision in his remaining three fingers, he clasped his severed arm behind his back and paced the underground chamber anxiously.

With every step, the flickering candlelight swayed precariously.

As he approached, the girls cowered into the corners of their cages, clutching their blood-crusted arms over their heads.

Their fearful reactions soured his mood further. He had raised countless girls, but Daon had been the only one who never trembled.

Even after days without food or water, she never begged. Her abyss-black eyes always remained haughty and expressionless.

Breaking in a wild beast was thrilling. He had first tasted that feeling with Daon.

He had to get her back. No matter what.

But Ixor…

Even the capital had given up trying to rein him in. Simply presenting a slave contract in a petition wouldn’t be enough to reclaim Daon.

If the king himself was powerless, what could he use to take her back? How?

Like a hyena eyeing its prey, Zelgirk meticulously inspected the cages before selecting one girl. Turning the pulley, he lowered the iron cage with a heavy clank.

“KYAAAHH!”

The girl shrieked in terror.

Without hesitation, Zelgirk seized her hair and yanked her out of the cage.

Then, as if by habit, he slapped her several times to break her resistance.

Dragging the limp, beaten girl, he made his way toward the large table in the center of the chamber.

The table gleamed with an array of torture instruments.

He reached for a crowbar but paused, instead stroking his chin between his thumb and index finger with deliberate grace.

“Wait…”

There were only two things in the world that fearless Ixor truly valued-Zephar and Daon.

If both Zephar and Daon were placed in mortal danger at the same time, which one would Ixor sacrifice to save the other?

Zephar or Daon? Daon or Zephar?

If the plan was executed correctly, Ixor could be crushed in a single blow.

Zelgirk licked his lips greedily, over and over.

There was just one problem.

A trap had to be big to be effective.

And Ixor needed to be in a situation where he had no choice but to walk into it, despite knowing it was a trap.

A mere noble wouldn’t be enough to manipulate Ixor. Ideally, he needed to involve royalty…

A sudden thought struck him, and his eyes widened.

Ixor’s greatest adversary.

The one adored endlessly by the king.

What if he used the arrogant and reckless Princess Anna?