The perpetual permafrost in the northern empire after the blizzard had ceased wasn’t a pleasant sight to behold.
No matter how far he walked, there was nothing but snow, and the intensified sunlight reflected off the snow, making Keldric squint.
However, he urged Boreas forward at a slow pace, savoring the scenery.
“It’s beautiful,” he thought.
It felt different from the landscapes he had seen in the village.
Although the towering mountains around Calton village were also a spectacular sight, the vast, open snowy plains gave a refreshing, liberating feeling.
Occasionally, Keldric would dismount Boreas to gently touch the nameless plants growing along the roadside, marveling at the vegetation that blossomed even between the snow.
Plants surviving amid the harsh blizzards were nothing short of miraculous, and though it might not have seemed like much to others, it stirred in Keldric the wonder of a child encountering something new.
After wandering around and enjoying the scenery, Keldric would settle on a patch of ground with less snow to make a fire and prepare dinner when the sun set.
His meals were mostly barley porridge, made by melting snow and simmering salted meat with barley.
It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but Keldric found it palatable enough.
At night, with darkness and the hoots of owls surrounding him, he would lay his cloak on the ground and cover himself with furs to sleep.
Keldric continued in this manner for three straight days.
The inability to wash for such an extended period was uncomfortable, but he made an effort to keep his face clean by melting snow and washing up.
He knew the importance of making a good first impression should he encounter anyone.
On the third day after leaving Calton village, Keldric arrived at a fork in the road where the seemingly endless dirt path split in two.
“Oh…,” he murmured, realizing how remote Calton village had been.
The path he had walked for three days led only to that one village, meaning there was no other settlement nearby.
Keldric paused to examine a signpost while still mounted on Boreas.
The two signs pointed in different directions, with crudely carved letters darkened by charcoal.
Squinting at one of the signs, Keldric read:
“Schafendorf, 5 leagues.”
Since no standardized unit of distance existed here, they measured distance based on how far a person could walk in an hour.
So, if the sign was correct, it would take about five hours to walk to the village of Schafendorf, though it might not be exact.
“Follow the road to Schafendorf, then continue on to Yalta,” he recalled Hilmor explaining the route. It was a simple and intuitive path to follow.
“Let’s go, Boreas,” he said, patting the horse’s mane, prompting Boreas to toss his head contentedly.
Guiding Boreas towards Schafendorf, Keldric repeatedly recited the directions Hilmor had given him—Schafendorf, Yalta, then west to Belam.
Raising his gaze, Keldric looked at the clear northern sky, free of blizzards.
The sun was still low, not yet reaching its peak.
Since a horse traveled faster than a human on foot, Keldric hoped to reach Schafendorf before evening if the journey remained smooth.
Jorgen, leader of the Mountain Goat Mercenaries, squinted at the sun hanging overhead, signaling it was noon.
Lowering his gaze, he noticed he had been given half a piece of hard rye bread for lunch.
The dark brown bread gave off a faintly musty smell.
Clicking his tongue, Jorgen stabbed his knife into the rye bread, which emitted a “clang!” sound that made it hard to believe it was edible.
“This is my luck, huh,” he muttered, forcing himself to chew the hard bread, softening it with saliva as he went.
At least it wasn’t mixed with sand, a tactic used during hard times.
These days were better, even if the bread was tasteless, as at least it was safe to eat.
“Captain, can we get some wheat bread too?” asked Toben, a new recruit, pointing at a woman in a brown robe enjoying the luxury of wheat bread alone.
Jorgen gulped.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had soft wheat bread, but he knew the wheat bread wasn’t his to take.
“Are you kidding? Don’t mess with the mage, or I’ll just boil water for you for dinner.”
“Captain, look, the mage barely eats anyway. She’s been rationing that bread for two days now.”
“That’s up to the mage. Just eat your share, Toben.”
Internally grumbling, Jorgen held back his own urge to demand more.
The last thing he needed was to anger the mage—her disdain was apparent enough.
She, too, was struggling, forced to endure days of hardship.
Returning to his spot, Jorgen heard a gruff voice.
“Captain, someone’s coming.”
Peering at the distance, Jorgen spotted a lone figure on horseback moving through the snow.
“Is it a bandit?”
The mage, noticing as well, added, “If it’s a bandit, better to stay together than send just a couple of people.”
Nodding in agreement, Jorgen and the mage’s party stood on guard as the figure approached.
As the rider drew near, Jorgen widened his eyes at the sight—a person wearing a tin-like helmet and chainmail with a thick leather coat underneath, bearing the insignia of a bear on a navy blue surcoat.
“A knight?”
Based on the attire, it seemed to be a well-equipped knight.
But why would a knight appear so randomly in this desolate place?
“What the hell?”
“Look at that. It’s no joke,” one of the mercenaries muttered, wide-eyed.
“Are we doomed?” A few of them whispered among themselves after seeing the knight.
The young recruit, Toben, looked puzzled, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation.
Meanwhile, Jorgen, who had spotted the knight first, swallowed hard and approached the mage.
“Sir, what should we do?” he asked, visibly tense.
“Ugh… dealing with knights is always troublesome,” the mage muttered, clearly unsettled.
Even the haughty mage was visibly intimidated; knights were no trivial matter.
“In that case, I’ll go speak with him,” Jorgen said, taking the initiative and bringing along Anton, the most reliable veteran among them.
In a world where knights were quick to draw their swords if they felt even a bit disrespected, it was wise to offer a courteous greeting.
“Please, gods, let there be no trouble,” Jorgen prayed silently, recalling a deity he rarely thought of as he moved toward the knight.
After riding for about two hours toward Sharpendorf, Keldric noticed a group of people by the roadside in the distance.
“What’s that?” he wondered, squinting to get a better view.
Some of them were holding long objects, while others seemed to carry swords or clubs.
A few even appeared to be wearing iron helmets, their heads glinting in the sunlight.
Clearly, they weren’t just ordinary merchants.
“Mercenaries!” he realized, recalling Hans, Gunter, and the other mercenaries who had attacked the manor.
Mercenaries roaming outside had two main reasons: either they were completing an assignment for an employer, or they were bandits preying on travelers.
Even if they weren’t bandits, their assignments could range from killing people to simple monster exterminations.
Keldric suspected they might be heading to Calton Village.
Given Hans and Gunter’s connection to Baron Gottfried, there was no guarantee these mercenaries weren’t also under the baron’s command.
Keldric put on the helmet hanging from his belt and calmly rode Boreas toward them.
He didn’t have many choices—either stay on the path or veer off into the snowy fields.
As he got closer, Keldric was surprised to see that the mercenaries were better armed than he initially thought.
The metal helmets he saw from afar were conical helms.
They were probably cheap with a lot of scrap metal mixed in, but still better than leather.
The mercenaries noticed Keldric as well, and two of the rough-looking men stepped forward.
“Blessings of the gods to you, sir knight. Good afternoon,” they greeted.
“Blessings upon you. Yes, good afternoon,” Keldric replied in his deep voice.
Hearing Keldric’s response, Jorgen thought to himself, “A real knight, after all.”
True knights of noble families had a distinct way of speaking, unlike commoners or impostors who only pretended to be knights.
The way Keldric pronounced certain words and his noble intonation made it obvious.
“I am Jorgen, the captain of the Mountain Goat Mercenary Band. We’re currently on a mission from Bellam, accompanied by a mage.”
“Hmm.”
Jorgen mentioned the mage, but Keldric merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Oh, a mage,” he murmured, only mildly intrigued.
Jorgen’s face darkened a bit as he asked, “If it’s not too forward, may I know your esteemed name and house, sir knight?”
Keldric sighed at Jorgen’s almost pleading tone but replied with a commanding voice.
“May the gods protect us. I am Keldric of House Velaf.”
“Ah, so you are Sir Keldric! May I ask what brings you here…?”
“Just passing through. Heading to Sharpendorf by day’s end. Why ask?” Keldric responded, slightly curious.
“Oh, no particular reason. If my question was inappropriate, I apologize,” Jorgen stammered, worried he had offended the knight.
Standing next to him, Anton was also beginning to sweat.
Keldric, noticing their unease, asked nonchalantly, “What are you doing out here?”
“As I mentioned, we were hired by the Bellam city council to hunt down a band of marauders that’s been troubling this area.”
“I see.”
After observing Jorgen’s respectful demeanor, Keldric offered, “Then, are you heading back to Bellam?”
“Not exactly. We planned to return to Sharpendorf after patrolling this area a bit more for marauders.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind, Sir Keldric, we would be honored to escort you.”
Jorgen originally intended to camp nearby but had changed his mind after hearing Keldric’s destination.
Escorting a noble knight like Keldric could prevent any accusations of negligence or insult, should Keldric feel slighted.
It was a bit of a stretch, but it sounded plausible enough.
And it wasn’t a bad plan. Jorgen could tell Keldric seemed like a decent knight, one who might even reward them with a little coin for their troubles.
Nobles often had a habit of being generous, treating such gestures as their privilege.
Keldric, realizing Jorgen’s intentions, smirked a little and handed him a few silver coins.
“Then, lead the way.”
“Thank you! It’s an honor to accompany you, Sir Keldric,” Jorgen replied enthusiastically.
And so, the wary mercenaries, the cautious mage, and the indifferent Keldric began their peculiar journey together.