To the west of Bogenberg, a mountain range that abruptly rises from the south divides the land.
So immense is this natural barrier that, once upon a time, the lands beyond it—the western empire and the Frankish kingdom—were shrouded in mystery.
Keldric himself never lived through those days. However, whenever he caught sight of the grand and majestic mountains from afar, it would bring back vivid memories of his childhood spent in the village of Carlton.
The mountain range was simply called “the mountains.” Though it was likely that scholars of the Academia had a more specific name for it, even Alyssa, who had graduated from the Academia, referred to it as “the mountains.”
“The weather over the mountains better hold,” Alyssa murmured as she rode alongside Keldric, causing him to furrow his brow slightly. He didn’t know much about the mountains, having spent his entire life in a rural village at their base, let alone ever crossing them.
All he really knew was that, after a snowstorm, wolves or monsters would often venture as far as the village outskirts in search of food.
While there were many concerns to keep in mind, the weather in the mountains was certainly among the most critical.
“Think we’re in for a snowstorm?”
“It won’t be as bad as the northern blizzards, but we’ll still get something close. We’ll need to be cautious when crossing.”
Keldric clicked his tongue briefly and turned his gaze toward the mountains. The familiar sight, veiled by clouds, felt strangely unsettling.
“It’s been a while since the last storm passed, but you’re right—being careful won’t hurt.”
“The weather in the mountains is famously fickle.”
Spitzenberg was located in the middle of the mountain range that stretched from the south to the north of the continent. Reaching it required crossing the mountains.
Once over the mountains, you’d find yourself at the western edge of the empire. Beyond that lay the Frankish kingdom, and further still, the vast, endless ocean.
Keldric’s destination lay somewhere in between. Specifically, the rocky city situated halfway up the mountain range.
It wasn’t quite large enough to be a city but too big to be called a mere stronghold. A fortress was perhaps a more fitting term.
Yet, just as the mountains were casually referred to as “the mountains,” Spitzenberg was simply called a city. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate to lump it in with the other small cities of similar scale.
Keldric sniffed, wiping his nose as a northern wind swept over him, the chill brushing against his body after so long.
Aside from the mountains to the west, the range to the north also brought down icy winds.
“Helga, are you cold?”
“No.”
Unlike Alyssa and Arno, who shivered and pulled their collars tight, Helga didn’t seem particularly bothered by the cold.
Her name suggested as much—Helga was likely of northern origin. While she might have been raised elsewhere, her lineage was unmistakably northern.
Arno was different. His name was more commonly associated with men from the Frankish kingdom.
Come to think of it, Keldric didn’t know how Arno and Helga became orphans. He had never asked, thinking it was a sensitive subject.
Still, maintaining an aloof relationship wasn’t necessary. Keldric was more than willing to grow closer to them and foster a sense of camaraderie.
“Arno, Helga, come closer.”
Slowing Boreas’s pace slightly, Keldric beckoned Arno and Helga to his side with a flick of his hand.
The two, who had been following closely behind Boreas, quickly approached and matched his stride.
Abelin, who had entrusted her reins to Helga, naturally joined them as well, though the wide road posed no issue for the group.
“Yes, Sir Keldric.”
“Do you know where we’re headed?”
“I believe we’re on our way to Spitzenberg.”
“Correct. That’s where we’re headed now.”
It was a journey of no more than two or three days to Spitzenberg, depending on their pace.
Keldric hoped to make the most of this short trip. If he could earn the trust of the Count of Bogenberg, who had entrusted him with this mission, and instill confidence in the two young squires who accompanied him for the first time, it would be an undeniable success.
“However, there are many places we could go. Perhaps to the Republic in the south, or the Frankish Kingdom in the west. Maybe even further, to the Brittas Kingdom or, who knows, to the holy land far beyond.”
“I see…”
“On the long journeys ahead, you’ll need to assist me. To that end, it wouldn’t hurt for us to get to know one another.”
Before asking them questions, Keldric shared some of his own story. He’d already told them about House Bellaf, so this time, he focused on personal tales: what kind of man Sir Volfen, his biological father, had been; how he came to have Keldric; and what Keldric had learned from him.
He kept his words measured, aware of the mercenaries walking ahead. Sensitive details, such as the story of Fritz, whom Keldric had crippled, or Volfen’s disdain for him, were left unsaid.
“Then… why did you leave your family, Sir Keldric?”
“There was no longer any reason for me to stay.”
“W-Weren’t you scared when you left?”
“I believed in the strength of my body and the skills I’d honed through training.”
Arno and Helga, trying their best to appear composed, couldn’t hide the sparkle in their eyes as they eagerly asked more questions.
Keldric chuckled bitterly at the sight. No matter how maturely they carried themselves as squires, at fourteen, they were still children—curious and full of youthful exuberance.
Thinking of how such young ones had become orphans, suppressing their emotions and living through hardships before ending up in a monastery, Keldric felt a pang of sadness.
“Come on now, leave the good knight alone,” came a voice.
“Yes, sir mercenary…”
But as children do, their chatter only grew louder until Radomar, who had been walking ahead of Keldric, had to step in.
“I apologize, Sir Keldric. They reminded me of my own son, and I got carried away…”
“No need to apologize. That’s how children are.”
Though it seemed like a scolding for Arno and Helga, Keldric saw the warmth of a father in Radomar’s actions and didn’t mind.
After all, the true essence of travel often lay in the moments that unfolded along the way.
During this era, travel meant walking or riding on horseback, both of which were exhausting and time-consuming. To traverse the road in silence would rob the journey of its meaning. Keldric much preferred a bit of lively chatter.
Besides, he intended to extract the value of the stories he’d shared.
“I’ve told you my story, so now it’s your turn to share yours.”
“T-That’s…”
“Life is about give and take. I’ve shared tales of my family, so it’s only fair I gain something in return.”
At Keldric’s mock-serious expression, Helga hesitated, her once-eager demeanor replaced with a nervous slump.
The somber expressions on Arno and Helga’s faces made it easy for Keldric to guess that their reasons for becoming orphans were grim.
Still, they couldn’t keep their pain locked away forever. Keldric knew that wounds festered deeper the younger and more stoic one tried to be, and that resolving such matters early could prevent long-lasting scars.
While Helga remained quiet and downcast, it was Arno who first broke the silence.
“The place we lived was a village called Niederhof.”
“Niederhof?”
“Yes, if you head east, toward the sunrise, you’ll find it.”
Arno and Helga had been born and raised in Niederhof, a village in the northeastern reaches of the Empire.
Close to the Duchy of Lys and the North Sea, the village had once thrived thanks to its fishing industry and a silver mine discovered nearby.
“My father was a blacksmith. I heard he settled in Niederhof after joining a crusade from the Frankish Kingdom long ago.”
It was a plausible story. Many crusaders didn’t immediately return home after their campaigns. Instead, they wandered from place to place before finally settling somewhere.
Keldric listened quietly as Arno spoke, the rhythmic sound of Boreas’s hooves striking the occasional loose pebble filling the space between words.
“Helga’s been my friend for as long as I can remember. She used to get bullied, so I always had to step in to help her.”
“I-I was just playing with them…”.
“Playing? You call them teasing you about smelling like horse dung playing, you dummy?”
Keldric could almost picture the carefree lives of children in a quiet northern village of the Empire. A place nestled close to the sea, with most of the population either fishing or working in the silver mine found in the nearby hills.
“And how did you end up here?”
“Scary men on horseback came to the village. They set it on fire. They wore strange armor and had iron masks… they were awful people.”
Keldric sighed deeply, his expression darkening.
From Arno’s description, the attackers sounded like the cavalry of the Duchy of Lys, a force Keldric had encountered before.
These raiders, often clad in metal plate armor and wearing masks sometimes shaped like bearded faces or made of chainmail were infamous for their brutality. The Duchy’s cavalry frequently raided nearby villages, especially after tensions escalated with the Kakarin tribes being pushed back by infidels.
This behavior had long plagued the Empire’s northeastern regions, causing endless headaches for the nobles and knights stationed there.
“Damn it… tch!”
If these raiders had come, not only would they have pillaged the village, but they would have left behind nothing but ruin.
“The miller saved us, but his arrow wound didn’t heal properly… so it was just us left in the end.”
“He was such a kind man…”
Though Arno bit his lip to maintain his composure, his young face betrayed his effort. Helga, meanwhile, had begun to sob outright. Alyssa, her expression filled with pity, leaned closer to gently console her.
Keldric exhaled heavily, the weight of the children’s tale pressing on him.
The Empire was a turbulent place. Territorial disputes raged across the land, while greedy nobles exploited their subjects. This left border regions vulnerable, unable to fend off raiders like the barbarians and outsiders who struck without mercy.
He glanced at Arno and Helga. They were just two of countless lives upended by such chaos.
The powerless peasants of the land bore the brunt of such tragedies, while the nobles hid away safely in their fortresses.
Keldric thought back to the mercenaries and Baron Goffrit’s cavalry that had attacked the village of Carlton. He didn’t even want to imagine how many children like Arno and Helga might have suffered if he hadn’t intervened back then.
The world was chaotic, and it was teeming with scoundrels who only added to the turmoil.
The Emperor and the high nobles turned a blind eye to these problems, too preoccupied with their own power struggles. Compared to them, the Count of Bogenberg, who cared deeply for his domain, was a saint—no, an angel.
Keldric felt as though he’d found yet another reason to grow stronger and amass influence.
If he ever gained his own domain, he swore he would never stand idly by and let such tragedies unfold. But for now, what he could do was clear: eliminate the scoundrels he could see.
“It’s about time we set up camp.”
“Understood.”
And so, a day filled with heavy thoughts slowly came to an end.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
“Ambush!”
Keldric’s eyes snapped open from his deep slumber. Instinctively, his hand groped the ground beside him, finding the longsword lying within arm’s reach.
Around him, the Iron Talon mercenaries were lighting their torches one by one, their flames casting flickering shadows across the camp. In the pitch-black darkness ahead, faint movements stirred within the gloom.
Keldric hastily donned his helmet and rose to his feet.
Of course there were always too many scoundrels in the world.