"Kid. Pack your bags and walk back right now."
Those were the very first words Commander Arthur Whitmore said as soon as he saw .
Since Winterguard fell under the ultimate jurisdiction of the Lornfell territory, it was only natural for to formally greet Arthur, the Lord of the Lornfell, the head of Whitmore household and the active Commander of the fortress.
However, Arthur, a grizzled veteran with heavily scarred armor and perpetually furrowed brows, was fiercely uncooperative from the mont I stepped into his command tent.
"Can’t you understand the situation?" Arthur growled, crossing his arms. "Your father has finally lost his mind and sent you here to your doom."
Arthur’s expression was grim. His anger seed directed more at Count Darius than at . Sending his own blood to Winterguard, even if the boy used to be a good-for-nothing? That thought was clearly reflected in his tired eyes.
"It seems like you’ve co to Winterguard on a whimsical holiday, having only heard of this place in romanticized rumors or heroic novels," Arthur sneered. "Go back now. Cling to your father’s coattails. If you beg and plead, even Darius might not turn you away. He’s still your father, after all."
"My father didn’t send here as a punishnt," I replied evenly. "I ca here of my own accord."
"What’s that?"
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up to different heights, making his heavily scarred face look sowhat amusing. He stared at like I had just spoken a different language.
"Then I really can’t acknowledge your presence here," Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Why not?"
"Because I don’t associate with madn." Arthur glanced sideways at , his eyes sharp. "Do you know the difference between a fool and a madman in a siege, boy?"
"Enlighten ."
"A fool threatens his own life by being reckless. A madman ruins the entire strategy and gets his allies killed," Arthur stated bluntly.
That makes perfect sense. "However, I ca here with the formal permission of the Ashborne Count," I countered, pulling out the sealed docunt Darius had signed. "Even Commander Arthur can’t just throw the blood heir of the North out into the snow without consideration."
Arthur stared at the seal, then glared back at .
"...Tch. Fine. Go to the corner room on the left side of the second floor of the officer’s barracks. That’s your room."
As expected. Despite his harsh words, he had already prepared a room for the mont he received word I was coming.
I bowed slightly to Arthur and turned to leave.
As I walked out of the tent, Arthur’s heavy, exhausted sigh followed into the cold air. He didn’t even bother to hide his disdain.
"...Absolute insanity."
*****
Those who fend off the endless monster invasions in Winterguard are broadly divided into two distinct categories: prisoners, and non-prisoners.
Naturally, the prisoners are used the most. But it’s impossible to hold the line with them alone. They are rely premium at shields designed to block indiscriminate advances. The inmates sent to Winterguard are generally highly dangerous individuals who committed terrible cris but possess the combat skills necessary to survive.
Then there are the rcenaries. They are drawn to the frozen north by the enormous bounties offered by the Empire’s defense funds. Stopping the invasions is of utmost importance to the Capital, and they pay in pure gold.
Finally, there are the formal knights and wizards. Their objectives vary greatly. There are loyal knights fulfilling their duty to the North, mad researchers willing to risk their lives to harvest rare monster cores, and wizards seeking rapid promotion in the Imperial military.
However, absolutely no one cos to Winterguard for ’training.’
Especially not an Academy cadet, not even a legal adult, coming during his ’vacation’ period. Anyone who did that would be considered completely, clinically insane.
"I heard the madman actually arrived." "Yeah, saw him walk into the Commander’s tent."
Near the barracks, a group of seasoned rcenaries and border knights huddled around a fire barrel, exchanging words fueled by the rumors from the estate.
"I heard he’s the disgraced Ashborne kid. The one who got kicked out of his own house."
"He looks too pretty for a crazy person. Skin like porcelain and wearing a coat that costs more than my entire yearly salary."
A crude conversation was followed by equally crude, bitter laughter.
"Hey, Johny. You’re from the Capital, right? You were stationed there until a few weeks ago," one of the rugged rcenaries said, nudging a knight who had been quietly standing out of the circle. "You know anything about this kid?"
Johny let out a long, visible sigh in the cold air. "Do you have any idea how many arrogant nobles live in the Capital? I don’t keep track of every spoiled brat."
"True. As if a pampered rich kid would last long enough for us to rember his na anyway."
The n laughed heartily once more, warming their hands over the fire.
"So, what are the odds?" the rcenary grinned, pulling out a small pouch of coins. "How much are you betting?"
"I give him one week before he begs to go ho. 10 gold coins."
"Huh! You have that much money?" another knight scoffed. "I’ll say he lasts five days before he cries. 15 gold."
The hardened veterans of Winterguard were briefly entertained, betting their hard-earned pay on exactly how many days the madman would last before he broke.
*****
The next day, following Commander Arthur’s orders, I headed to the main barracks to formally register my deploynt.
The barracks were strictly divided by rank. The first floor was crowded with the grunts, rcenaries, and penal soldiers, while the second floor was reserved for the formal knights and officers.
I paused for a mont at the base of the stone steps, then began to climb.
"Hey. You’re not supposed to be heading this way."
Soone was looking down at with a mocking smirk from the top of the stairs.
...Who is this? I searched my mory of the ga’s lore, but I didn’t recognize his face at all. Moreover, his posture was far too sloppy for a properly trained knight, and he lacked the dense aura of a veteran.
In other words, a nobody. A low-tier rcenary who had probably scrounged up enough coin to buy a polished breastplate. I ignored him entirely and kept walking.
"Didn’t you hear , rich boy? You belong on the first floor with the rest of the fresh at," he sneered.
Snap.
As I tried to pass, he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I didn’t even break my stride. I simply shifted my weight and casually brushed his hand off.
But the physical feedback of brushing him off felt oddly unsatisfactory. What’s with this guy? He’s definitely not a knight. His grip had been laughably weak.
"You crazy bastard!" he cursed, his face turning red with embarrassnt at having his grip broken so effortlessly.
I didn’t even bother looking back. I didn’t need to waste my ti or energy confronting these low-level thugs.
Creak—
I pushed open a heavy oak door with a battered sign that read ’Officer’s Waiting Room.’
It was a spacious but extrely spartan room, furnished with nothing but a few long wooden benches and a weapon rack. A dozen n were scattered inside, sharpening blades or adjusting their armor.
As I entered, the tallic scraping stopped. Their gazes slowly turned toward , heavy and unwelcoming.
One of them, a burly man with a jagged scar across his chin, looked at with a blank, exhausted expression.
"What? Another noble brat trying to play soldier up here?"
I looked around the room. I had assud I wouldn’t recognize anyone, but the diversity of their equipnt told a story. The knights’ armor varied wildly in style, design, and family crests. The forces dispatched to Winterguard were pulled from almost all over the Empire, but their numbers were pitifully small. True knights were a vital, expensive military asset; sending them to the frozen at-grinder of the North was usually a political death sentence.
"Hey, kid. How long do you think you’ll last?" one of them suddenly called out from the back.
"How long?" I echoed flatly.
"Yeah, we’re making a bet," the knight grinned, flashing a set of crooked teeth. "On when exactly you’ll kick the bucket."
At that, the waiting room erupted into harsh, barking laughter. They were genuinely entertained, as if they had just heard the funniest joke of the month.
Only about four or five n didn’t laugh, including Johny, the knight from the Capital I had seen near the fire barrels yesterday.
I let the laughter echo for a mont. Then, I slowly spoke.
"Then I’ll place a bet too."
The room quieted down just enough to hear .
"I bet that no one in this room will die for next two weeks."
The laughter stopped completely. The mocking grins vanished, replaced by glares of utter disbelief. They looked at as if I had just spoken pure, unfiltered madness.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" the scarred knight scoffed, standing up. "Hey, do you even know where you are? This is Winterguard. ’No one dies for next two weeks? People die here every single week!"
"Really?" I tilted my head slightly, my voice perfectly calm. "Then let ask you this: who exactly do you think is going to die? Is there anyone in this room crazy enough to actually want to die?"
The knights’ expressions hardened.
I understood why they were making such vulgar bets. This was Winterguard. In a place where you were practically guaranteed to die violently, people couldn’t help but go a little crazy just to cope with the stress. Those who didn’t find a way to vent usually broke down and died first.
I understood the psychology behind calling a madman. But I didn’t intend to fight these guys over a bruised ego.
Rather, I needed them to hold the line while I worked.
"I’ll say it again," I stated, my voice carrying a trace of the sa suffocating authority I had used against Count Darius. "No one here will die while I’m in Winterguard."
I didn’t wait for their response. I turned and walked out of the room. Soon enough, they would bitterly realize that they needed just as much as I needed them.
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