Chapter 339: The Unknown Girl
Aen was rushing eastward at full speed. He had not received any news about the rebellion in Frozen Furnace City.
But even if he had known, he would only have shown an expression of “as expected,” then let out a cold sneer, saying, “Hmph, those Northland Barbarians are indeed the kind of people who would do such a thing.”
Aen felt no real sense of security. The fervor of the Northland from before, and its current eerie calm, gave him an unsettling, ominous feeling.
So he rode silently on horseback, and the Iron Guards followed silently as well, running on foot with their legs pounding the earth.
After three full days of galloping, Aen felt somewhat weary. He also noticed that the silent Iron Guards were beginning to tire.
Aen could still take strips of dried meat from his saddle to chew on while riding, but the Iron Guards, bearing their Sacred Relics and weapons, had to run to keep up with the speed of the horse. Even though they were true Northern Warriors who had completed the Trials, this forced march was still exhausting.
Thus, when Aen ordered a brief rest, the collective sigh of relief from the Iron Guards was clearly audible.
Aen felt complicated emotions in his heart.
He admitted that leaving with only the Iron Guards carried an element of risk.
Odysseus was a Virtue Knight, and Jeven was a Bishop of the Church—they both bore the Lord’s Blessing, and Aen trusted their words.
They had both said that the Iron Guards were loyal to him, but Aen remained somewhat uncertain.
He was, after all, just a merchant. How could these Northland Warriors, men who lived with bloodshed and carnal urges in their minds, possibly find him worthy of their allegiance?
But looking at these Iron Guards, who had galloped for three days without rest and without anger, he seemed to sense that thing called loyalty—loyalty willing to die for him.
Aen didn’t know what he felt in his heart. He was just a merchant, and no one in his life had ever been so loyal to him.
Even before the Church of the Sanctuary had been founded, he himself had merely been a vassal expected to die for his liege.
But now, Aen realized that perhaps he was no longer so afraid.
“Great King, shall we set up the tent for you?” Bazle asked.
His bare chest was flushed with blood, rising and falling with each heavy breath.
He was a Tier Five Warrior. Even carrying the heaviest column-shaped Sacred Relic on his back, his condition was still the best among all the Iron Guards.
At the very least, he could still stand, holding Aen’s reins while gazing up at him, asking whether to set up the tent.
“No, Bazle.” Aen sat on horseback, looking down at Bazle and said, “Let them rest here for a while. We will head to the village ahead and see if there are any villagers there. We’ll buy some hot soup from them and rent a house. The nights of the Northland are bitterly cold.”
“I know you are mighty Northern Warriors, unafraid of the cold. But I am the King of the Northland. I must bring you a better life. You are my Iron Guards—if, even when conditions allow, I still force you to endure the cold, then what meaning does the title ‘King of the Northland’ have?”
Bazle swallowed the words he had wanted to say about his own toughness. Instead, a simple smile appeared on his face as he said, “Yes, Great King!”
Then he looked toward the other seven, exhausted and slumped on the ground. “You all heard the King’s words?”
The seven men struggled to stand up, replying, “We are the King’s Iron Guards. How could we leave the King in this dangerous wilderness? If we were to distance ourselves from the King because of our own fatigue, could we still be called Iron Guards?”
Bazle laughed, then turned to Aen, looking at him with a hint of pride, as if to say, “We are the King’s Iron Guards—we are no less than those Greenwood Knights.”
Aen also laughed. “In that case, let’s all go together.”
This village seemed rather desolate—understandably so.
When armies pass through, even if Aen’s forces were well-supplied, there were always some hot-blooded people. And after Aen had first arrived at Frozen Furnace City, the fervent had rushed there like mad. Naturally, the people of this village had also responded to the Supreme King of the Northland’s call.
Thus, except for the elderly with weak legs and those still dependent children, all the able-bodied adults had already left the village.
Old Jimmy was the youngest among the older group left in the village. Forcing himself to swallow his fear, he came out. The moment he saw eight towering figures—clearly Northland Warriors—he dropped to his knees without hesitation, crying out for mercy.
“Great warriors, there is nothing left to eat in the village. The people have all fled. Only us old ones who cannot run remain. If you’re hungry, eat me! I’m the youngest left in the village—my flesh isn’t that old yet.” Old Jimmy pleaded desperately.
Yet even as he called himself the youngest, his beard was already graying, his face wrinkled, his hair thinning, his emaciated frame showing every knuckle.
Aen’s heart was troubled.
He came from Greenwood, where the land was fertile. Even under the exploitation of the gentry, commoners could still dig up roots to survive—cannibalism was rare.
After all, the eaten were the same as them; even if possible, they instinctively resisted doing so. It was a human instinct when facing their own kind.
Even those war-time stories of military rations had been far removed from Aen.
And since the founding of the Church of the Sanctuary, cannibalism had been explicitly forbidden. The priests had said: “It is the devil tempting your hunger, making you see your brothers as food. But they are your brothers, born to support you, not to feed you. If you cannot hold firm in your will, you will become a slave to the devil and open the door from Hell into our world.”
It was a crime even graver than slave-trading.
At least the slave laws clearly stated that only those who had committed sufficiently heinous acts could be reduced to slavery.
And now, here was a man saying to him: if you are hungry, eat me, and after you are full, please spare the others.
Aen could imagine that such things had happened in the Northland many times.
Look at the Iron Guards—their faces showed no ripple of emotion.
Perhaps it was his own compassion, or perhaps the title of King, or simply his fatigue, but Aen began to understand what Bishop Jeven had said: “The Northland people are also your children. If you think them barbaric, then bring them civilization. If you think them cruel, then bring them mercy. If you think them disloyal, then teach them that loyalty is honor, and worthy of song.”
At the very least, Aen could now feel Bazle and the others’ loyalty.
So this was Bishop Jeven’s teaching to him? Was this the path the Lord had shown him?
Aen thought so.
Then he spoke: “I am Aen Collins. I am the King of the Northland. I… am your King. I will lead you forward. And in my name I proclaim: the Northland will henceforth treat cannibalism as an evil custom—this is a sinful act. The sins of the past, I grant mercy because I had not yet arrived. But now I am here. Henceforth, the Northland shall not eat human flesh. Whoever does so is no different from a troll and will be put to death.”
“King! King! King!” Bazle and the others roared. Their chests swelled high, their heads lifted proudly, their voices thundered like the sky. They were so proud.
The sound made Old Jimmy curl up in fright, his body trembling. He didn’t understand what these lords were saying.
Were they dissatisfied with his offer? Did they not just want to eat him alone? Were they going to eat everyone instead?
Old Jimmy was so terrified he wet himself. He cried out loudly, “The village is empty! Only old people remain—they don’t taste good! Mighty lords, eat me—it’s enough!”
Aen glanced back, and behind Old Jimmy a few small heads peeked out from the village, only to be pressed down again by withered hands.
Aen sighed inwardly, but he suddenly recalled the very early days when the Church of the Sanctuary had just been founded.
“At that time the Church had said people could come and go as they pleased, but no one dared to believe it. Only later, after the Church carried out one action after another—when those gentry gradually left the villages—did the brave ones begin to take that first step.”
Aen understood that mere words would not make these lowly commoners understand; they needed to see the changes in the Northland.
So Aen rode forward, tossed down a York gold coin and a string of dried meat, and said, “My Iron Guards and I need to spend the night in your village. This gold coin is payment for you, but it is valuable; you must use this string of meat to cook a pot of meat soup for me.”
“And you—since you were willing to stand up for them, that is proof of courage. Therefore, you will be rewarded for your bravery: I will appoint you as this village’s administrator. That is what your courage has earned.”
Old Jimmy stared blankly at the coin and the meat. He could not make sense of it.
Seeing the confusion on Old Jimmy’s face, Aen spoke in words Old Jimmy could understand: “Take this coin and this string of meat, go and cook a pot of meat soup, and tidy the best house you have. We will spend the night here. If the soup is slow to cook, or the house is not ready before the White Star rises, then you will have disobeyed the King’s command—and every one of you will be executed.”
The Iron Guards all laid hands on their weapons; the proud looks on their faces turned full of killing intent.
Old Jimmy understood. He scrambled to his feet, still wet in his trousers, snatched up the meat and the coin, and with a pleading face said, “Great lords, Old Jimmy will cook the most delicious meat soup. The best house belongs to the Evans family’s manor—of course there is no one there now. If the great lords wish, you may stay in that manor.”
“Go at once.” Aen barked.
“Oi!” Old Jimmy bent at the waist, then ran into the village while motioning with his hand inward.
An older man than Old Jimmy hurried out. Old Jimmy spoke to him, handed over the meat skewer, then trotted back to Aen and said, “Great lords, Old Hansen has gone to cook the meat soup for you. He used to be a hunter—his soup is the most fragrant in the village. I will now lead you to the Evans family manor.”
He glanced at the man holding Aen’s horse, Bazle Bell, but did not dare fawningly take the reins—he merely led the way.
The Evans family manor did not seem luxurious to Aen, but compared with the low, dilapidated cottages of the village it at least sheltered them from the biting wind.
They went inside, lit some candles Old Jimmy had somehow produced, and exhaustion finally overtook them. Aen sat in one of the manor’s hall chairs and fell asleep. The Iron Guards roused themselves to stand guard. When Old Jimmy and Old Hansen returned carrying a large pot of meat soup, the murderous looks from the Iron Guards frightened them so much their groins were damp and their legs trembled.
If they had not known that the pot of soup equaled the entire village’s life, they would have dropped the jar and knelt to the ground.
Under Bazle Bell’s gaze they trembled as they set the heavy pot down and retreated on tiptoe.
When Aen woke up it was already dark outside; the White Star’s light looked sly.
“How long had I slept?” he stretched and asked.
“About three hours,” Bazle Bell said.
“And her?” Aen looked at the girl trembling on her knees beside them.
“She was brought by the village administrator,” Bazle Bell said. “He said she was the prettiest woman in the village.”
“Woman?”
Aen silently looked at the curled-up child—only about the same size as his eldest son, and his eldest son was only nine.
Aen did not look at the girl further; he asked Bazle Bell, “Have you all not rested?”
“We are the Iron Guards,” Bazle Bell replied.
Aen smiled faintly and said no more. Pointing at the still-warm meat soup he said, “Have some hot soup. It will make you feel better.”
Bazle Bell responded and the Iron Guards took turns eating the soup.
Taking the bowl Bazle Bell offered, Aen looked at the girl and asked, “What is your name?”
“I… I don’t have a name,” the girl said timidly, her voice trembling.
“No name…” Aen fell silent for a moment, then asked, “How old are you?”
“I… I don’t know.” The girl’s body shook.
“And your parents? Do you remember them?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“How did you survive?”
“I don’t know.”
Aen asked no more and quietly finished his soup.
“Rest well tonight. We will continue the march tomorrow. After two more days we will reach Rivers Town—that is my territory. There will be abundant supplies there, and it will be much safer.” Aen said.
“And her? She cannot be trusted.” Bazle Bell looked at the girl; his gaze made the already uneasy girl tremble again.
Aen looked at the girl and asked, “Do you remember the way home?”
This time the girl answered smoothly, “I don’t know.”
Aen continued, “What did the person who brought you say to you?”
The girl hesitated as if unsure whether to speak, as if searching memory. Finally she said, “Old Jimmy said that if I pleased the master, the master would take me away and I would live a good life.”
“Anything else?” Aen asked.
The girl hesitated again and then shut her mouth.
“I’ll kill that old bastard,” Bazle Bell growled.
The girl hurriedly interjected, “Old Jimmy said—even if he didn’t understand—he could sense that you were a noble master, more noble than the masters of the Evans family. If you were angry, everyone would be killed, and I am the oldest female here, so I am most likely to survive.”
“Old Jimmy also said that if the master wanted the wealth the Evans family had not taken, he would lead the master to the Evans manor’s storeroom. But there is nothing there now—only some broken planks. When the Evans family left they took everything they could. The candles you are using were gathered by Old Jimmy and the other old people.”
“And…” The girl, who seemed to know nothing, now appeared eager to spill everything she did know.
Aen closed his eyes and sighed deeply.