FL - Chapter 33: The Snowsworn

Louis watched as the Snowsworn were dragged off in the distance for execution, while Jon chattered incessantly at his side.

The man's face was practically glowing with admiration, his eyes bright like a puppy that had just spotted its owner. He circled Louis ceaselessly, tail practically wagging.

Jon's smile was pure fawning. "Boss! If not for you, my worthless life would've been finished at the hands of those outlaws!

"You're practically my second father! I knew back in the Imperial Capital that you were destined for greatness! And look at you now—you really are something else!"

"Quit sucking up." Louis gave him a sidelong glance and frowned. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Huh? Didn't I come to be a Colonization Lord?" Jon replied with righteous confidence.

Louis gave him a puzzled look. "With your circumstances, you shouldn't have been sent to the Northlands."

Jon pursed his lips and answered without hesitation. "I volunteered."

"Ha?" Louis was caught so off guard he nearly choked on the word. He wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"The good stuff from my family was never going to land on me anyway. Might as well go far away on my own." Jon shrugged, his tone casual.

"Besides, you're here too. I figured following you around, Boss, beats staying home as the boring youngest son."

"And your old man agreed?"

"Of course not! But I submitted the colonization application myself, and the Emperor approved it real quick." Jon let out a smug snort. "At that point, I pretty much had to come."

Louis was silent for a beat. "…"

The Northlands—a place everyone else fled from like the plague—and this guy had actually volunteered?

"I already picked my territory right next to yours. From now on, us brothers are going to rule the Northlands together, and all those people who looked down on us will be the ones groveling!" Jon threw an arm across Louis's shoulder, grinning wide as he leaned in.

That actually got a laugh out of Louis. He shook his head and asked, "Alright then. How many men and how much in supplies did you bring?"

"You're underestimating me." Jon patted his round belly with the air of a man who'd thought of everything. "Six hundred-plus people—craftsmen, soldiers, serfs, the works. Basically self-sufficient. The old man's sending more later, too."

Then he glanced left and right, leaned in close, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And I've got ten thousand Gold Coins."

Louis froze, as though he had been struck by lightning.

Ten thousand? That was twenty times his entire current fortune.

"You really are a new-money noble." Louis let out a quiet sigh.

Jon let out a smug chuckle, clearly proud of his financial standing.

He produced a heavy coin purse and slapped it into Louis's palm with a solid thunk. "Just a little token, Boss. You've got to take it—I won't feel right if you don't!"

Louis stared down at the hefty sack of gold. He estimated there were well over a hundred coins inside. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he lifted his gaze to Jon. "You think I'm a mercenary?"

"Don't say that! It's my tribute to you, Boss!" Jon waved his hands frantically, his face dead serious. "You saved my life—what's a few gold coins compared to that?"

Louis sighed in exasperation but pocketed the gold anyway. Truth be told, he was a little strapped for cash right now.

"So, want to swing by my place first? Grab a proper meal?"

Jon waved him off. "Not yet. I need to get my people settled first."

"Fine. Come by once you're done."

After chatting with Jon a while longer, Louis made ready to lead his company back to Crimson Tide Territory.

Jon stood before the camp, waving with a booming laugh. "Safe travels, Boss! Once I'm all set up, I'll come find you for a drink!"

Louis looked back over his shoulder, offered a faint smile, said nothing more, and spurred his horse forward, his knights falling in behind.

Jon watched them go.

Only after the column vanished along the mountain path did he turn away. He faced his knights and roared with wild enthusiasm: "Full speed toward our territory! Our conquest begins now!"

The knights exchanged weary glances. All they could do was answer with hollow cheers.

……

An icy wind howled through the mountains where the Snowsworn's hidden main encampment lay buried deep in the Northlands' peaks.

Several Ironblood Empire nobles hung upside down above a grotesque altar, writhing in agony.

Rags had been stuffed into their mouths, leaving them only their wide, despairing eyes. Prominent gashes had been carved across each of their bodies.

Blood oozed from the wounds, ran down their faces, and dripped into the altar, which was etched with twisting, alien runes.

"Ancient God of the Frozen Abyss, grant us the blessing of vengeance…" the priest intoned in a low, rumbling chant.

Suddenly, a sickening gurgle rose from the depths. Something far beneath the earth seemed to be stirring in answer.

Then came a wave of bone-chilling cold, seeping from the fissures, so thick with malice it made the skin crawl.

The corpses on the altar began withering at a visible pace, flesh and blood consumed as though devoured by some invisible presence.

The nobles' eyes ruptured. Blood streamed from every orifice. Their bodies collapsed into desiccated husks.

Standing high above, Hiro watched it all with cold indifference, his face utterly expressionless.

His gaze settled on the spreading pool of blood—and through it, he seemed to see his mother, fallen in a pool of blood just like it, so many years ago.

Forty years past, the Empire's iron cavalry had trampled their homeland into the dirt and set their royal court ablaze.

He had been nothing more than a child then, cowering in the shadows, able only to watch as his mother was dragged away by soldiers, run through by a blade. The helplessness and anguish had never left him.

At the memory, his fingertips curled inward. Murderous intent surged through him.

Elder Grom approached with heavy steps, wrapped in a thick gray beast-hide cloak. Deep unease filled his clouded eyes.

"Hiro, one of our squads didn't return." His voice carried an undercurrent of dread.

Hiro pulled his gaze from the altar and answered in a low tone. "I know."

Elder Grom was silent for a long moment. At last, he spoke. "If this continues, it will destroy us in the end."

Hiro cast a cold glance at him. "Blood for blood."

Grom let out a heavy sigh, then lowered his voice. "That northern barbarian witch means us no good. She's only using our hatred to pave the road for her own tribe!"

Hiro's gaze stayed icy. "If she can give us weapons—give us a chance at revenge—then what does it matter?"

"And what have we gained?" Grom slammed his staff against the ground, his voice sharpening with rare ferocity. "All I see are our warriors dwindling!"

"Enough!" Hiro's face darkened.

Grom made to speak again, but Hiro had already raised a hand, his voice cold as frost. "Take him away."

Two Snowsworn warriors stepped forward at once, seizing Grom by the arms and dragging him back.

Grom didn't resist. He simply stared at Hiro, and at last, he let out a bitter laugh. "You will regret this."

Hiro didn't look at him again. He turned his gaze back toward the dying flames of the bonfire.

The image of his mother in her final moments surfaced once more before his eyes—the pool of blood, the weeping cries, the cold sneers of Imperial soldiers…

"Blood… for blood." He whispered it again, his voice low as the freezing wind.

The flames guttered out. Hiro's eyes vanished into the dark.