Snow Oath

Louis watched the Snow Oath members being dragged away for execution nearby, while Joern chattered beside him.

The fellow's face was full of adoration, his eyes shining like a puppy that had spotted its owner. He circled Louis as though he were wagging a tail.

Joern gave him a particularly fawning smile. "Boss! If it hadn't been for you, those desperadoes would've finished me off!

"You practically gave me a second life! Back in the Imperial Capital, I knew you were destined for great things! And look how strong you've become!"

"Enough flattery." Louis glanced at him and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh? Didn't I come to become a frontier lord?" Joern said, as though it were obvious.

Louis stared at him in confusion. "With your circumstances, you shouldn't have been sent to the Northern Frontier."

Joern pursed his lips and answered matter-of-factly, "I volunteered."

"What?" That left even Louis at a loss for words. He wondered whether he had misheard.

"It's not like any of the family's benefits would ever come my way. I figured I might as well go somewhere far away," Joern said casually with a shrug.

"Besides, you're here too. I figured sticking with you would beat being some bored youngest son back home."

"Your old man agreed?"

"Of course not! But I submitted a frontier settlement application myself, and the emperor approved it right away." Joern gave a smug snort. "After that, I had to come."

Louis fell silent for a moment. "..."

Everyone else avoided the Northern Frontier like the plague, and he had actually volunteered to come?

"I've already picked a fief right next to yours. From now on, we'll rule the Northern Frontier together, brother, and make ourselves too high and mighty for anyone who ever looked down on us!" Joern clapped him on the shoulder and leaned closer with a grin.

That made Louis laugh outright. He shook his head and asked, "All right, then. How many people and supplies did you bring?"

"You're underestimating me. How could I come unprepared?" Joern patted his round belly, looking utterly confident.

"Over six hundred people-craftsmen, soldiers, serfs, the lot. Enough to be mostly self-sufficient. The old man will send more over later."

Then he glanced around, leaned close to Louis, and lowered his voice. "And I've got ten thousand gold coins."

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

Ten thousand? That was twenty times everything he currently had!

"You really do live up to your family's reputation as newly minted, filthy-rich nobles," Louis couldn't help remarking.

Joern chuckled, clearly quite proud of his wealth.

He pulled out a heavy pouch of gold and slapped it into Louis's hand. "Just a little something. You have to take it, Boss, or I'll feel terrible!"

Louis looked down at the enormous pouch of gold coins. He estimated there were over a hundred inside. His mouth twitched as he looked up at Joern. "Do you take me for a mercenary?"

"Don't put it like that! This is a token of my respect for you!" Joern waved his hands repeatedly, his expression earnest. "You saved my life. What's a few gold coins compared to that?"

Louis sighed helplessly, but he put the gold away anyway. He really was rather poor at the moment.

"Then why don't you come over to my place and have a look? We can have a good meal while you're there."

Joern waved a hand. "Not yet. I have to get my people settled first."

"All right. Come over when you're done."

Louis chatted with Joern a little longer, then prepared to lead his men back to the Red Tide Fief.

Standing in front of the camp, Joern laughed and waved. "Safe travels, Boss! Once I've settled in, I'll come over for a drink!"

Louis glanced back at him and smiled. Without another word, he rode away with his knights.

Joern watched them go.

Only after the party disappeared along the mountain road did he look away and shout excitedly to his knights, "Full speed ahead to our fief! Let our march to supremacy begin!"

The knights exchanged looks and could only answer helplessly.

An icy wind howled through the mountains of the Northern Frontier, where the Snow Oath's secret main camp lay hidden.

Several nobles of the Ironblood Empire hung upside down over a sinister altar, writhing in pain.

Rags stuffed their mouths, leaving them able only to stare wide-eyed in despair. Several conspicuous wounds had been cut into each of their bodies.

Blood seeped from the wounds and trickled down their cheeks onto the altar, which was carved with eerie runes.

"Ancient God of the Cold Abyss, grant us your blessing of vengeance..." the priest chanted in a low voice.

Suddenly, a sickening, low squirming sound came from underground, as though answering the priest's plea.

Then a bone-chilling cold seeped out of the cracks.

The bodies on the altar began to wither rapidly, their flesh seemingly devoured by an invisible presence.

The nobles' eyes burst, blood poured from every opening in their faces, and they shriveled into desiccated remains.

From his elevated position, Hiro looked down coldly at everything happening on the altar, his face expressionless.

His gaze settled on the pool of blood, as though through it he could see his mother lying in her own blood all those years ago.

Forty years earlier, the Empire's cavalry had trampled their homeland and burned their royal court.

As a young child, he had huddled in the shadows, able only to watch as soldiers dragged his mother away and ran her through with a sword, her eyes filled with anguish and defiance.

At the thought, his fingers tightened slightly, and murderous intent surged within him.

Elder Grom approached slowly, draped in a heavy gray animal-hide cloak, deep worry lurking in his clouded eyes.

"Hiro, one of our parties hasn't returned." Unease colored his voice.

Hiro drew his gaze away from the altar and said in a low voice, "I know."

Elder Grom was silent for a moment before finally speaking. "If we keep this up, sooner or later it'll end badly for us."

Hiro shot him a cold glance. "Blood must be repaid with blood."

Grom sighed, then continued in a low voice. "That Northern Barbarian Witch means us no good. She's merely using our hatred to pave the way for her tribe!"

Hiro's gaze was icy, his voice low. "If she can give us weapons and a chance for revenge, what does it matter?"

"And what have we gained? All I see is fewer and fewer of our warriors!" Grom struck his staff against the ground, his tone unusually fierce.

"Enough!" Hiro's expression darkened.

Grom wanted to say more, but Hiro had already waved a hand. "Take him away," he ordered coldly.

Two Snow Oath warriors immediately stepped forward, seized Grom firmly by the arms, and dragged him back.

Grom did not struggle. He merely stared hard at Hiro before finally saying with a cold laugh, "You'll regret this."

Hiro did not look at him again. He turned back toward the dying flames of the bonfire.

The scene of his mother's death rose before his eyes again: the pool of blood, the cries, the cold sneers of the Empire's soldiers...

"Blood... for blood," he murmured again, his voice as low and cold as the winter wind.

The firelight died completely, and Hiro's eyes vanished into the darkness with it.