Chapter 338: Very Un-Northland Tradition

Once, this had been Frozen Furnace City.

The common folk of the Northland were still building the Pale Castle.

However, compared to their former fervor, their eyes now revealed more confusion than zeal.

They only knew that constructing this castle was an order from the Supreme King of the Northland, yet within their hearts, they faintly resisted. They could not explain why such an unquestionable command stirred this faint rebellion in them.

Was it because of exhaustion and pain? Or because they knew nothing of the castle’s purpose? Or was it due to that deep ache—like something precious had been lost within them?

They did not know, nor did they need to.

All they needed to do was obey the nobles, the gentry, and the officials. From the past until now, it had always been this way—this was the tradition of the Northland.

Meanwhile, the nobles and gentry who had once labored alongside the commoners to build the Pale Castle had set down their stones and gathered together in small groups, faintly whispering about something.

This was a large tent—the same one Aen had lived in since the beginning of the Western Campaign, and still did to this day.

Outside the tent, eight Iron Guards surrounded it, their eyes brimming with killing intent, glaring at anything that dared move nearby. Any who approached without command would meet their blades.

Each of them held a Sacred Relic—these were treasures that the Supreme King Aen had ordered them to safeguard temporarily.

Inside the tent, Bishop Jeven lay on the bed that had once belonged to Aen, his face deathly pale. Aen knelt beside the bed, while the four Virtue Knights stood solemnly with hands resting on their sword hilts.

“Aen, I have heard the Lord’s revelation,” Jeven said, his trembling hand lifting with great effort.

Aen grasped Jeven’s shaking hand tightly.

Jeven continued, “Aen, you must go east. There lies a towering glacier—it is the place of your destiny.”

Aen slowly nodded. He said, “I will go, once you have recovered.”

Jeven replied, “No. You must go now. This is your destiny.”

His voice carried firm insistence, and his grip on Aen’s hand tightened.

“But you…” Aen hesitated.

“Odysseus and the others will take me back,” Jeven said.

Aen grew flustered.

Ever since the massive Bone Dragon had appeared above Frozen Furnace City yesterday, the entire atmosphere of the city had changed.

The frenzied devotion that Aen once feared had vanished—everyone seemed… normal again.

Yet that very normalcy transformed Aen’s fear into terror.

He could feel it—those nobles he had once rallied to his side now harbored other thoughts.

The Northland, which had once seemed open and transparent before his eyes, now constricted his vision, narrowing until all he could see were the people right before him.

It was the fear of the unknown.

Fortunately, the Iron Guards he had personally ennobled had merely lost some of their former zeal but remained loyal. They still controlled the majority of Aen’s army.

Though even now, Aen dared not be certain how long that loyalty would last.

And now, his greatest support—Bishop Jeven—intended to return to Greenwood, along with Odysseus and the others. How could he not tremble in fear?

“If you leave… what will I do?” Aen pleaded.

A faint smile crossed Jeven’s pale face. He said, “Aen, Aen, how can you show such weakness?”

Jeven forced himself upright; Aen hurriedly helped him sit.

Once seated, Jeven lifted Aen’s hand with one of his own and placed the other gently atop it.

He said, “The Aen I once met was an adventurer who willingly gave up a merchant’s profit just to speak with me.”

“The Aen I once met was a steadfast man who helped transport supplies for the Diocese of Rod without seeking any reward.”

“The Aen I once met was a brave man who dared face a Grand Duke with nothing but the courage of a merchant.”

“And now, you are a king—with Iron Guards loyal to you, warriors rallying under your banner, and subjects beneath your command. How is it that you have grown weaker instead?”

Aen was just past thirty, already bearing the faint roundness of middle age, while Jeven was barely in his twenties.

Yet in that moment, it seemed their ages had reversed—Aen was like a frightened child, and Jeven like a gentle father.

“I am afraid,” Aen said mournfully, trembling. “I can feel their malice, their rejection. I will always be one from Greenwood, not of the Northland. Yet I became the Supreme King of the Northland. I fear the day their weapons turn upon me as they shout to reclaim the Northland’s purity.”

Jeven said, “You have your Iron Guards—they are loyal to you, ready to die for you. Just as their name implies, they are your shield of iron and will of steel.”

Aen said, “But they are Northlanders—you know how savage and cruel the Northlanders can be. I cannot trust their loyalty.”

Jeven said, “No man is born a king. You can learn how to be one. I believe you will be a king remembered by the Northland. And I believe that one day, you will see the Iron Guards’ loyalty clearly—and that you, too, are a king worthy of their fealty.”

Aen said, “But I am only a merchant. I have no strength. In the Northland, that makes me weak—and the weak can never be recognized as kings.”

Jeven said, “Who says only strength makes a king? You are from Greenwood—you should know that nobles, gentry, and those in power need not rely solely on might. They rule through wisdom. That, too, is power.”

Jeven lifted his hand from Aen’s and placed it atop Aen’s head.

Aen bowed devoutly.

Jeven continued, “You are the King of the Northland, and your will should be the will of the Northland. The people of the Northland are your children. If you believe they are savage, then bring them civility. If you believe they are cruel, then teach them mercy. If you believe they lack loyalty, then let them learn that loyalty is an honor, a virtue worthy of song.”

“To be the King of the Northland is your destiny—it is the Lord’s guidance. And that means you are destined to be a king sung in praise.”

Aen’s body trembled. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. “But I am just a lost believer. I need the Lord’s guidance.”

Jeven said, “The Lord loves all mankind. As long as you pray devoutly and recite the Lord’s Words, you will naturally receive His guidance.”

Aen asked, “Will the Church not establish a chapel in the Northland?”

Jeven said, “Perhaps it will, perhaps not. This is the Northland, after all—it is not the same as Greenwood. Even now, with Greenwood short of manpower, a single year’s wheat harvest there equals five years’ worth in the Northland. With such disparity, how could one measure the Northland by Greenwood’s standards?”

“And you, being from Greenwood, should understand—even when the King of Greenwood is absent, the kingdom’s decrees still come from the Senate, while priests at most serve as overseers.”

“Aen, remember this: faith shows the direction of the heart, but it is the king who must lead the nation forward.”

Aen burst into tears, suddenly feeling as though he had been abandoned by his own home.

Jeven sighed softly and finally asked, “Then, would you be willing to give up your power in the Northland and return to Greenwood as a mere merchant once more?”

Aen’s sobbing ceased.

He said, “I will depart for the East tomorrow.”

Jeven said, “No, you must go now. Take your Iron Guards with you, and let them carry the Sacred Relics. There are nine in total—each of your eight Iron Guards will bear one, and you shall carry the ninth yourself.”

Aen asked, “Why must we bring them and the Relics? Is there danger in the East? Are we to enter the place of Annihilation?”

Jeven replied, “There lies the final Sacred Relic of the Northland, and there, as the Lord has revealed, you shall, with the Heart of the Northland, forge the Crown of Thorns.”

The hand Aen held trembled slightly as he said, “If that is so, then I will take Azel and the others and set out for the East at once.”

Jeven’s palm upon Aen’s head shone faintly with light as he said, “I bless you, that you shall not be corrupted by the power of the Relics.”

Aen was, as he had said, merely a merchant—he possessed neither firm will nor a strong body and could not resist the erosion of the Sacred Relics.

Those Iron Guards, however, with their steadfast wills, could at least remain unaffected for a time.

Aen left, summoning his eight Iron Guards, and without a word, they headed East.

“Cough… cough…” Jeven suddenly coughed several times; his face grew even paler, and cold sweat seeped from his forehead.

Odysseus hurried over and asked, “Are you all right?”

Jeven forced a faint smile and said, “The Bone Dragon’s power was too great. Merely withstanding the force of its passing and the pollution of its presence almost annihilated my will and shattered my soul. But as long as I did not die on the spot, there is nothing to fear. The Lord’s Blessing will gradually restore me.”

Odysseus said, “You certainly do not look like someone who is all right.”

Jeven smiled faintly but did not answer. Instead, he said, “We should return.”

Odysseus was startled. “Now?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jeven replied.

“What about Aen?” Odysseus asked.

Jeven’s expression softened into a pleased smile. “Aen is already fit to be a true king,” he said.

…

And so, after Aen suddenly rode off on horseback with his eight Iron Guards eastward, Jeven and Odysseus, along with their two companions, quickly headed south to return to Greenwood.

This abrupt development left the nobles and gentry in shock.

They did not understand what Aen was planning.

The nobles knew well the benefits that titles brought, and thus none believed that Aen—who had effectively become the Supreme King of the Northland—could truly be a simple, ordinary man.

Unease stirred among them. They halted all their secret discussions and waited for word from Aen.

But they were, after all, Northlanders. When Aen and the Iron Guards failed to appear the next day, they could no longer restrain themselves.

These nobles were powerful Northland Warriors, and the gentry, in silent understanding, rallied beneath their banners. Together, they coerced the confused commoners and plundered the supplies sent from Greenwood.

It was as if a sealed desire had burst open. The nobles distributed the goods freely and began to spread slanderous rumors about Aen.

They said, “That so-called Supreme King Aen is nothing but a coward from Greenwood. He came only after the noble Northland lords had bled each other dry, after the mighty Captain of the Comrades Group slew two Marquises, and picked up the corpse of a fallen lamb.”

They said, “These supplies are the price Aen paid by selling us to the Greenwood nobles. Everyone knows Aen was just a merchant despised even by Greenwood’s cowards. We are but his merchandise. Think of it—how many gold coins is a strong slave worth? After the Eastern Campaign last year, Greenwood’s lands lay empty and in need of people to fill them.”

They said, “We are the brave Northland Warriors! We will not be ruled by a king who cannot even lift a battleaxe! He is no warrior—how can he command us? In the end, he is just a Greenwood merchant.”

They said, “Northland Warriors, rise up! Unite beneath the noble blood of the Northland! Drive out this merchant from Greenwood and make the blood of the Northland great once more!”

Thus, they led the stirred commoners in an assault on the military camp.

But what did the commoners truly understand? They were Northlanders, and once the nobles reminded them, they recalled that the King of the Northland was but a merchant—a man without strength.

And how could a man without strength be the King of the Northland? He was not even worthy of noble blood.

This was the Northland’s tradition.

So then, how were they to deal with such a king?

They were uncertain—uncertain as to why they even questioned it, and uncertain of what they should do.

And so the noble bloodlines of the Northland gave them the answer.

Expel Aen, and make the Northland great again.

They were reluctant in their hearts, for they vaguely felt that Aen had treated them well—at least, under his rule, they had not gone hungry.

Yet as they recalled the past, they thought that the weak should never hold power. When a weak man sat upon a throne not meant for the weak, it was only natural that the strong should take his place.

This, too, was the Northland’s tradition.

They seemed to hear the nobles saying so.

They thought of the slaves taken after war, then of Aen’s identity as a merchant, and finally of the worth of a single gold coin.

They were lost in confusion—and by the time they came to their senses, the noble bloodlines of the Northland were already holding aloft the heads of captains and commanders from the camp, loudly proclaiming that they had declared war upon Aen.

The commoners soon realized they had no choice left.

Even if most had been bewildered during the raid, even if many had never entered the camp at all, they had accepted the goods distributed by the nobles—Aen’s goods.

Under noble command, and subtly guided by men arranged by the gentry, their instinct to survive took precedence. Nearly half chose to follow the nobles, a smaller portion fled, and the rest followed in Aen’s footsteps.

The uprising succeeded—the nobles had reclaimed power. Beneath them gathered the gentry, and beneath the gentry, the commoners.

Yet the nobles were not pleased.

They realized that in doing this “Northland-traditional” act, they had been most untraditional—they had used their minds.

They discovered that the gentry, too, had begun to think.

They even gave themselves honorable reasons for their killings.

Even though their prepared justifications and rumors had made the uprising effortless, it was still not the Northland way.

And finally, to their horror, they found that within the overrun military camp, apart from the slain, only a few had joined them—most had scattered and fled.

And all those who fled ran eastward.

Thus arose division among them. They began to discuss matters—but even that was most un-Northland-like.

For they actually debated with words, rather than settling it with their weapons.

In the end, most scattered to rebuild their own territories, believing that once they had reassembled their armies, they could stand against Aen.

Only a few remained, eating the leftover rations and forcing the commoners to continue building the Pale Castle.

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