Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Martial King Ivaki.

A comrade of the hero who died a hundred years ago, and the great leader of the Nato tribe, who had unified the barbarians of the Western Rocky Mountains.

But why was that name being mentioned here?

“…Ivaki? Are you talking about that Martial King?”

“Y-Yes, that’s correct.”

“Have you confirmed its authenticity?”

“Yes. A member of Dark Moon who is connected to the Nato tribe that inherited the Ivaki style personally guaranteed it. The completeness and form are a bit lacking, but it’s definitely the Martial King’s.”

“…”

“Should I investigate further?”

“No. We’ll close this matter here.”

“Understood.”

After finishing his report, Turk rose from his seat, bowed, and left the office.

Arkan, lost in thought, murmured as he looked out the window.

“Martial King Ivaki. Poison King Basilie. The names of the vanished specters from a hundred years ago keep coming up.”

Even Arkan found the youngest's sudden transformation riddled with oddities.

The Ran Winterbell he knew had always been the embodiment of weakness.

Of course, given the traumas he had endured—ones unbearable for most minds—it wasn’t surprising that he had ended up like that.

But even considering all of that, the boy had been fragile from the start.

One could call him kind, or to put it plainly, a coward.

Either way, he was someone unfit for this household.

In Winterbell terms, a useless man.

‘It’s not like I’m free of blame for what he’s become…’

Perhaps this too had been part of what he’d intended.

But the current Ran Winterbell was no longer the boy Arkan had known.

It was clear from what he had shown so far.

As if he had become a different person overnight.

‘Just like back then.’

Like what happened twenty years ago with his eldest son, Ryan Winterbell.

Something felt off.

The specters that had ruled the era a century ago.

The youngest’s sudden transformation.

His senses, which had reached into the realm of transcendence, were sounding a warning.

That a new wind would soon blow from the North.

---

A man with a massive build, nearly double the size of an average adult male.

His entire body was composed of solid muscle, to the point where it almost seemed like he was clad in a perfect suit of armor. But what stood out even more than his muscles was his appearance.

His face looked no different from an ordinary human’s, but his ears and tail were those of a beast.

A beastkin.

A race presumed to be hybrids of humans and animals, who had settled in the Western Rocky Mountains.

“Wahahahaha! How can you call yourself a man when your fists are that flimsy, Van!”

“…Don’t you ever think you’re just a brainless brute, Ivaki?”

“Thanks for the compliment! Now come at me!”

“I’ve told you again and again, I’m better with weapons than with martial arts—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the man’s fist came crashing in.

Whooosh!

The force behind his punch was so overwhelming that, even when swinging at nothing but air, the wind split apart with a sharp cracking sound that echoed in all directions.

“This guy’s got muscles stuffed in his brain too…”

“Hahaha! Take this chance to bulk up that scrawny body of yours even more! A man ought to be big and sturdy, that’s the best! You've got enough talent, so it won’t be difficult! Train with me, Van!”

“I said I wanted to spar, not go through training! We’re doing this nonsense because you insisted on teaching me your martial arts!”

Despite exchanging fierce blows, the two never stopped running their mouths. The sight of two well-built men, bare-chested and trading punches, would have been enough to send chills down anyone's spine. Unfortunately, because of Ivaki’s massive size, it just looked like he was bullying Van.

Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Van’s specialties were weapons and enhancement magic.

He had other skills too, but those two were his strongest.

By enhancing his physical abilities, he could wield all kinds of weapons freely, and his exceptional reflexes and visual perception allowed him to respond to unexpected situations with ease.

When those elements came together, his true power would shine—but…

Right now, he was limited to bare-handed fighting, so it was only natural that he was being overwhelmed.

‘I must’ve been out of my mind, letting myself get roped in just because he said he’d teach me martial arts he made up himself.’

The rest of the group was watching the scene unfold from a distance.

“Van! Use your speed, speed!”

Malero Saladin shouted like he’d been possessed, enthusiastically coaching from the sidelines.

“I swear, those two never change. Doesn’t matter how old they get.”

Bestia watched with an amused smile, her expression helpless.

“…Barbarian. Why is he always so desperate to mess with Van.”

Ryeong muttered with a scowl full of discontent.

Time passed quickly, and before they realized it, the sun had started to set. Soaked in sweat, Van collapsed flat on the ground in defeat, and Ivaki walked over and sat beside him.

“This is the Ivaki Style that I created! So, what do you think!”

“…I think I get the basic concept, but copying it’s not easy.”

“Hahahaha! Just grasping the core principle is already impressive! You truly are gifted! When this journey ends, I’ll introduce you to my sister, so come with me to the Western Rocky Mountains…”

That was when Ryeong stepped between the two.

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking about your sister? Just stop bothering Van already. Be honest, Ivaki. You’re trying to win with martial arts because you know you’d lose if Van used a sword, aren’t you?”

“…What nonsense is this brat spouting!? You think I would lose to Van!? Me!? Van! Tell me! If you picked up a sword, do you think you’d beat me!?”

With a face that said, ‘Here we go again,’ Van answered with resigned indifference.

“…No way. Of course you'd win, Ivaki. Whether I use a sword or a spear, I could never beat you. You’re the great warrior of the Nato tribe, aren’t you? Someone like me, a mere human, couldn’t possibly stand a chance. Yeah, obviously.”

“Hahahaha! I knew it! But don’t worry. Even you, Van, are a great warrior—this, I, the chieftain of the Nato tribe, Ivaki, guarantee!”

Watching this, Ryeong muttered in disbelief.

“…How can someone like that become a chieftain.”

Then she turned to Van and handed him a handkerchief.

“You’ve got it rough, always humoring that brute of a companion, Van.”

“…Haha. You’ve got it rough too, Ryeong.”

“What am I even doing, though. Why are you so bad at wiping yourself? Here, give it to me.”

As Van struggled to wipe himself properly due to the lack of strength in his hands, Ryeong, with a deadpan face, snatched the handkerchief from him.

She then leaned in closer and began wiping the sweat from his face herself.

“…R-Ryeong?”

Van mumbled, flustered by the closeness.

But Ryeong, unbothered, continued as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? In my homeland, this sort of thing between close companions is normal.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes. Ah, or… could it be you don’t consider me a close companion? Then I must’ve misunderstood. I’m sor—”

“N-No! Not at all! Of course I do!”

Only after seeing Van’s panicked reaction did Ryeong smile brightly.

“I’m just messing with you.”

---

“…Ryeong?”

When I opened my eyes, Ryeong was looking at me.

I was sure it had been a dream, so why was she in front of me?

“Young master?”

As soon as I heard that voice, Ryeong’s face slowly faded away and transformed into Cecil’s.

‘Ah… I was mistaken.’

I must have still been half-asleep—Cecil’s and Ryeong’s faces had overlapped in my hazy mind.

“…Are you all right? You seemed to be having a nightmare, so I was wiping your sweat.”

Just like in the dream, Cecil was gently wiping the sweat from my face with a handkerchief.

“Ah… thanks.”

“But… you kept calling someone named Ryeong in your sleep. Forgive me if I’m being rude, but may I ask who she is?”

At her question, I hesitated for a moment.

Ryeong, though a comrade of the Hero, was not a widely known figure compared to the others.

Still, she wasn’t completely unknown either—Cecil might have heard of her.

“…A comrade.”

Even though I knew calling her that might sound strange to Cecil, I didn’t want to dress it up with other words.

I knew.

It was stubborn of me.

From Cecil’s perspective—someone who had been by my side for a long time—it probably sounded absurd.

Even so…

“I see. Did you care for her a lot?”

Caught off guard by her completely unexpected response, I nodded and answered honestly.

“Yeah. Very much.”

After that, Cecil didn’t ask anything further. Instead, it was me—uncomfortable with the silence—who ended up speaking next.

“Cecil, how long was I unconscious?”

“Four days.”

“Four days? I slept for that long?”

“Strictly speaking, it wasn’t sleep—it was recovery.”

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

Knock knock.

“Head maid. I’ve brought the items you requested.”

“You can leave them at the door.”

A short moment later—

The door opened, and a stranger stepped in, carrying a basin. She respectfully set it down on the floor, then quietly left the room.

“…Head maid?”

As I stared at the door where Cecil and the maid had just been, confused, she spoke up.

“As you saw, the family sent a few maids to tend to you. And so, I’ve become the head maid.”

Until now, the only people in the annex were Cecil and me. For years, it had been just the two of us. Seeing someone new in this place was bound to cause a little cognitive dissonance.

“This is because of the Ranking Duel, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

Now that I had proven myself through the duel, they intended to offer treatment befitting that.

In that case…

“We’ve also received various elixirs and ingredients.”

Was she reading my mind?

“I have no such ability.”

So she really was.

“Anyway, you won’t have to live in such poor conditions like before. We’ve even been granted our own support budget. If you wish, it’s possible to move to a different residence.”

“…No need for that. I think I’ll stay here. Did they send in a chef, by any chance?”

Cecil shook her head.

“I declined. I didn’t think it was necessary…”

“…”

“Do you need one?”

For some reason, I had a bad feeling that answering this wrong might set off a turning point.

“No. I was just going to send them back if they did. I want to eat your cooking, Cecil.”

“…Then I’ll try to make even better meals for you.”

Her tone was calm, but the truth was in the corners of her lips—she couldn’t quite hide the smile.

As Cecil and I continued to talk about this and that, organizing plans for the days ahead, one of the maids came to inform us that we had a visitor.

“Who’s here to see me?”

“It’s the fourth young master.”

Ron Winterbell.

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