"Ivar, Ivar! Give me that club! I'll smash those cowards' shields in one blow!!"
"The gates are open, warriors of Ishkar! The God of War calls to you!!"
"For the glory of Doomhelm!!!"
The battle was fierce. Blood and flesh, rocks and flaming oil flew in every direction, and a moment's lapse in attention could cost you your life.
I pushed to the front, channeling my Ancestral Power as I cleaved through the knights in their pure white armor one by one. Harald followed through the opened gates, seizing a warhorse and rampaging through the fortress interior against the enemy.
The massive club made from a magic beast's leg bone crumpled an iron shield, and at that moment, a drumbeat echoed from the imperial forces' side. It was the order to retreat.
We deliberately let them withdraw with their wounded. Our own looting parties needed to enter the fortress to gather supplies, so a prolonged fight would have been troublesome.
"Not much to it after all, eh, brother?"
"Don't let your guard down. We've only breached the first wall."
The walls stretched along the layered mountain ridges like a chain. When white snowflakes settled on the rocks, they looked like massive barriers in themselves.
Six—no, seven, maybe. Even piercing the weakest point meant crossing at least that many defensive lines.
I looked around. Surprisingly, the fortress interior abandoned by the retreating enemy held plenty of supplies.
The granaries and armories were fully stocked. Civilized folk usually kept only the bare minimum in anticipation of us raiding them.
They'd made a blunder. If they regrouped here and launched a counterattack, we could hold out for another fortnight.
Amid the joy as everything went smoothly, I spotted Grak, the leader of our combat unit. He was wiping blood from his sword and muttering to himself.
"What's wrong, Grak? Something off?"
"The mountain is slipping..."
"The mountain?"
Grak was a warrior inscribed with four runes. He could shrug off spears and arrows bare-handed, and even if wounded, the injury never festered.
Grak, who bore the warrior name 'Stone Skin' and always led us with cool-headed precision, was visibly shaken.
"The ancestors have warned us. When the plains wind no longer pushes at our backs, we must be cautious."
I began to feel the ground trembling too, soon realizing something was approaching.
"It's coming, Ivar."
"What's coming? You don't mean..."
"The Winter Witch...!!"
"Everyone, get to the walls!!!"
No sooner had my shout ended than an enormous vibration hit, and the world before us turned white. An avalanche.
Snow and ice crystals poured down with a freezing gale, swallowing our position in an instant. Even warriors fighting on the frozen plains lakes perished without twitching a finger.
I summoned every ounce of Ancestral Power from my nursing days to endure the blizzard. My muscles and veins froze solid, and I lost sensation in my fingers.
But I still had the strength to raise my right hand gripping the axe. As I desperately sought a way out, an emotionless voice came from my ear, where pain like it was being severed throbbed.
"They've come in droves again this year."
It was a slender, white-haired woman. Unlike the other soldiers, she wore not iron armor but an ornate uniform.
It clashed terribly with the battlefield of blood and screams. But since no one here could lay a finger on her, it was no issue.
"To lose the fortress to rabble like this. How disappointing."
"My apologies, Commander-in-Chief."
"I'm not blaming your incompetence. It must be the folly of the Margrave's appointed commander."
The Winter Witch. The terror of the plains tribes had appeared at the front lines.
As she oversaw the recovery of the wounded, her gaze shifted to the axe in my hand. She instantly recognized it as one used by her subordinate.
"That axe..."
"I am Ivar, son of Wolfhead Kashyrn and proud warrior of the Stonegar Tribe."
I forced open my frozen eyelids and spoke. My vision was dotted red in places.
I was the only one left standing on this battlefield. To save my still-breathing comrades, I couldn't back down.
"By the will of the War God Ishkar, I claim the glory of departing to the land of eternal battle from this spot right now. State your name, Winter Witch."
"Hmph."
She scoffed at me as I thrust my dripping, frozen-blood axe toward her. A translucent spear materialized in her hand.
"No name for a barbarian like you. Die."
"For Doomhelm!!!"
At that moment, Grak—whom I'd thought buried in snow—emerged. His thrust sword snapped against her spear, piercing his chest, and at the same instant, a horn sounded from behind.
The tribal alliance's reinforcements, informed of the situation, had begun assaulting the walls to rescue our combat unit.
Judging it unwise to fight while holding a collapsed front, she withdrew the chill dominating the area. The moment my body thawed, I hurled my axe without hesitation.
Kaang—!
The axe, spraying blood, was blocked by an ice wall that sprang up before the woman.
"You're lucky, barbarian."
Glancing at it, the Winter Witch withdrew to the second wall with her subordinates.
That winter, we secured frozen rations and passed it in relative abundance, but I felt no joy.
*
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Grak survived. But even with his tough skin, he couldn't fully block the Winter Witch's attack, suffering wounds that made it impossible for him to fight as a warrior anymore.
With age on his side, the veteran naturally became a tribal elder, duty-bound to pass on his knowledge and experience even in retirement. He had been old to begin with.
It was regrettable not fighting alongside him on the front lines anymore, but his ascension opened doors for me. My standing within the tribe skyrocketed.
"That was the moment. Ivar, sworn by the warrior's oath, challenged the Winter Witch. His axe-wielding arm was severed by the wicked witch's assault, but he picked it up and charged again."
"Whoa... Really?"
"But didn't Ivar have both arms intact?"
"Ishkar bestowed his blessing. That's not the point. Next, both legs were cut off, but he reattached them and hurled the axe in a deadly spin..."
Grak had always been a good storyteller, and now seated by the campfire regaling us with tales of valor, the tribal children's eyes sparkled like stars on the plains. Though the facts were heavily distorted here and there, stories of a great warrior captivated everyone.
Ivar the Brave, who clashed with the Winter Witch. The rumors spread beyond our tribe; in hunting grounds, I'd even receive concessions.
"This canyon is a place the Bailish Tribe has permission to rest in from the plains."
"But if you're the brave brother Ivar who faced the Winter Witch, you may challenge the 'Crawling Fire' ruining this place first."
"Thanks, but I'm just here to fetch water nearby..."
"The shamans say there's a deep, clean lake to the west that could drown that serpent!"
"We'll leave dealing with it to Ivar! Remember the Raggedfoot Brothers!"
...Unwanted info, but with our tribe's influence growing on the plains, it was probably good.
Truth be told, I wandered like this because my rising fame brought unwanted pressures. Every time I went to my usual stream for water, I felt the tribal women's lingering gazes.
They must be interested in marriage. Since my father, Kashyrn, died hunting magic beasts when I was young, custom dictated they offer gifts directly or via elders if interested.
"..."
Mornings emerging from my tent, I'd find bone jewelry woven from wild beasts or rabbit-skin undergarments hung on stakes. Grateful, but I had no intention of marrying.
No one caught my eye, and aside from hunting, my mind was elsewhere most of the time.
The Winter Witch. In the blizzard-choked battlefield, I hadn't noticed, but upon reflection, she seemed familiar somehow.
A connection from my past life? But if such a beauty had been around me on Earth, I'd have remembered instantly.
I regretted not hearing her name. When I mentioned it, Aiter said while grinding stones.
"Wall rats never utter their names to us."
"Why's that?"
"They believe revealing their evil nature might harm them through our shamanism."
"Ha!"
Fools. Even in a world with magic, more superstitious than the barbarians they faced.
Of course, they fundamentally didn't see us as fellow intelligent humans, so no need for introductions. The first wall's commander had died stupidly to a catapult stone while speechifying from the ramparts.
"All they had to do was tread homeland soil and etch their name in the stars to fly off."
"..."
She could actually do it. I felt a pang of guilt for calling them fools moments ago.
"B-but why's Ivar so interested in the Winter Witch's name? Does she bother you or something?"
Aiter's voice suddenly carried a cavernous chill. The three round eye and mouth holes in her mask seemed to widen oddly.
I couldn't mention my past life, so I gave another reason. Half-true, anyway.
"Know your enemy to win."
"R-right."
"In that sense, her dismissing me at the wall was a huge blunder."
"Why?"
"She underestimated my Ancestral Power."
There are many kinds of Ancestral Power, and mine was that type. Next time, I wouldn't go down so easily.
"Th-there, done."
"Thanks."
With the second rune inscription complete, I grabbed my axe. Off to hunt the magic beast in the canyon the Raggedfoot Brothers mentioned.
Crawling Fire, was it? Catching it would mean no more freezing in blizzards.
As I headed out, Aiter brought up Harald.
"Better visit the chieftain's son before leaving the bounds."
"Harald?"
"Yeah, word is he's not doing well."
Had he been injured? I recalled him swept by the blizzard off the wall.
Unlike Grak, carried back on my shoulders, he'd returned on his own feet, so probably not severe. But Aiter clarified Harald's issue wasn't physical.
"Ever since waking, cold winds make him shiver and faint."
Classic PTSD. To plains tribes, though, it was just a matter of will.
"Even the matriarch's potions don't help, so his sisters suggested a fix."
"What?"
"Soak in the Lake of Eternity beyond the northern mountains for three days. Says to shed the Winter Witch's curse, make the body even colder."
"..."
He'd die of a heart attack first. Or drown.
Aiter wasn't telling me out of worry for him.
She rubbed the ground with her finger, muttering displeasedly.
"That's where we wash ritual tools. If Harald goes in, it'll get dirty."
"Harald doesn't bathe like you, Ivar, stinks too, and dead fish float up when he dips his feet in the river..."
"..."
"I-instead, keep him out of the lake, and I'll give you one of my treasured items!"
"Sigh, fine. I'll go check on him."
Dunking in the lake wouldn't help anyway.
Accepting Aiter's request, I headed straight for Harald's tent.
— Hiiik! Close the flap! The Winter Witch is coming...!