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Translator: penny
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: The Northern Grand Duchess is a Swordsmanship Genius
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The North is cold.
Snow falls endlessly, freezing even the air solid.
And this chill was man-made.
Back in the day, during the Demon King's invasion. Among the Four Heavenly Kings under that Demon King.
The fallen Dragon Emperor, known as the Ice Dragon. When he set up his lair in the North, everything went to hell.
The hero of that era beheaded the Demon King, and even the supposedly immortal Dragon Emperor met his end.
But his heart took root somewhere in Northern soil, birthing this relentless cold snap.
The problem? No humans left who could push through that blizzard to find it. That's why pinpointing the Dragon Emperor's heart is damn near impossible.
On top of that, the Demon King's lingering curse keeps spawning beasts nonstop.
They swarm over the Northern walls in massive hordes, driven by pure instinct to invade the Empire.
Day in, day out, battles with those monsters. Comrades alive yesterday dead by today.
That's the North.
The North is cold.
And barren.
This was—
'What I think—.'
The guardian of the North.
The only daughter of House Heilron. Heilron Iris, the Northern Grand Duchess. To her, this was the North's alpha and omega.
"An Ice Troll, huh."
Heilron August.
Her father and master of this stern manor. Descendant of the Sword King, who stood with the previous hero to halt the Demon King.
He receives his daughter's report with a grave expression.
"A troll showing up in a sector assigned for basic recon and cleanup... That's a wildcard. Casualties?"
"Six dead. Eight wounded."
"...Heavy losses."
His face darkens with sorrow. Lives that didn't have to be lost.
It was supposed to be a safe zone. Troll-class beasts didn't spawn there.
"Something brewing...? I let needless blood get spilled."
"...I'm sorry. If I'd been faster..."
"No. This isn't on you."
August shakes his head.
Not his daughter's fault.
"You were on the front lines from the start."
"..."
"You rushed out to support the recon team on top of that. What more could you have done?"
He'd already gotten the full report. Front lines—the beast-infested heart of it all. She'd charged in with the knights.
Already culled a couple hordes there. And yet, the moment the support call came, she bolted solo to the Ice Troll's site.
"...Even so."
"Without you, it wouldn't have stopped at six dead. Probably twenty-plus."
That was the low end. Iris's intervention kept it from being worse.
"Iris."
"Yes, Family Head."
"Don't shoulder what isn't yours. That's hubris."
"...I'm sorry."
Iris bows her head. She apologizes, but August knows it's hollow.
She probably blames herself anyway. That's the kind of girl she is.
"...Enough. I'll send compensation gold and letters to the bereaved."
"Understood. I'll prepare them right away."
"And."
Iris pauses on her way out at August's voice.
"How's Elise's boy?"
"..."
Elise.
History's greatest mage. History's worst witch.
Word was her son had shown up.
Decades. Over her entire career since rising as a mage, she'd never taken a single apprentice.
One reason.
What's the point of nurturing second-rate talent?
Her bar was sky-high.
Even the Empire's prized prodigy—who hit 4th Circle at twenty—was "just okay" to her. Other so-called geniuses? Forget it.
'Even that Imperial Princess.'
The Empire's top genius.
Awakened to magic young.
Even the princess who bloomed her first Circle in five days didn't impress Elise.
But.
'That woman took in a foster son?'
And called him a mage, no less. A boy just over ten, Circles bloomed, full-fledged mage.
Looked young. Frail as hell.
"Heard he bloomed his Circle in three days flat."
"...Three... days...."
Two days faster than the princess.
Genius material for the history books, sure.
But.
"What'd he look like to you?"
"Trash."
Iris doesn't mince words.
"A useless grub. No more, no less."
"..."
August cracks a wry smile at her words. He'd seen the reports already.
Joined the subjugation as a mage. Did jack shit.
Couldn't bag a single beast. Protecting him cost lives.
"I don't get why a deadweight like that's in this ducal house. Can't pull his load? He's dead weight."
"That's how you see it."
"Yes."
"Understood. You're dismissed."
Iris bows properly and exits at August's command.
Once she's gone, he eyes the letter on his desk.
Elise's referral.
The words there make him scowl.
-Snagged a usable one. Can't keep him with work piling up, so mind him awhile.
-He's a mage.
-Picking him up in 3 years. No special treatment needed.
-Throw him in subjugation squads, grind him down. Oh.
Last line.
-Die or not, doesn't matter. Grind away.
"..."
Doesn't care if her own foster son kicks it. Hell, stick him in kill squads and run him ragged?
August figured the kid—Ruin—had to pack insane magic chops.
At least enough to hold his own. But.
'Nope.'
Daughter's report? Not that crucial.
She despises mages.
Other accounts, though? From his squadmates. Matched her story.
No reason to shelter trash like that.
'Even at that age.'
Age means squat here. Usefulness is all.
Nothing else.
Front lines want killers, not kids.
'Besides—.'
Folded at one beast raid? Kid's probably bawling in a heap by now.
"Hoo."
August sighs. Expected more from an Elise pick.
'This changes things.'
Time to nudge him out gently.
Won't be long before he begs to leave. Hell.
'Maybe already.'
Screaming for the door right this second.
Such thoughts swirling when.
Knock knock—.
Sound from outside.
💬 murmurs— Soldier"A mage who can't use magic?"— Soldier"...Damn it. Hans died protecting that guy…!"— Soldier"What's a mage who can't cast?!"— Soldier"What the hell's that body good for…!!"
The soldiers' grumbles brush past.
At the same time, memories of the beast fight flood my head.
Kyaaak—!!!
Kwaduduk—!!!
Monsters lunging to slaughter humans. The soldiers dying to shield me. Fighters dropping left and right.
Crushed. Shattered. Eaten alive. Flashes of it all.
"...Hoo…."
I wipe my mouth. Vomit everywhere ahead. All mine.
"Ah…. Gonna die."
Empty my guts over and over, still feels like it.
"This is a romance novel world. Fuck…."
Why so goddamn grotesque? Head's spinning.
Thought I'd kick off a comfy life. Nope—yanked into dark fantasy.
Past-life smarts? Mage talent? Bullshit mage ass.
Got hyped for a sec, now it flips the genre to spite me.
Incompetence on this level is unreal.
Soldiers' glares flash back.
Disappointment. Hype as a mage, total dud—all eyes said it.
Fuck. They built me up solo, crash solo?
Me too.
'Me too, fuck, you think I don't wanna cast?'
What do I know? Just bloomed the Circle—how? Don't even know how.
A world shoving a scrawny kid—who can't lift a damn sword—onto the battlefield.
The wrapper's romance, but the guts? Pure shitty medieval fantasy. Realization hits.
'Especially.'
That last woman.
Under twenty, reactions say Duke's daughter.
'Why'd she stare like that?'
Contempt.
Eyes screaming "won't even cross paths."
"Feels like shit."
Shove me in willy-nilly, then pout 'cause I ain't their fantasy?
Grind.
'If I could.'
Quit on the spot.
Bail from this hellhole now. But thinking it.
-Tsk.
The woman's tongue-click.
-Mage-nim!
The guard shielding me—dying. It flashes.
"Fuck."
Curse flies as I haul up.
"Shitty-ass romance world."
Just wanna live nice, and it screws me raw?
"Fuck that."
Grind teeth, steel eyes.
Just watch.
"No drama in my vocab."
Won't end as the useless orphan (kinda).
For that.
'Learn magic.'
Master magic somehow, ditch this crap treatment.
So, what's the play?
'Books.'
Our glorious psycho—er, stepmom's gift. Answers in there.
Instinct screams it. Read 'em, then?
To read.
'Literacy.'
Ditch illiterate grub mode.
Clocked it—bolted to the butler.
"Teach me letters."
"...Pardon?"
"Total illiterate noob right now. Gotta read to level up. Sorry, beg the Duke for a tutor?"
Desperate pitch. Butler blinks hard but heads to the Count. Lucky.
Reply quick.
"Count approved. Tutor by tonight."
"Oh!"
Good—ain't turfing me yet.
Whew. Fair play if booted for idiocy.
Mages rare, huh? Nod relieved.
'Letters down.'
Magic next.
'Survive this bullshit world.'
Romance gloss or dark fantasy core.
I live.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Waiting for the tutor, thinking that.
"..."
That night.
See who shows to teach letters—face twists.
"Open the book."
Silver-white hair, blue eyes.
The beauty who'd glared contempt in daylight.
"Lesson starts."
Heilron Iris. Northern Grand Duchess.
Pen in hand, she says.
Face screaming "kill you now."
'Why the hell?'
Situation makes zero sense.
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