From the very beginning, sparing Ivar had never been an option.
An old ruler would never acknowledge a new one—killing him and removing the problem was the only choice.
Still, Ivar was a man of considerable standing among the tribespeople.
Even Lucian risked provoking quiet but persistent backlash if he killed him outright without cause.
That's why I meant to make it so overwhelmingly decisive that no one could help but accept the outcome…
He hadn't expected it to go beyond reverence and instill outright fear.
The effect had been not just effective, but excessive.
In the short term, it's not bad for suppressing dissent—but if this atmosphere continues, it won't end well. I'll need to loosen it at the right moment.
Those crushed by fear couldn't voice even the smallest grievance.
That might allow things to move quickly for now, but letting discontent pile up was dangerous.
You couldn't resolve the dissatisfaction of the ruled if you didn't know what it was—and silent resentment only festered.
Well, for the moment, it'll be convenient. Since it's come to this, maybe I should just finish things quickly.
Even if the mood had diverged from his original intent, once it was formed, the best course was to use it.
Lucian faced the tribespeople and spoke calmly, his voice clear enough for all to hear.
"I gave Ivar multiple chances. Chances to step down from the chieftain's seat and serve me, in accordance with the will of the dragon. But even after losing the dragon's blessing, the chieftain could not let go of his obsession and continued to seek my head."
"There is nothing more ugly than clinging to rights you have already lost. Thus, I chose to teach that lesson through their severed heads. You will pass this story down to future generations."
What becomes of those who cling to an old throne even after a true king has appeared.
What fate awaits those who mistake another's rights for their own.
At Lucian's words, the tribespeople bowed even deeper, their postures solemn.
To them, Ivar had indeed been a true warrior—but these were the words of a king like the reincarnation of the dragon itself.
If such a being claimed to have seen through dark truths they themselves could never know, who could dare argue otherwise?
Still, one brave tribesman voiced a question.
"Th-then why did you spare Ainar— khk!"
The man, who had slightly lifted his head to speak, slammed his forehead into the ground with a wheezing sound.
His wife, face drained of color, had grabbed the back of his head and smashed it down.
"Honey! Are you insane?! How dare you talk back to the king…!"
"It's fine. Leave him be. I was planning to explain anyway."
Lucian spoke lightly, smiling as if it were of no concern.
"Because only Ainar felt shame at Ivar's greed. He never intended to win in the first place. He only sought to atone to me by dying alongside his family."
"S-so that's how it was?"
"Do you doubt it?"
"N-no! Of course not!"
The man recoiled at Lucian's sharp gaze and pressed his head back to the ground.
He had already committed the irreverence of questioning the king's words in the first place.
Doubting even that gracious explanation was, in effect, no different from declaring a desire to die.
Once the man grasped the situation and fell silent, Lucian swept his gaze around again and spoke.
"Only Ainar knew shame and disgrace and sought death of his own will. As king, I intend to grant him one final chance."
It was the very same chance that had been given to his father, Ivar—and that Ivar had rejected to the bitter end.
It might have been excessive mercy, but in Lucian's eyes, Ainar was worthy of it.
"Carry Ainar inside! When he wakes, I will question him!"
Whether he would willingly serve Lucian, the newly crowned king, or choose death to follow his family.
At the king's resolute declaration, the tribespeople did nothing but bow their heads deeply.
***
—Am I… still alive?
Ainar blinked in his pale, hazy vision.
There was no need to pinch his cheek to confirm whether he was alive or dead.
His entire body throbbed as if he'd tumbled down from the peak of a snow-covered mountain.
Judging by how everything aches, I must still be alive.
"You're awake?"
At the voice coming from beside him, Ainar flinched.
Forcing his sluggish body to turn, he confirmed who it was and muttered with a groan,
"The foreign king…"
"Had you always thought of me that way? That's a more generous appraisal than I expected."
Lucian snorted softly at the title that slipped from the half-awake Ainar.
Calling him king right away in that state meant Ainar had already acknowledged Lucian as king long before this.
Still groggy and in pain, Ainar forced his lips to move.
"What happened to my father and Brunda?"
"They're dead. Both were beheaded."
"By your hand?"
"Who else would it have been?"
"I see."
Letting out a deep sigh, Ainar lay back down.
It wasn't a surprising outcome, yet the bitterness lingering in his mouth couldn't be helped.
If only he had accepted reality sooner and acknowledged Lucian as king—and if he had forcibly dragged the two of them before Lucian and made them kneel.
If that had happened, perhaps at least their lives might have been spared.
"Don't dwell on pointless thoughts."
Lucian's voice cut through Ainar's reverie.
"Do you really think anything would have changed if you'd acted differently back then? If they couldn't accept the outcome by their own will, they would have bared their fangs again sooner or later. Even if things had miraculously worked out, I would have dealt with them myself eventually."
"Then… why spare me? If you wanted to leave no loose ends, shouldn't you have dealt with me as well? Why—do you now wish to avenge your father and brother?"
Ainar couldn't answer.
As a son, avenging his family would have been the natural thing—but he couldn't bring himself to feel that way.
Their deaths were little more than the consequences of their own actions.
After a moment of silence, a sigh escaped Ainar's lips.
"Not really."
"Then that settles it. Serve me, like Gunstein does."
At Lucian's words, Ainar's eyes flew wide open.
He'd vaguely expected something like this ever since he'd been spared—but to actually take him in?
"Are you out of your mind? You killed my father and my brother."
"And you said you have no desire for revenge."
"Well—yes, but still… What if I change my mind later?"
"Are you going to?"
"No, that's not what I mean! You know that's not what I'm saying?!"
Frustrated, Ainar found himself pounding his chest without realizing it.
He couldn't tell whether Lucian was simply a fool or whether his magnanimity was just absurdly vast.
At a loss for words, Ainar could only open and close his mouth.
"Honestly, this is exactly why I don't like you. A blessing rolls right up in front of your eyes, and you still can't recognize it—you just stand there wavering."
At the familiar voice, Ainar's body jerked.
Gunstein was sitting slouched in a corner, glaring at him—who knew how long he'd been there.
Before Ainar could say anything, a scornful sneer spilled from Gunstein's lips.
"This is why I could never truly give up my claim to succession. I figured becoming chieftain myself would be far better than serving under people like you."
"What are you even talking about all of a sudden? In the first place—"
"You like being that spotless? Is it really that frightening to have a stain on your name?"
Ainar had no idea what Gunstein was talking about.
Wasn't treasuring one's honor the most natural thing in the world for a warrior?
But Gunstein, as if he had no intention of hearing Ainar's rebuttal, kept pressing him relentlessly.
"What is it you actually want? No—do you even have something you want? If your name stays clean, are you fine with living a middling life and dying like that?"
"And what's wrong with that? Is wanting to live cleanly as a warrior really such a sin?"
"Of course it is!"
"What?"
Ainar was left speechless by an answer that was not just shameless, but outright incomprehensible.
Yet Gunstein continued without the slightest hesitation, his expression utterly confident.
"Who do you think decided what's right and wrong in the first place? Our ancestors! Not us, who are living in this age!"
"Are you saying our ancestors were wrong?"
"No! I'm saying that for things our ancestors never experienced, there is no right or wrong! You can only know whether something is right or wrong after you've lived through it!"
"What are you even—"
"Are you really that afraid of following a lord and encountering an order you've never seen before?"
"…!"
Ainar felt as though he'd been struck on the head with a hammer.
Gunstein had pinpointed a worry buried deep in his heart—one he hadn't even been conscious of himself.
Seeing his reaction, Gunstein clicked his tongue.
"Of course you're worried. You've lived your whole life as a great warrior. Under the order of the snowy plains, you've lived more honorably than anyone—so isn't it natural to fear stepping into a new world?"
"…"
"That's why, even when an opportunity comes, you keep kicking it away. Rather than risk shattering the honor you've built up in an unknown world, you'd rather die as a splendid warrior of the snowfields."
No—that wasn't it.
The single word caught in his throat and refused to come out.
Instead, as time passed, Gunstein's voice dug into his chest like a thorn.
Is that… really true?
Unable to stop his family, he had tried to shoulder that sin and die with them.
Even after clinging to life, he had felt too ashamed to enter the king's service.
But was that truly his heart?
Or, as Gunstein had said, was it nothing more than a desire to die as an "honorable warrior," dressed up in noble words?
"I can't live like that," Gunstein said. "Honorable warrior or whatever—I'll carve the name Gunstein into people's minds. If I serve a lord, I won't lack opportunities to do so."
With those words, Gunstein sprang to his feet and left the room,
as if to say that while Ainar rotted here, he would move forward.
Even after Gunstein was gone, Ainar remained frozen for a long while.
Lucian waited quietly until Ainar finally spoke.
After more than ten minutes had passed, a heavy voice came from Ainar's lips.
"Let me ask you just one thing."
"Go ahead."
"If I refuse your offer and am buried in this land… will my name remain in your story?"
"Do you think it would?"
Lucian answered immediately, his voice firm.
"What do you think this place is? A sacred land of those chosen by the dragon? A great territory I must possess at all costs? It's neither. This is nothing more than a waypoint—something I pass through on my path forward."
"…"
"As long as my name remains in history, what I did in this land will also be recorded. But your name won't be written down. At best, a single line will mention your deeds, and that will be the end of it."
The chieftain's son who followed his father and opposed Lucian, only to die.
At those words, Ainar closed his eyes.
He had lived his life striving to be honorable, hoping to serve as an example to others.
But now, the tribespeople would follow a new king and leave the snowy plains behind.
Bound by the laws of the snowy plains, Ainar too would be forgotten along with the land left behind.
What meaning was there in keeping such a name a little cleaner, when it was destined to fade away anyway?
"The choice is yours."
Lucian's voice reached Ainar's ears once more as he hesitated.
"If you find it disgraceful to serve a king who killed your father and brother, then die here. But if you wish to live on and leave your own story behind, follow me."
"…If I follow you, will I be able to leave my story even beyond the snowy plains?"
At Ainar's trembling voice, Lucian broke into a grin.
"I'll make you into an immortal legend—one that will never be forgotten."