"What did you just say?"
The chieftains' sharp gazes turned toward Otar.
The piercing looks cast by four seasoned warriors were enough to cow even a hardened fighter.
Yet Otar, despite the chieftains' axe-like stares, let out a deliberate, mocking chuckle.
"I said you're dreaming foolish dreams. You'd do well to drop such pointless thoughts before you get your hopes up and end up disappointed."
"What are you talking about?"
"Using the right people in the right places? It sounds nice, but that only applies when we possess superior skills compared to the peoples beyond the snowfields. If their level of technology surpasses ours, what's the point of sorting talent at all?"
Struck by the blunt truth of his words, the chieftains fell silent, as if they'd swallowed honey.
Indeed, if the people living beyond the snowfields truly surpassed the Sons of the Snowfields in skill, there would be no need for distinctions—
it would be faster to take anyone at hand and teach them from scratch.
Skal, who had spoken first, realized this as well, but unable to abandon hope, muttered a few more words in a sulky tone.
"It doesn't have to be that way. We don't know what kinds of techniques the people beyond the snowfields have. There might be some areas where we're actually better."
"Do you truly believe that?"
"Why not?"
"For someone trying to play at being a strategist, you're rather naïve."
"What did you say!?"
Skal's face flushed red at the sudden insult.
The atmosphere instantly turned hostile, but Otar merely let out a deep sigh, as if to say they still didn't understand.
"Let me ask you just one thing. Between a warrior who's swung an axe a hundred times and one who's swung it a thousand times, who would wield the weapon more skillfully?"
"Are you mocking me right now!?"
"Just answer the question. A hundred times or a thousand?"
"Unless there's a difference in talent, obviously the latter! So what of it!?"
"Then between a blacksmith who's hammered iron a hundred times and one who's hammered it a thousand times, who would make better goods?"
"What have you been going on about since earlier…!"
Skal, who was about to explode in anger, froze mid-outburst.
Only then did he begin to grasp what Otar was getting at.
Otar clicked his tongue softly and swept his gaze over the surrounding chieftains, who still hadn't quite caught on.
"I don't know much about the lands beyond the snowfields either, but I've heard a few things. One of them is that they far surpass us in both resources and population."
"And what does that have to do with skill?"
"Think about it. Whose craftsmanship would be superior—the blacksmith who hammers countless ores all day long, or the one who only ever works the same bits of iron and weapons he's already familiar with?"
…!
At Otar's words, the chieftains realized a fact they had been overlooking.
The snowfields have a small population and scarce resources, and so there are few craftsmen.
Those craftsmen have few customers as well, giving them even fewer chances to hone their skills.
Could such snowfield craftsmen truly surpass those beyond the snowfields, who can freely consume materials and serve countless clients?
"This isn't a matter limited to blacksmiths alone. From what I hear, the land beyond the snowfields lacks nothing compared to ours. So with what skill, exactly, are the Sons of the Snowfields supposed to defeat them?"
"My guess is that the king never intended to carefully select craftsmen in the first place. What he needs from us are warriors loyal to him—not technical skill."
In a harsh land, the only thing that truly grows is the toughness of men.
If Otar's guess was correct, Lucian would demand nothing beyond hardy soldiers.
And if what he wanted were soldiers, there would be no need for any troublesome, meticulous selection process.
All Sons of the Snowfields were strong—so wouldn't it be enough to pick them at random?
"Th-then what becomes of us now?"
"I don't know for sure, but won't we be demoted to ordinary warriors? At the very least, we won't enjoy the same authority as chieftains anymore."
"Isn't there at least some way to preserve our authority as chieftains…?"
"If there were, I'd like to know it first."
As the last shred of hope they had barely clung to vanished, the chieftains' expressions darkened once more.
Otar shook his head, letting out what felt like his umpteenth sigh.
"With things having come to this, what else can we do? We have no choice but to accept reality. Still, we do have experience ruling tribes, so they may come to us for advice from time to time. If we cooperate well then, we might at least be given some sort of honorary post."
Of course, they would not be granted real power.
Give actual authority to former rulers, and moves toward independence might arise.
For the chieftains, it was a catastrophic fall—but there was no helping it.
The beating of a giant bird's wings inevitably sweeps countless others along with it.
Those unable to ride upon its back and soar together are crushed by the pressure of its wind and sent plummeting down.
Such had always been the nature of power, unchanged from ancient times to the present.
***
The next day, Lucian gathered the five chieftains and all the tribespeople at the site that had once been the sacred ground of the Blue Dragon Tribe.
It was to put an end to the accursed blizzard, using an artifact and the dragon's heart.
"They say the king will stop the blizzard today."
"At last… is this wretched cold finally going to end?"
"Shh—keep quiet, or you'll bring bad luck."
Amid the curious gazes pouring in from all sides, Lucian steadied his breathing.
The people's stares themselves weren't a burden—but what he held in his hands was an artifact.
Tampering with a relic that could, with one misstep, plunge the entire North into ruin was enough to make even Lucian tense.
'Didn't he tell me not to touch anything except stop and activate?'
Lucian recalled the warning Marius had repeated to exhaustion up until the day before.
—I understand the basic operation, but we haven't tested it even once. If you handle it carelessly, there's no telling what kind of catastrophe could occur.
Stopping the blizzard wasn't difficult, since it merely meant returning something already in operation back to its original state.
But artificially altering the environment again was a completely different matter.
In the worst case, Marius had explained, it could lead to a disaster beyond even the Curtain of the Snowfields.
I wanted to try manipulating it lightly, like the White Citadel's defensive system… but I suppose I'll have to give that up.
Swallowing his regret, Lucian set the artifact down on the snow-covered ground and reconnected the separated dragon's heart.
Though more than half its mana had already been drained, it seemed to pose no problem at all in activating the artifact.
Being careful not to let his hand slip, he turned the spherical control mechanism several times.
Kiiiiing—
'It worked!'
Having finished the operation, Lucian stepped back a few paces from the dazzlingly radiant artifact.
Moments later, the green light gathered within the dragon's heart burst forth explosively and shot up into the sky.
Startled, the people stirred in alarm, but the flash of light lasted only an instant.
The beam that rose into the heavens soon vanished into empty air, leaving behind nothing but silence.
"What… what is it?"
"Is that it?"
Disappointment colored the gazes of the gathered tribespeople.
They had expected a dazzling spectacle like the one when Lucian was chosen by the dragon, but instead it ended with a brief flash of light.
Yet regardless of their disappointment, the consequences brought about by that fleeting sparkle were anything but trivial.
"Th-the sky! Look at the sky!"
"The clouds are clearing!"
"The snow—it's stopping!"
At the shrill, almost screaming cries, everyone—including Lucian and his companions—turned their eyes upward.
The dark clouds that cleared for barely ten days a year were vanishing as if washed away by water.
With them, the snowfall and blizzard ceased in an instant, and the temperature began to rise just as quickly.
As all stood in stunned silence, Lucian's brow twitched slightly.
This is insane. It's only because I restored the temperature to what it was originally—if I'd manipulated the weather with malicious intent…
Just imagining it sent a chill down his spine.
If this artifact were deliberately used as a weapon, it could wipe out nine-tenths of a region's population.
Once again, Lucian felt a shiver at the artifact's power—but keeping such thoughts to himself, he called out calmly.
"The path is open! In fifteen days, we march beyond the snowfields—so everyone, prepare yourselves! The Land of Salvation awaits you!"
—Woooooah!
At Lucian's proclamation, an explosive cheer shook the entire snowfield.
It was the moment the barrier that had separated the snowfields and the empire for over a thousand years finally vanished.
Preparations for the tribes' migration proceeded with remarkable speed.
Food was scarce and blizzards were severe in the snowfields, so they always kept about fifteen days' worth of provisions on hand.
Their household goods were simple as well, leaving little that needed to be packed.
The only potential concern was whether women and children could endure such a long journey—but even that proved to be needless worry.
"There's a saying in the snowfields: a healthy child crosses two mountains in a day, while a frail one crosses one. You can't judge the stamina of the people here by the standards of the empire."
"So you're saying women and children should be treated like full-grown men?"
"Even more so. It's not uncommon for a woman, freshly recovered from illness, to go hunt a ferocious beast as a way of warming up."
"…You're joking, right?"
"I'm serious. To be precise, animals the empire considers ferocious beasts are treated more like mountain rabbits around here."
Marius explained that because the people were so tough—and food so scarce—most dangerous animals were simply regarded as prey.
It was a consequence of that mindset, even despite the tradition of strictly protecting women from danger.
"Did you think I suggested using them as an army for no reason? Until now, Your Highness has only met their warriors, but here even ordinary women are iron-boned folk who can easily snap the neck of an adult man."
At Marius's smile, Lucian clicked his tongue.
He had known that each individual possessed strength on the level of a knight, but he hadn't expected hunting to be basic common sense as well.
At this rate, even conscripting people at random in an emergency would instantly produce a credible fighting force.
Even without forming a standing army, they'd repel most forces on their own.
For a lord, subjects possessing such overwhelming force would normally be a major risk—but Lucian had no need to worry.
He had already shown the tribes of the snowfields far too much.
So long as he was regarded as the prophesied king and savior, they would never dare rise against him, as long as he didn't starve them.
On the other hand, they'll show fierce resistance to any ruler who fails to prove himself. If things go well, they might even become volunteer soldiers without me having to intervene.
Had he taken the easy route back, Lucian would have been regarded as just another invader, and he wouldn't even have dared harbor such expectations.
Just as he was wearing a satisfied smile, thinking that his hardships in the snowfields had finally paid off—
"My lord!"
Ainar, who had been overseeing the tribes' migration, came running toward Lucian in a fluster.
Such urgency was unlike Ainar, and Lucian looked at him in confusion.
"What is it? Has something gone wrong?"
He had given them a rather tight schedule, but there was no one still attached to this land, nor anyone too weak to endure the journey.
With preparations progressing smoothly for ten days, he had been quietly reassured—had a problem finally arisen?
"No, there are no issues with the migration itself. However…"
"However?"
"Outsiders clad in white iron have arrived and are shouting that they've come to see 'Your Highness.' If I'm not mistaken, my lord, that is how you were addressed."
"…—!?"