The voice that met their ears spoke a flawless, unaccented common tongue.
The mercenaries were too stunned to reply.
The barbarian glanced at the caravan behind them.
A long train of carriages stretched out into the blowing snow.
“You’ve chosen a dangerous path, crossing this snowfield.”
His deep voice resonated in the frigid air.
The mercenaries hesitated, their swords still drawn. They had braced themselves for a monster, but what stood before them was a barbarian, a creature straight from legend. The sight alone was difficult enough to process, but the fact that he was speaking so fluently was simply baffling.
The barbarian’s gaze settled on their uniforms. “Mercenaries, I take it? Guarding a merchant caravan.”
Merchant. Mercenary. Words any civilized person would know. But this was a barbarian, a legendary being who supposedly haunted these frozen wastes. And he understood.
“I would advise you to turn back, but I assume that’s not an option.”
The barbarian stroked his chin.
A tense silence fell over the snow.
Then, as if reaching a decision, the barbarian raised a single finger.
“Your employer is in that handsome yellow carriage, I presume?”
The tip of his finger pointed toward the lead carriage.
“I’d like to be hired, too.”
“Is that unclear? I will help you cross the snowfield.”
“I understand what you mean.”
A legendary barbarian, speaking with perfect clarity, was asking for a job. The situation was spiraling beyond their comprehension.
The mercenary captain barely managed to rally his wits.
“…You don’t intend us any harm?”
“If I did, you would all be dead already.”
The captain nodded at the nonchalant reply.
He approached the carriage and knocked on the door.
A calm voice answered from within.
Inside, the old man was trembling, his face ashen.
“That… man out there. He wishes to be hired. What are your orders?”
The young woman closed her eyes for a moment before asking.
“If we were to fight him, what are our chances?”
“…Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
The young woman opened her eyes.
“Tell him we accept.”
The captain stepped forward again.
“Your request has been accepted.”
The barbarian smiled, satisfied, and began to approach.
The mercenaries flinched, taking an involuntary step back.
“Don’t be alarmed. You are merely employees. Surely I can speak with my employer face-to-face?”
“…What if you try something?”
The barbarian answered with a leisurely shrug and walked past the captain.
The other mercenaries shuffled closer to their leader, whispering urgently.
“Captain. Are we just going to let him meet her?”
“The employer gave her consent.”
“Still, we’re her guards! How can we just stand by…”
The captain gave a bitter chuckle.
“And how would you stop that thing? Be serious.”
The barbarian drew closer and closer to the carriage.
Inside, the old man’s face was chalk-white; he looked ready to faint.
“M-my lady! What is the meaning of this…”
A polite knock, a sound completely at odds with the man who produced it, echoed from the carriage door.
The young woman felt instantly overwhelmed.
It wasn’t his size, not exactly. He stood perhaps two heads taller than a powerfully built man, but it was more than his height that was so intimidating. Clad only in a leather vest, his exposed skin revealed a physique that seemed carved from stone. Every muscle rippled with a life of its own, less like flesh and more like living granite.
He was a monster in human form.
His presence filled the carriage.
The old man shrank as far into his corner as he could.
“Please, don’t be alarmed. I mean you no harm.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The barbarian smiled, his dark eyes meeting the young woman’s.
“It’s quite warm in here. It must be difficult to maintain such warmth, even indoors, in this snowfield.”
“…It’s magically treated.”
At that, a strange light flickered in the barbarian’s eyes.
“Magic. The mysterious power of your people. I am familiar with the concept.”
The woman was perplexed. Her guest was a barbarian, the very picture of savagery. Yet he spoke with the fluent, sophisticated vocabulary of a highly educated nobleman.
“I understand. In any case, this place is dangerous. Your chances of crossing safely with only those mercenaries are slim. I will protect you.”
“…And what do you want in return?”
The woman’s mind raced. He must want food, she thought, or perhaps weapons. It was the most likely currency in this wasteland. She quickly calculated how much she could spare, but what the barbarian said next was nothing she could have predicted.
“It’s nothing remarkable. Quite simple, actually.”
The barbarian said it so lightly.
“Knowledge from beyond the snows. The information you possess. That is what I want.”
“Knowledge and information…?”
“Yes. It should be no great loss to you.”
As he said this, the barbarian chuckled.
A primal fear seized her, so potent she felt her bladder weaken. It was a simple sound, yet it made her feel as though she’d been thrown naked before a predator.
She forced herself to remain calm and gave a slow nod.
“Very well. I agree to your terms.”
The barbarian’s smile was one of satisfaction.
“Then, what is your name?”
“…I am Elara. Elara of House Voronov.”
“I’m Torg. A pleasure to meet you.”
This time, the conversation is actually flowing, Torg thought, sighing with inner relief.
It had been a long time since he’d had a proper conversational partner. Most humans who stumbled upon him panicked and drew their blades. He would try to calm them, to speak with them, but they were usually half-mad with terror, babbling curses and nonsense that made any real dialogue impossible.
This woman’s composure was a welcome change.
I don’t understand why anyone would willingly enter this cursed land, but I’m glad they do.
He could not escape this frozen wilderness, which made any information from the outside world incredibly valuable.
It’s almost healing, to speak with a civilized person after dealing with nothing but ignorant brutes.
Torg asked Elara many questions.
About the state of the world outside.
About the relationships between nations.
About the balance of power.
The more he asked, the more bewildered Elara became. These were not the questions of a barbarian known only through fireside legends.
Torg nodded as he processed Elara’s answers.
“So the outside world is not at peace, then.”
“No. The Empire and the Kingdom are at war.”
The world was torn by conflict. A powerful empire was pitted against the largest of the kingdoms in a war for survival.
“The Empire is slowly advancing, leveraging its overwhelming numbers and naval power, but the Kingdom refuses to yield. The Blade Saint and the Champion are defending the border.”
Interest flared in Torg’s eyes.
“They are powerful. Their strength is beyond human comprehension.”
“It is said some have even slain dragons.”
Torg muttered the words softly to himself.
A Blade Saint. Dragons. What fantastical concepts. What did a real dragon even look like? Was it a serpent of the East or a winged reptile of the West?
“I would like to meet them.”
A world of fantasy existed beyond these snows.
How long had he been trapped here? He couldn't remember. He had spent so long simply surviving. All he knew was that this snowfield was a prison, set in the heart of a world he desperately wanted to see.
A sudden chill, colder than the wind outside, ran down Elara’s spine. Was this barbarian planning an invasion of the outside world? Was that why he was gathering information about its strongest defenders? She dismissed the thought as paranoia.
Elara asked cautiously, “You are… a barbarian, are you not?”
“I suppose you could call me that. From your reactions, it seems you have heard of me.”
“Yes. There are legends.”
Elara recounted the legends she knew.
When she finished, Torg chuckled.
“So that’s how the story is told. Emperor Tiberian… so that madman was the emperor?”
I just thought he was a lunatic, Torg thought, shaking his head.
“Your legends are likely true. There have been others like him before.”
The legendary being himself had just confirmed the legend was true.
Awe filled Elara’s eyes. She was having a conversation with a living legend. Struck by this realization, she almost missed the implication of his words—that he spoke of ancient history as if he had witnessed it himself.
As they talked, Elara began to relax her guard. Little by little, she started asking her own questions.
“You… you seem to be very familiar with our language and knowledge.”
“A long time ago, many people passed through here. They were all dying, being buried by the snow. I learned from them in exchange for shelter. I’m not sure if any of them ever made it back safely.”
They probably didn’t, Elara thought. If they had, the world would know far more about the barbarian of the snowfield.
“That’s unfortunate.”
But that alone couldn’t explain it. His vocabulary, his breadth of knowledge—it was exceptional, something that could only be gained through dedicated study.
After a moment of silence, Torg asked a new question.
“Are you transporting weapons?”
“Oh. Yes. How did you…?”
“I can hear the sound of steel shifting in the carriages. It’s unmistakable.”
They were in a white wilderness, where the cold was so sharp it stole one’s breath. Furthermore, the carriages were sealed against the weather; no sound should have escaped.
“That’s quite a few carriages just for weapons. Is there a particular reason you must pass through this wasteland?”
“We are in dire need of money.”
Elara bit her lip. Her family, the Voronov, had been merchants for generations. But recent political maneuvering and sabotage by their rivals had left them with crippling debts. The family’s very survival was at stake. This trade venture was their last, desperate gamble.
Torg seemed to understand.
“And you intend to sell these weapons to the Kingdom at war with the Empire?”
Elara’s eyes widened. She had not mentioned her destination.
“There are only two nations that would desire so many weapons,” Torg explained.
“The Empire, or the Kingdom. But you described the Empire as a vast power. A nation like that would have no trouble sourcing its own armaments. That leaves only the Kingdom.”
“When demand outstrips supply, prices soar. I do not know the values of the outside world, but a shipment of this size must be worth a fortune. A worthwhile risk.”
Elara blinked, stunned.
“And if you are forced to cross the white wilderness, it must mean all other routes to the Kingdom are blocked. By the Empire, I assume?”
His reasoning was flawless.
“Even so, attempting this crossing is a reckless choice.”
Elara was speechless. Are you truly a barbarian?
Just as she was about to voice the question, the carriage lurched to a halt. From outside, the shriek of a monster split the air.
“It seems we have uninvited guests.”