Chapter 13 : The Devoured One (2)
Chapter 13: The Devoured One (2)
The sudden appearance of Duar even startled Hindir.
“What is this? Do you know him?”
Ubol asked, turning to Hindir.
“Yes. He’s not someone worth worrying over.”
“Tense… damn it, that’s because of you.”
Because Hindir was someone outside his understanding, Ubol wondered if Duar might also harbor hidden power.
But when Duar came closer, it was clear Hindir’s words were true.
No one with eyes like that ever learned how to fight.
“Brother!”
“Why have you come back?”
“Heh‑heh, how could I leave you behind, brother.”
Hindir quietly studied Duar.
Watching him grin through his unruly beard was difficult, so Hindir nodded toward the opposite side and said:
“Sit down.”
“Yes.”
Hindir offered Duar a drink as Duar took his seat.
“Heh‑heh, thank you.”
Duar accepted the drink with a careless laugh and drained it.
“Krrr… sweet, so sweet. Somehow I feel like I could drink this like water?”
“Drink as much as you like.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Duar downed the refill at once.
Ubol stared at him incredulously as he suddenly showed up and gulped down the drink.
“What kind of guy is this?”
“What? This bastard. What about you?”
When Duar snapped angrily, Ubol scowled.
“Can I beat him up a bit?”
At Ubol’s question, Hindir shrugged his shoulders.
Unsure what that meant, Ubol muttered curses and sat down.
But Duar paid no attention and even snatched Ubol’s meat to eat it.
“This guy’s completely insane?”
“Why is the meat so undercooked? Oh dear, what is that? Brother, why are you chewing on coal?”
Ubol shook his head and grabbed the meat he had been grilling.
“If a guy like this cooks, the whole world would feel miserable. Just look.”
Then Duar silently began grilling the meat.
And thus began a strange silence.
Ubol found the situation absurd, but as he sat before the campfire staring at Duar’s back, strangely, he couldn’t speak.
“…Brother.”
“Yes.”
“I said I wasn’t someone who would live eating a warrior’s rice, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“I mulled over your advice again and again. So I resolved to leave, and once I decided, I acted right away. Surviving in this snowfield wasn’t easy, but I thought at least I’d avoid dying by blade. But… those who swing blades don’t seem to care about such things.”
“There are too many in the world who believe that the blade is power. You could get cut while working the fields or while begging on the street. Unjust and unfair deaths are countless, and often those who deserve death live pompously. That’s this world. You just can’t see it directly.”
“I was the same. Because I didn’t see it, I thought I never would. I thought I’d be fine living like that, so I left.”
“That was the right choice.”
“But all my family died. Well, those like family. I didn’t care about my birth parents—they died long ago—but they were still somewhere I belonged. Yet soon after I left the clan, the Snowy King’s Army killed everyone over there.”
Duar, speaking without even catching a breath, snapped the drink down irritably again.
“Should I feel glad that only I survived…?”
“You can be honest with your feelings.”
“Damn it! Maybe it would have been better if I’d stayed in ignorance and stayed with the Snowy King’s Army.”
“You don’t need to make yourself miserable. If you had returned to the Choranchai Clan, you’d already be dead.”
“…”
“You’ve now avoided death twice.”
“Heh‑heh… I always thought I had good instincts, but apparently I really hate dying.”
“You survived, and that’s what matters.”
“That’s right. Surviving is what matters. And that just pisses me off.”
Then Duar collapsed with a thud and started snoring loudly.
“…what the hell is this guy?”
Ubol muttered and poked the snoring Duar with his foot.
“The warrior of the Great Snowfields.”
The next day, Duar only got up around midday when the sun was overhead.
He’d woken several times in between, but a terrible headache prevented him from rising until now.
“Ugh… w‑water…”
Stumbling out and heading for the water storage, Duar happened to turn his head outside the Choranchai tent—and snapped fully awake.
From afar on the snowy ridge appeared a pitch‑black line.
When Duar narrowed his eyes and focused, the line wriggled and drew nearer.
“Uh… ah…!”
Only then did Duar’s face turn ashen as he realized what it was.
And he remembered why he had come looking for Hindir.
“Hyah, brother! Hindir‑brother!”
“He’s behind you.”
“Hyahak?”
Startled, Duar jumped, then pointed to people approaching from afar.
“On the way here, I heard from the camp that troops from the main force were heading to Choranchai—which must be them! I even heard two generals were traveling with them… and of all times, as soon as we arrive…”
“The day you left, one of the Three Generals died by my hand. Ten days have passed since, so it’s about time they showed up.”
“So those generals mobilized because…”
“To avenge, I suppose.”
In any case, Duar’s intel confirmed the identity of their opponents.
“If those two show up, I’m definitely screwed…”
Ubol, who had appeared by then, also confirmed the enemy and twisted his face in disgust.
Hindir stepped outside the Choranchai tent and approached the Snowy King’s Army, and the two men trailed behind hesitantly.
The three approaching adversaries stopped and waited in their spot.
Once they were close enough to make out faces, the elder man in the center spoke first.
“Ubol.”
A powerful voice echoed across the snowfield.
“That old man is First General Dardiom. Why are you calling him that!”
He quietly shared their identity, then snapped back irritably:
“Your arrogance is as strong as ever. Living out in this backwater has dulled your memory of old days, I guess.”
“Hmph. The entire Great Snowfields is a backwater—why split hairs?”
“What about your disciple?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
Ubol muttered a curse as he spoke.
Calling him “disciple” instead of “Third General” made his chances of survival seem even slimmer.
“The youngest went to inspect the Blood Bear surveillance base. And of course communication stopped around where you are.”
“If only a letter had been sent in advance, I wouldn’t have wasted the trip. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of the Third General.”
This much was true.
The Third General died while he lay inebriated.
Of course, Ubol knew whether that was true or not didn’t really matter.
“Ubol.”
“What?”
“I’ll rip your mouth apart myself.”
“You were going to do that anyway, weren’t you?”
Then Duar, listening to their conversation, quietly asked Hindir:
“Who is that man? He says he’s First General, but with that tone he seems nuts.”
“He’s the Choranchai Clan Head.”
“He’s the Clan Head? His speech level is about the same as mine though.”
“You little bastard. Who the hell are you? Since yesterday, nobody’s given a straight answer when I asked.”
Ubol snapped back at Duar’s question.
“Me? I’m Hindir‑brother’s aide.”
“What?”
Ubol looked for an explanation, but Hindir ignored him and stepped forward.
“Glad to meet you. I am Hindir.”
Only then did Dardiom glance toward Hindir.
“And who are you?”
“I killed the Third General.”
“…What?”
When Hindir calmly confessed, Dardiom was rendered speechless.
But Hindir didn’t pause for him, and continued speaking.
“I heard you were the First General of the Snowy King’s Army. It’s pathetic how bandits argue about king or general—just call you the old man.”
“You’re completely insane. Ubol, is this shit true?”
“I didn’t see it, but that’s what the stories say.”
“But why are you standing with him? Did you betray the Snowy King’s Army?”
“Think of me as a hostage. That guy is stronger than expected.”
Ubol’s words made Dardiom stare at Hindir again.
The aura felt unimpressive.
Yet something about the red hide or his massive build caused a strange tension.
“You killed my disciple… You know what that means, right?”
“As one who brandished a blade, he must have been prepared to die as well.”
Pointing out that Bell attacked first, Dardiom clicked his tongue.
“Saying that in my presence—your nerve is impressive.”
Dardiom raised one hand and gave orders to his subordinates.
He didn’t intend to fall into provocation, and needed to verify why Hindir felt so unsettling.
“Kneel them down. It’s fine to cut off a limb or two.”
A few dozen soldiers waiting drew their swords all at once, and a sharp metallic clang echoed.
They moved swiftly to form an encirclement, creating a “sword‑ring” and began to pressure the three.
Duar, caught in the middle, tensed and scanned his surroundings.
Could he dodge even one strike...?
Ubol couldn’t conceal his own tension either.
The sword‑ring before them was bad enough, but knowing two generals watched from beyond added even more pressure.
‘Damn… not even sure how capable this guy is. He really did kill the Third General, right?’
Ubol’s mind tangled with thoughts.
Hindir had admitted to killing the Third General.
Dardiom seemed unconvinced, but if Hindir proved strong, Ubol gained a new option:
He could stab Hindir in the back and side with them.
“What are you gonna do now? If there's a plan, spill it even now.”
“I am the plan.”
“What?”
Before Ubol could understand, Hindir took a step forward.
“What, what are you doing! You bloody idiot!”
Had he really not realized the sword‑ring was active?
Ubol never imagined Hindir would act so bluntly.
At least Hindir had to prove his skill so Ubol could justify betraying him.
Swish—
Countless sword tips trembled in unison, blurring Hindir’s vision.
As if to obscure where the strike may come from, then in an instant several blades shot out from around.
Clatter—
Hindir caught every attack with bare hands, not missing a single one.
But the attacks continued without pause.
Merely defending offered no solution.
And defense alone wasn’t Hindir’s style.
He lunged forward; the sword swiping at his side brushed past; the one aimed from behind couldn’t match his speed.
Advancing at a speed unbefitting his massive frame, Hindir smashed the heads of two opponents who hadn’t fully extended their blades.
Then he shoved off the ground and obliterated a rear opponent who lost rhythm.
A simple motion, moving swiftly front‑back, left‑right.
But with brute force and speed in that earnest motion, it transformed into a terrifying martial art.
Six breaths were cut off in an instant, yet the sword‑ring persisted.
Although trembling more violently than before, the sunlight shattered wildly—clearly each feared death.
‘Fuck, what do I do?’
Faced with Hindir’s destructive power in that fleeting moment, Ubol hesitated.
Should he betray Hindir now—or wait and see?
But it seemed no time for Ubol’s second thoughts: a decisive attack came from the Snowy King’s Army.
Screeeak—!
Beyond the sword‑ring, Dardiom’s longsword stabbed forward like a spear toward Hindir’s leg.
It was so subtle and precise that even Ubol noticed it too late.
If that strike succeeded, would his own opportunity vanish?
Boom!
With a sonic blast, the ground before Hindir shattered upward in dirt and dust.
“Krrk!”
“Ugh?”
Ubol and Duar, standing nearby, staggered backwards from the shock.
When Ubol finally registered what happened, his mouth dropped open in shock.
Rumble—
Dardiom’s sword lay buried under Hindir’s foot.
Dardiom had stepped back, acting as if nothing happened—but it was astounding.
For Dardiom to chuck away his sword and retreat meant that in that brief moment, he felt threatened.