The boy drew a cross in the air toward Wolf’s face with the dagger.
“Guess you can’t tell races apart. Travel enough and you start seeing the differences. The seven races inside Atania all look different. Even among Stol people, mixed blood and pureblood don’t look the same. You’re pureblood Stol. No doubt. Especially that amber in your eyes—rare even among the warrior class.”
Wolf forgot how to argue.
The boy was right. Wolf’s parents were warrior class. Warrior families didn’t marry Atanians. They clung to pure blood. Even if it risked mutation, purebloods were physically superior.
“Your dynamic vision’s good, right? No way you dodge a spear—even by luck—without sharp eyes. The guy whose jaw you knocked off? When he thrust that spear, didn’t it look slow as a sick mule to you?”
“Not… that slow. I mean… I could… sort of see it.”
Wolf mumbled. Until the boy said it, he hadn’t even realized his eyesight was exceptional.
「You idiot! Since when do you chatter this much?」
Ice-Armored Beast appeared out of nowhere and smacked the boy’s shoulder. The boy clicked his tongue and turned.
「Speak Atanian. These morons don’t understand Stol.」
「Is that so?」
Ice-Armored Beast looked to be in his early forties. Everything about him was rough—like the wolf pelt draped over his body. Dirty blond leaning brown. A massive frame worthy of the name Ice-Armored Beast. Strong brows, a sharp nose bridge, a thick beard. Gray eyes that felt like they could pierce through a person.
The moment the Red Eagle Prince saw him, he darted behind Wolf. For the first time in his life, Wolf cursed the god who gave humans eyes.
Ice-Armored Beast was unbearable to look at.
His entire body was drenched in blood. From one shoulder hung what had once managed someone’s digestion—intestines dangling like sausage links. On his left chest clung a human eyeball, stuck there like an egg yolk.
“Thank you for your help. This is the Red Eagle Prince.”
Wolf forced his voice not to shake as he stepped aside.
Ice-Armored Beast narrowed his eyes at the prince, then frowned. The expression gave Wolf a jolt of familiarity.
It looked exactly like the way River Rat used to glance at the prince.
So that was it.
Now he understood why River Rat had openly shown hostility toward the Red Eagle Prince.
Disappointment.
Of course. A prince carrying the blood of the Stol king, yet fully absorbed into Atanian civilization—no Stol warrior would admire that.
“Hmm. I see.”
Ice-Armored Beast flicked the eyeball off his chest with his finger.
“My name is ‘Valiant’ Black Weasel. You two can call me uncle.”
Unlike River Rat, he had a modifier before his name.
That meant over a hundred kills.
Black Weasel turned.
“Follow me. We need to leave before it starts snowing again.”
* * *
Black Weasel led. Wolf and the Red Eagle Prince followed.
Behind them, Silver trailed close—boxing the two in front and back, prepared for another ambush.
「Damn it. Got shit all over me.」
Black Weasel muttered in Stol, brushing the intestines off his shoulder. To the man wrapped in wolf skin, killing seemed no more significant than watering flowers.
Wolf swallowed bile.
They’re insane. Every last one of them.
Dozens of men had hacked each other to death in broad daylight. No cavalry came. The Stol bystanders who’d been watching the slaughter casually returned to bargaining with horse merchants.
Unthinkable in Atania.
He had known Stol wasn’t governed by law. Until now, that fact had been as dry and harmless as a line in a book: Shelves should be kept out of direct sunlight.
But when that single sentence took the shape of massacre and burst into reality, it eclipsed imagination.
Temple murals of hell would look like peaceful countryside scenes next to this.
Wolf steadied his thoughts and spoke.
“Warrior. About those men earlier. You know why they attacked the prince, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Black Weasel didn’t even turn around.
“They’ve been camped here a week. Mercs sent by Blue Eagle.”
“Blue Eagle?”
“Yeah. Your prince’s older brother. Orange Pigeon.”
“……”
Wolf forced his face neutral.
Black Weasel continued without noticing anything off.
“About six months ago… the Stol king was gored by antlers during a hunt. Punched clean through. Left breathing, barely. The kids turned it into a dogfight. He married three times. Not counting the bastards he shipped off to Atania, there are nineteen legitimate ones. After ten days, only eight were left.”
Sweat gathered at Wolf’s temples.
No way.
Please let me be wrong.
“The eight called a truce. While they were tearing each other apart, the major tribal chiefs started eyeing the throne. One of them is White Deer. Mother of the Yellow Rooster Prince.”
He hadn’t been wrong.
White Deer was the starting point of today’s bloodshed.
Black Weasel glanced back with a grin.
“If you’d married the princess of Lebanon, White Deer might’ve backed down. You can’t put another country’s son-in-law on the Stol throne. But you’re only engaged. Illegitimate or not, once recognized as a prince, your maternal family can prop you up. That’s the calculation. That’s why White Deer had you return.”
Wolf stole a glance at the Red Eagle Prince.
His face was white as paper.
“You came here knowing nothing, didn’t you? I can tell just by that pretty haircut. Stol blood in your veins, but raised as Atanian fools to the bone. If you’d known the situation, you never would’ve come.”
“My mother being gravely ill… was that a lie?”
The prince’s voice nearly died in his throat.
Black Weasel barked a laugh.
“So that’s the lie White Deer used to reel her son in? Prince, if it’s any comfort, your mother’s the healthiest woman in Stol.”
“You know Lady White Deer?”
Wolf asked.
Black Weasel nodded.
“Never met her. Heard her name enough times to ring my ears. Most famous female warrior in Stol. The other eight siblings are strong too. You’ve got sturdy maternal backing.”
“I’m going back to Atania.”
The Red Eagle Prince said it immediately.
Black Weasel lifted one brow.
The prince looked at Wolf.
“Wolf, I’m sorry. The Lebanese royal family must’ve known about Stol. They probably hid it and denied my request to travel abroad. If I’d known, I would never have come—”
“Your Highness, wait!”
Wolf spun and ran.
The corpses were still visible in the distance, sprawled in pools of blood.
“Damn it!”
He stopped and clutched his hair.
The prince hurried after him.
“What’s wrong, Wolf?”
“The chest split in half during the fight. The gold coins spilled out. Look over there. Do you see any?”
The prince looked.
His hand flew to his mouth.
“They must’ve swarmed in as soon as we left. Not a single coin’s left. I’m an idiot. I should’ve grabbed them—”
“What do we do…?”
The prince murmured.
They were ruined.
Penniless in a foreign land.
In Stol.
It was a death sentence. They wouldn’t last a day before freezing on the street.
When they trudged back, Black Weasel and the boy were doubled over laughing.
「HAHA! These brats know how to entertain!」
「Idiots!」
Even in Stol, the meaning carried.
It felt strange.
Wolf had expected killers to stay grim-faced and heavy at all times.
Instead, the two murderers threw their heads back and roared with laughter.
Under that winter wind cold enough to freeze the North Sea, their laughter made them look like rowdy pranksters.
A laughing killer was easier to deal with than a scowling one.
And yet—
Here I am, measuring which killer looks more manageable.
I’ve gotten way too worn down.