“What did you just say?”
The sharp gazes of the tribal chiefs pierced Otar.
The pressure radiating from the eyes of four warriors hardened by years of battle was enough to intimidate even a seasoned fighter.
However, despite those hostile looks, Otar let out a dry, almost provocative laugh.
“I said you’re dreaming. Before you get your hopes up for nothing and end up disappointed, it’d be better to stop thinking nonsense.”
“What are you saying?”
“Using people in the right roles? Sounds nice, but that only works if we have superior skills compared to the people beyond the tundra. If their technology is more advanced, why bother identifying talent?”
The blow struck right at the weak point. The tribal chiefs were left speechless.
Just as Otar said, if the technology of those who lived beyond the tundra surpassed that of the tundra folk, there would be no reason to handpick specialists.
It would be quicker to train anyone from scratch.
Skal, who had been the first to speak, realized that too, but unable to let go of hope, he snapped back bitterly.
“It doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t know what kind of skills the people beyond have. Maybe we’re better in some areas.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Why not?”
“For someone trying to act like a strategist, you’re pretty naive.”
“What did you say?”
Skal’s face turned red from the sudden humiliation.
The atmosphere turned tense immediately, but Otar just let out a long sigh, as if they weren’t understanding something obvious.
“Let’s ask just one question. Between a warrior who has swung an axe a hundred times and one who’s swung it a thousand times, who do you think wields it better?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Just answer. A hundred or a thousand?”
“A thousand, if there’s no difference in talent! So what?”
“Then, between a blacksmith who has hammered iron a hundred times and another who’s done it a thousand times, who’ll craft better items?”
“What the hell are you…?”
Skal stopped mid-sentence. He finally understood where Otar was going.
Otar clicked his tongue and looked around at the other chiefs, who still didn’t fully grasp it.
“I don’t know much about what’s beyond the tundra, but I’ve heard a few things. One of them is that compared to us, they have far more resources and people.”
“And what does that have to do with technique?”
“Think about it. Who do you think has more skill—a blacksmith who can strike metal all day without pause, or one who always works with the same iron and the same weapons?”
“…!”
With those words, the chiefs realized something they had overlooked.
The tundra had a small population and scarce resources, so there were also few artisans.
And with so few clients, they had even fewer opportunities to refine their craft.
Could those tundra artisans really compete with the ones beyond, who had endless materials and served countless people?
“It’s not just blacksmiths. From what I’ve heard, it’s a land that lacks nothing compared to the tundra. So then, with what skills are the tundra folk supposed to surpass them?”
“…”
“In my opinion, the king won’t even bother selecting skilled workers one by one. What he needs from us isn’t technical ability, but loyal warriors.”
In such a brutal environment, the only thing that toughens is human resilience.
If Otar’s assumption was right, Lucian wouldn’t ask for anything more than sturdy soldiers.
And if soldiers were all he wanted, there was no need for complex selection—all tundra folk were strong; he could pick them at random.
“T-then… what’s going to happen to us now?”
“I don’t know for sure, but we’ll probably be demoted to mere warriors. At the very least, we won’t retain the authority we had as chiefs.”
“There’s no way to even keep our dignity as chiefs…?”
“If there is, I’d be the first to want to know it.”
As the last hope they had clung to vanished, the chiefs’ faces darkened once more.
Otar shook his head and let out yet another sigh—he’d lost count of how many by now.
“It’s come to this. What else can we do? We just have to accept reality. At least we have experience ruling tribes, so maybe from time to time, they’ll come to us for advice. If we cooperate, maybe we’ll get some honorary post.”
Of course, they wouldn’t be granted real power.
Giving authority to former rulers would only plant seeds of rebellion. For the chiefs, it was an absurd but inevitable downfall.
The flap of a giant bird’s wings drags countless people along with it.
Those who can’t ride on its back end up crushed by the pressure and fall.
That’s how power had always worked.
***
The next day, Lucian gathered the five chiefs and all the tribe members at what had once been the sacred sanctuary of the Blue Dragon Tribe.
He would use the artifact and the dragon heart to stop, once and for all, that damned snowstorm.
“They say the king’s going to stop the storm today.”
“Is this infernal cold really going to end at last?”
“Shh, shut your mouth. Don’t jinx it.”
Under the curious gazes falling from all directions, Lucian regulated his breathing.
The stares didn’t bother him, but what he held in his hands wasn’t just anything—it was an artifact capable of bringing ruin to the entire North if misused.
Even Lucian couldn’t help but feel tense handling such a relic.
‘He told me not to touch anything except stop and activate it.’
Lucian recalled the warnings Marius had repeated endlessly the day before.
— I understand the basic workings, but I haven’t tested it even once. If handled carelessly, we don’t know what kind of disaster could occur. Stopping the storm is just returning something already activated to its original state, so it’s not difficult. But altering the environment again artificially is another matter.
According to Marius, in the worst case, it could unleash a disaster even worse than the tundra barrier.
‘I would’ve liked to test it slightly, like the White Castle’s defense systems… but better forget it.’
Swallowing his regret, Lucian placed the artifact on the snow and reconnected the separated dragon heart.
Though it had already lost about half of its magical energy, it didn’t seem to have any problems activating the artifact.
Carefully ensuring his hands didn’t slip, he rotated the spherical control mechanism several times.
Whirr.
‘Done!’
After completing the activation, Lucian took a few steps back from the now brightly glowing artifact.
A moment later, the green light gathered in the dragon heart burst upward toward the sky.
The crowd murmured in surprise, but the flash was brief. The beam of light dissipated into the air, leaving only silence.
“W-was that it?”
“Is it over already?”
Disappointment showed on the faces of the tribespeople.
They had expected something as spectacular as when Lucian was chosen by the dragon, not just a fleeting flash.
But, unlike their disappointment, the effects of that brief glow were anything but small.
“L-look at the sky! Look at the sky!”
“The clouds are clearing!”
“The snow’s stopping!”
At the near-hysterical cries, all eyes—including Lucian’s group—turned to the sky.
The dense clouds, which only cleared about ten days a year, were disappearing as if washed away with water.
The snow and blizzard halted instantly, and the temperature began rising rapidly.
While everyone watched in stunned silence, Lucian slightly raised an eyebrow.
‘This is insane. All I did was return the temperature to its original state. If I had manipulated the weather with ill intent…’
Just imagining it made his skin crawl. If used offensively, that artifact could wipe out nine out of ten people in a region.
Still shaken by its power, Lucian hid his thoughts and proclaimed calmly.
“The path is open! In fifteen days, we march beyond the tundra—so prepare yourselves! The land of salvation awaits!”
— Uooooooh!
A roar of joy erupted and shook the entire tundra.
It was the moment when the wall that had separated the tundra from the Empire for over a thousand years finally vanished.
***
Preparations for the migration of the tribes progressed at full speed.
Since they lived in a tundra with scarce food and extreme blizzards, they always had provisions for about fifteen days, and since their household goods were simple, there was almost nothing to pack.
The only concern was the women and children, who might struggle with such a long journey—but even that turned out to be unnecessary worry.
“There’s a saying in the tundra—a healthy child crosses two mountains a day, and a weak one, at least one. You can’t compare the endurance of the people here to that of Empire folk.”
“You mean even the women and children should be treated like sturdy adults?”
“More than that. It’s not unusual for a woman who was bedridden to go out and hunt a wild beast as warm-up the moment she recovers.”
“…Are you joking?”
“No. To be precise, the animals considered fierce beasts in the Empire are treated here as little more than mountain rabbits.”
Marius explained that, given how resilient the people were and how scarce the food was, any regular fierce beast was simply considered prey.
Despite the tradition of protecting women strictly from danger, they didn’t see those beasts as real threats.
“You think I said they could be used as an army for nothing? Until now, Your Highness has only seen the warriors, but even the women here are strong enough to snap a grown man’s neck with ease.”
At Marius’ smile, Lucian clicked his tongue.
He already knew each inhabitant had strength comparable to a knight, but he didn’t expect that hunting was also a basic skill.
At this level, even if they recruited anyone in an emergency without distinction, they could form a fairly solid army on the spot.
‘Even without a standing army, they could repel most common forces on their own.’
That the inhabitants of his territory possessed such military power would normally be a huge risk for any feudal lord, but Lucian had no reason to worry.
He had already shown too much to the tundra tribes.
As long as they saw him as the prophesied king and their savior—as long as he didn’t let them starve—they wouldn’t dare rebel.
‘On the contrary, they’ll fiercely reject any ruler who can’t prove their worth. If handled right, they might become a volunteer militia without me lifting a finger.’
If he had returned by the easy path, Lucian would have been seen as just another invader, and hopes like this wouldn’t have even crossed his mind.
He smiled in satisfaction, thinking all the suffering in the tundra had been worth it.
It was then—
“My lord!”
Ainar, who had been overseeing the tribes’ migration, came running toward Lucian out of breath.
Seeing him so flustered—something quite unlike him—Lucian wore a confused expression.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Though he’d given a rather tight deadline, there was no one emotionally tied to this land, nor anyone so frail they couldn’t endure the migration.
Preparations had gone smoothly for ten days straight, and Lucian had begun to relax, thinking everything was under control.
Had something finally gone wrong?
“No. There’s no issue with the migration. But…”
“But?”
“Some outsiders have arrived—dressed in white iron armor, shouting that they’ve come to see Your Highness. If I’m not mistaken, that’s how they refer to you.”
“…!?”
____
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