I Became the First Prince: Legend of Sword's Song

Even in the Winter with the Snowstorm (2)

“Doesn’t the same power count for all swords?” I asked Antoine, who nodded as if he had expected the question. “There is a difference in output and efficiency, but swords act more or less the same regardless of their wielder.”

“You are truly mad,” I told him, my head spinning. What happened to poems of grace and beauty which inspired glorious dances? Where did those seekers who desired to reach transcendence go?

Crude and bawdy verses were all that remained from the glorious ages of yore. “Is there something you dislike about it?” Antoine dared to ask me, still seated. I did not answer him, even if he had read my reaction correctly. Instead, I asked him about the origins of his sword poem, and the answer he gave me was truly spectacular.

“I learned, and bought it from a veteran mercenary when I had still been young. Well, I didn’t just learn it, no, I gave my all to truly understand it.”

His answer left me speechless, for I had not imagined that there existed a trade-in karmic poems within the world, yet here was a guy who was a testament to such dealings. Here, in front of my very eyes. Truly, these were interesting times. I had never encountered cases of people buying karma and mana from one another. I knew that, at times, monarchs would reward their knights with poems after years of dedication and service. This was the exception to the rule, though, and occurred under a set of stringent conditions. The recipient of these poems had to contribute their own verses as well. In doing this, it was ensured that the transfer of the poem was as painless and bloodless as possible.

It came as no surprise then that knights never sold their poetry in exchange for coin or anything else, for they saw such a trade as the ultimate manner in which to degrade and sully the nature of a poem.

Yet, the evidence of such a trade sat before me.

“The blade that cuts the knife,” I muttered. Even that single verse was once part of a complete poem. As it had been passed from one unqualified mouth to the other, much of its meaning and therefore its power had been lost. Its original form had been corrupted.

The only reason that it still held power, I decided, was due to the fact that it was such a simple verse.

I clucked my tongue.

“I have been trying to perfect it for half a year now, barely having touched its surface. I had invested my entire fortune in this song. Seeing as it has saved my sorry hide a few times now, I would say that it was a fortune well spent.”

The mercenary’s gums had flapped too much for his own good. Upon hearing his words, I realized how close I had come to being ripped off. “The particulars of our contract have just changed,” I told him. His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes slowly widened. “Twenty years,” was all I said. No longer would he serve me until I became king, no, now he and his company would be bound to me for a full two decades.

“Twenty years is an impossibility, that’s almost for life in our line of work. No mercenary would accept such terms,” he said, strongly against my reneging upon our previous agreement. I scoffed at his refusal and drew my sword.

“Well now, Your Majesty!” Antoine exclaimed in amazement as he jumped from his chair and retreated from me. “Is it true that you have been seeking your poem for half a year now?” I asked as I stared into his eyes. “You just told me that you had spent all your coin on it.”

Antoine’s expression changed at this. “How much of your life have you truly wasted on that sloppy excuse for a poem?”

I could see the hesitation in his eyes, so I started to recite a part of [Poetry of True Soul]:

“I piled up green carcasses, raising myself a mountain!

Red streams flowed from it, as bloody nails.

I honor your soul before this mountain of mine!”

At once, a blue flame flowed over my blade, and my blade hovered near the banner of the Silver Foxes. “How much is this poem worth?” I asked Antoine in the next moment bringing the tip of my sword so very near his throat. “Is it worth a measly twenty years?”

He gulped audibly. “Give me time to consider your offer,” he finally said.

I sheathed my sword. “Make up your mind, mercenary. I won’t wait long.”

I swiveled around and left his tent. I knew that I had him hooked, for there had been a deep longing in his eyes when he had seen my blue flaming blade. The treasure he had hunted so long and was so proud to have acquired paled in comparison to what I had offered him. I knew he would eventually come to my side, for the true prize he sought had been offered to him on a golden platter.

In my mind’s eye, I now saw the fortress and its mighty walls. I then stretched my imagination out further, to the mountain range beyond and the terrible thing that existed within it. Even the auras of all the living beings near me paled in comparison to the terrible presence of the Warlord. He had not made a move these past two months, only roaring from time to time in order to remind us of his existence. I wondered why he had not yet come to me, seeing it as good fortune that I had been given time to prepare. Yet, time was temporal, never infinite. The Warlord was a conquering tyrant, not a benevolent king who ruled idly over a prosperous realm. I did not know when, yet I was certain that my nemesis would make a move. He would finally reach me and Winter Castle.

Before that, I had to prepare myself in every way that I could.

* * *

As soon as the new day dawned, I went to Vincent and asked whether he could spare me some rangers. I needed about three to six men who knew the mountains well and knew how to track their prey. “I see you do not have your usual retinue with you today, Your Majesty,” he dared to state.

“Yes, that is because I wish to conduct a reconnaissance mission today,” I said. “I’m going to hunt,” I added upon seeing his puzzlement.

Not only Orcs called the Blade’s Edge Mountains home, for many larger and smaller monsters were also to be found against its slopes and within its caves. Ogres were far stronger than Orcs, and these beasts were at times called the Lords of the Mountains, just as trolls are known as immortal predators. These ogres were notorious even in the Gwangyeong area, where great knights had plied their trade four-hundred years ago.

“I’m going to hunt myself some ogres,” I told Vincent.

“It’s too dangerous, especially so deep into winter with our foe so near,” Vincent hurriedly said, trying to thwart my intentions. “If something were to happen to Your Majesty, the damage to our defensive capabilities would be dire indeed.”

I sensed some dissemblance on his part, for he had warned me in such a fashion before. “You said exactly the same thing when I headed out to quash the scouting force, and how did I deal with them?” I asked him with a winning smile.

“In that case, I’ll send some extra people,” he acceded with a sigh.

I did not protest at this, for a few additional warriors would not make much of a difference. When the time for our departure came, we were joined by others. One man, I knew immediately as Ehrim Kiringer.

“Why are you here, then?” I demanded of him.

“I was sent here by His Majesty the Second Prince,” he said, clearly not happy that he, as a knight, had been sent to climb a rough mountain.

“I offer myself as well,” said a knight who named himself as Dunham Fahrenheit, his face covered by scars after so many years as a Wire Knight.

“Do as you please,” I told the men as they tightened the straps on their packs and fell in line. I inspected our baggage once more, knowing that my quest could keep us in the mountains for an entire month. As we were packing the last of our things, another group of men appeared. It was Antoine and two of his mercenaries.

“You wish to follow me as well?” I asked him, but he shook his head and gestured at his two comrades, who bowed respectfully toward me.

They were big guys. “This is Jean and Locke. Both are veterans,” Antoine said, frowning at the formal manner in which his men had greeted me. “They had been mountaineers before joining the Silver Fox Company. They are quick of wit and even swifter on their feet, so I’m sure they’ll be of great use to you.”

After studying them for a while, I just laughed. I knew their true purpose was to act as spies for their master, just as the two knights would report to my brother. Their intentions were so blatant that I almost pitied their naivety. “Alright, be my porters and pack animals on this journey, then,” I said to the men, pretending that I did not know them for the spying weasels that they were. We all hefted our packs and headed to the gate, where my Uncle and Vincent were awaiting us.

“Take care,” the Count said as he regarded me with a frown. Fortunately, he only wished to see me off, and not try to persuade me from my quest as his son had attempted to do.

“Even without me, you must hold these walls,” I told him earnestly.

“This castle is your legacy, and the legacy of your scions.”

“Return safely, Adrian.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I said to him, and then made my way from the castle gates.

The Rangers upon the walls were waving at us without fanfare. Our seeing-off was a plain affair, as was usual for the men of the north.

I, too, just waved my hand.

* * *

The Rangers were doing their duty well as they led us into the mountain, avoiding any signs of the Orcs. We proceeded with care, going ever deeper and ever higher. From time to time, we came upon lesser monsters or wild animals, yet these nuisances were quickly dealt with by the Rangers. “Of all the highland infantry, the Rangers of Balahard are truly the best,” Ehrim Kiringer openly stated as he admired the stealthy manner in which the Rangers had exterminated two goblin scouts. So we proceeded, staying out of the way of monster patrols as much as was possible.

How many days had passed? By now, the two ‘mountaineer’ mercenaries were too exhausted by our accent to spy on me that much. One of our advance Rangers held up his hand, palm opened. He was calling us to silence as his finger went to his lips. I somehow knew that we had reached the thing that I had sought to reach. A great, furious roar was heard from afar, and this only confirmed my conclusion. So horrifically terrifying was the sound that the Rangers covered their ears with their hands, while the two mercenaries were thrown onto their asses. Arwen and the Wire Knights were clearly concerned, while Adelia stuck to my side. Her face was a ghostly pale after she had heard the terrible roar. I looked past her terror and asked the Ranger something. He understood and pointed in the direction of our quarry. I dragged Adelia with me, for she had almost fainted.

I made my way to a gnarled old tree, and beyond it stretched a clearing. The smell of blood pervaded the air, prickling my nose. I saw a great hulking monster, halfway done with its meal. It is not easy to describe the meal itself, simply put: It was a fresh Orc.

The Ogre tore its prey in half, tearing through muscles that could endure a hail of arrows as if they were naught but paper. Sickly pink guts spilled onto the snow. The Ogre proceeded to stuff these intestines into its mouth, clearly savoring the offal.

Suddenly, other Orcs appeared from the other side of the clearing and soon had the Ogre surrounded. They were elite Orc Warriors, led by an Orc Noble who was a large as one and a half of his kin.

“Warriors! Have no fear!” The Orc Noble shouted as he summoned his battle fervor into his halberd, the bright red energy suffusing his blade. Upon seeing their leader summon his magic, the Orc Warriors had their spirits bolstered and rushed the Ogre all at once.

I could do nothing else than laugh, for I had a good idea as to how their reckless charge would pan out.