RR 26

Chapter : 26

Tris liked silence. The Aike territory was famous for its heavy snowfall, and sometimes he would deliberately seek out a cave and bury himself in the quiet. He did so mostly when his head was a mess, when he was irritated, or when he was angry. Whenever he sank into that quiet, the sounds of the world would come to him.

The chirping of insects, the wind brushing the leaves, the cries of beasts, the sounds of the night.

So the moment he heard it, he understood the situation. First, he ran over and rescued the man rolling in the snow. After dragging him into the cave, he immediately drew his sword and faced the group that had pursued him.

Clang! The weapon the outlaw swung could hardly be called a sword. Its edge was dull, and its resilience was pitifully weak. Every time their blades met, he could feel it cracking apart. Yet the man refused to retreat, as though he had committed countless robberies. Looked like they needed a hard lesson.

Tris deliberately slashed downward from high guard to low. Clang! With every impact, the outlaw’s knees bent. They were already being forced to kneel.

The outlaw gritted his teeth and screamed.

“I’ll kill you!”

Thud! Tris spun his blade and struck his mouth with the hilt. Gah! As he collapsed with a dying cry, the other two hesitated and backed away to flee.

Tris spoke icily.

“Run, and I’ll kill you on the spot.”

The outlaws immediately dropped to their knees.

“Ron, bring a torch.”

When Ron handed it over, Tris took it and inspected each outlaw one by one. One missing a wrist, one missing an eye, one with half his face burned. Tris’s expression hardened. They were men with no reason to be spared.

A missing wrist meant theft. A missing eye meant arson. And a burned face meant a crime of deceiving a noble.

Lords governed their lands in their own ways, but though the severity differed, the reasons for punishment were nearly the same. By Aike standards, for someone to receive this degree of penalty, there must have been many victims. And the crime of deceiving a noble was never forgiven—not even once.

His gaze grew even colder.

“P‑p‑please spare us!”

Seeing Tris’s face, the men flung themselves flat on the ground and wailed.

“Where did you come from?”

A chilling voice. His tone stabbed at their chests like an icy awl carried on a winter wind.

“From the Kisling territory!”

“Kisling? That’s far.”

Kisling, at the southernmost tip of Slorland, was more than four weeks’ travel from Aike—a long road.

Tris snorted.

“You came to the wrong place. Of all places, near the Aike lands.”

He then nudged the outlaw still unconscious with his boot.

“How many more besides you?”

“It’s just us. We were starving… We’re sorry. Please, spare us.”

They begged as if their lives depended on it. By the sound of it—and more importantly, by the quality of their swords—they were nobles. Only nobles would carry weapons like that. High nobles, at that. They’d robbed the wrong man.

Tris stood.

“If I leave you free, you’ll only hurt more people. Ron! Shawn!”

Ron and Shawn, watching from behind, came over. Tris spoke frigidly.

“Tie them up. We’ll hand them to the constable in the next village.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the outlaws began wailing loudly as they were bound, Tris stuffed snow into their mouths. He hated noise. Only then did silence return.

When the matter was settled, Tris returned to the cave. The ankle of the man he had rescued was badly swollen. It could easily have snapped. What was so urgent that he’d set out at night without watching for traps? And he didn’t even look like a merchant.

Just then, the man groaned and fluttered his eyelids. He was finally waking.

Mmmm… At that moment, his eyes shot open. Pain like a branding iron stabbed into his ankle. “Aagh!” he screamed, startling Shawn—who had been applying ointment—so badly that he fell backward.

When the man lunged as if to strike Shawn, Tris stepped between them and seized him by the shoulders. His warning was icy.

“We’re treating you. Sit still unless you want to lose the foot.”

The command froze him in place. When he sank down again, the burning agony resumed.

“This will bring down the swelling. Endure it.”

His eyes reddened. Tris knew very well how much it hurt, but there was no helping it. He tossed a strip of jerky from his coat. Bite down on that, he meant. Starving, the man took it immediately and chewed hard as he endured the treatment.

At last, the fiery pain faded. He felt alive again. Wiping sweat from his brow, he finally managed to speak.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Peta replied,

“Anyone should. You would’ve died otherwise.”

Though the boy looked barely grown, his bossy tone made it clear—they must be at least of knightly rank. The man shrank a little, glancing nervously around. Then the coldest‑eyed of them asked:

“Where are you coming from?”

“I went to the Aike lands, but found nothing, so I was returning.”

“For what?”

“To deliver something to Sir Tris.”

Tris raised a brow.

“To me?”

The man blinked in shock.

“You’re Sir Tris Aike?”

“That’s right. I’m Tris.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I finally found you.”

Unbelievable. A miracle. He’d dreaded searching for him in a snowstorm. The man hurriedly rummaged in his coat and drew out a letter—from Emblin.

Tris’s thick brows twitched as he accepted it.

“What is this?”

“A letter sent by Princess Emblin.”

He had already been thinking of her often. And now a letter—from her of all people. This time, no matter how rude it was, he resolved to read it to the end.

He unfolded the parchment. Before he could read it, something rolled out. He snatched it instinctively. A strand of brown hair, as long as a palm.

Tris’s brows drew tight. He knew exactly whose it was—the smooth feel, the color. Emblin’s hair.

Why this…? Had something happened?

He tucked the hair into his coat and hurriedly read. And then…

Dear Sir Tris Aike,
I imagine this sudden letter has taken you by surprise…

Tris doubted his own eyes. He never expected such a heartfelt plea. Devotion to Idella? As her brother, he had merely done what was right—but she saw it that way? Hm… When he finished, he rolled the parchment tightly and leaned against the cave wall.

His mind drifted back to the harvest festival. Tuke had harassed Idella, he’d confronted him in the hall. When Tuke raised a hand to Emblin, Tris had stopped him—and a fight ensued. Rumors spread afterward, and because of them, Emblin suffered far more than he.

A cold smile curled on his lips. He’d been right. Who spread the rumor? He had suspected, from the first name spoken, that it was Tuke. Tuke must have twisted the story and blabbed.

But it was strange. That would break Emblin’s royal marriage. Why would he do it? The Kisling duke sided with the king—so why… Was it simple recklessness? Or something more?

He set the question aside and returned to the letter.

She asked him to be her protector. If he agreed to be her husband, she would grant him Wintergarden and five villages with it. Wintergarden… He knew that lay in the Rediang territory.

The Rediang lands. He had expected it—when the king suddenly withdrew his rage, there must have been a deal. But Emblin becoming the owner of Wintergarden… His brows tightened. It must not be only the Rediang lands in play. There was something more.

Abruptly, Tris asked the man,

“Has anything happened to Queen Meril or Princess Emblin?”

The man shook his head.

“No, nothing.”

Of course he wouldn’t know. And Aike was the farthest from the capital; news was always slow.

Tris rubbed his brow. No. Something had changed. Otherwise Emblin would never offer Wintergarden as a stake—and ask for him. What could it be…?

He drew out the hair again. Was it really hers? Could it belong to someone else? Doubt crept in.

Emblin was cold and proud as ice. In the current circumstances, pride was everything—so high it scraped the heavens.

Every time he’d seen her in the capital, he had felt it. A frail woman who nevertheless refused to break, refused to crumble, looking down on those around her as if from above. That was the Emblin he knew. Certainly she must have sides he hadn’t seen—but to write this kind of letter…

He read it again.

…In return, I ask only that you protect me as a person. As long as you do not force the duties of a wife upon me, you may enjoy whatever you wish…