“Please, come inside for now. I’ll serve you some warm tea with deer antler.”
“Ah, ah... th-th-thank you... I-I’m saved....”
Count Aizen, supported by my arm, waddled toward the tent like a penguin.
No, he tried to.
Thud!
“Urgh!”
Even with my support, he lost his balance after only a few steps and fell face-first into the snow.
It might have been because the thick fur clothes had made his limbs sluggish, but fundamentally, his lower body was far too weak.
Flap, flap.
With his nose buried in the snow, he wriggled and reached out in a pitiful voice.
“E-Excuse... me... c-could you... h-help me... up...?”
I stared blankly down at the sight.
A round bundle of fur flapping about in the snow.
‘He really is a penguin.’
The empire’s greatest administrator? A cold, rational intellectual?
What a load of crap.
What stood before me right now was nothing more than one fat penguin frozen stiff by the cold.
Suppressing a hollow laugh, I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck like a piece of luggage and hauled him upright.
“Th-th-th... thank you... Varg...”
Inside the warm yurt.
Firewood was blazing in the brazier.
Count Aizen was crouched in front of it, warming his trembling hands.
Gorgon clicked his tongue and rose from his seat.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll bring out something to snack on.”
Once Gorgon went outside, only three people remained in the yurt: Kara, Count Aizen, and me.
It was then.
Rustle.
Count Aizen, who had been facing away from the brazier, suddenly stood up.
And then.
Fwoosh!
He stripped off the three thick fur garments he had been wearing like a penguin, casting them aside in an instant as if removing armor.
I doubted my own eyes.
Because from within that round bundle of fur, a sharp gentleman in a suit had emerged, like a cicada shedding its shell.
He removed his glasses, fogged white with steam, and wiped them with a handkerchief he took from his breast pocket.
Then, using the droplets of water that had formed in his hair from the temperature difference—dew, essentially—as though they were hair gel, he combed his disheveled hair back with his fingers in one smooth motion.
A perfect slicked-back hairstyle, complete.
Putting his glasses back on, he spoke in a low, clear voice that made it hard to believe he had been chattering his teeth only moments ago.
“Phew. Now I finally feel alive.”
“......”
Kara and I stared at him in a daze.
What was this, some kind of transforming robot?
Count Aizen bowed politely.
“My apologies for startling you. It has been twenty years since I last came to Norheim, so I simply cannot seem to adapt to the northern cold.”
The penguin-like gaze from earlier was no longer dull and unfocused.
That sharp, intelligent look I knew from the original work.
The foremost administrator of the Grand Duke of Northguard.
Count Aizen had returned.
“First, Kara... no, Miss Kara of Norheim. Please accept my sincere congratulations on your pregnancy. His Grace the Grand Duke was also greatly pleased to hear the news.”
At his courteous greeting, Kara nodded, somewhat bewildered.
The fact that he called her not “Winter Sword” but “Miss Kara of Norheim” followed the traditional naming customs of the barbarians within Norheim.
At the same time, it was a silent consideration that showed he understood the surname “Winter Sword,” bestowed by the Grand Duke, had never been a purely benevolent gesture.
It was an expression of his intent to treat her not as a political tool of the empire, but as a dignified member of a tribe.
As expected, this man did not waste a single word.
Then his gaze turned to me.
“And you, Varg of Norheim. I heard rumors that Chief Gorgon had taken in an adopted son... but you truly do resemble him. Your sturdy build, and even your eyes.”
Alarm bells rang in my mind.
‘Wait... this man knows I’m adopted?’
The envoy leader from earlier had assumed I was Gorgon’s biological son and had let it slide vaguely.
But this man knew.
He knew the fact that I was adopted, and even the fact that I was not related to Gorgon by blood.
I immediately sensed that Count Aizen’s intelligence network was no ordinary thing.
What was frightening was that he “remembered” that information.
The barbarian etiquette and tribal lineages he had learned twenty years ago, when he visited Norheim as a new member of the envoy.
He had not forgotten even those trivial details.
The previous envoys probably had the information as well.
They had simply dismissed the genealogy of barbarians as not worth remembering and forgotten it.
But this man was different.
He smiled gently and added,
“Ah, of course, that was a compliment. I meant that I can feel the spirit of a true sava—no, a northern warrior from you.”
He naturally swallowed the word “barbarian.”
Was it a mistake?
No.
Considering the meticulous memory and information-gathering ability he had just displayed, even that slip of the tongue might have been calculated.
Subtly letting the empire’s perspective—that “we see you as barbarians”—seep out, while at the same time establishing a refined superiority by saying, “but I will correct myself.”
It was a high-level manner of speech meant to test our reactions.
In fact, the moment the word came out, Kara’s brow creased slightly, and my eyebrow twitched as well.
His eyes, beyond the lenses, did not miss that fleeting reaction.
‘Whether we respond emotionally, or brush it off rationally.’
A test to grasp our personalities.
‘He’s not an easy man.’
It felt unpleasant, but paradoxically, it also built trust.
At the very least, it meant he was not looking down on us as stupid barbarians, but regarding us as “subjects” to be analyzed and understood.
Count Aizen took a briefcase from his coat and placed it on the table.
Then, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, he opened his mouth with a serious expression.
“Before we proceed with the admission procedures, there is something for which I would like to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Yes. The last time, the thing His Grace the Grand Duke attempted to do to the Winterclaw tribe... I was also aware of that ‘dishonorable plan.’”
A dishonorable plan.
The attempt to assassinate Gorgon.
Kara’s and my eyes turned sharp.
But Count Aizen did not look away, meeting our gazes straight on.
“Of course, I opposed it, but... as a powerless vassal, I failed to stop my lord. For my cowardice in tacitly allowing it... I sincerely apologize.”
He rose from his seat and bowed respectfully at a ninety-degree angle.
A high-ranking noble of the empire, trusted by the Grand Duke no less, lowering his head to barbarians.
It was an unimaginable sight.
Before Kara and I, flustered, could say anything, he raised his head and immediately took another set of documents from his bag.
“An apology is not something made with words alone. It must be shown through action, wouldn’t you agree?”
His eyes flashed.
“As an apology, and as a vassal loyal to the Grand Duke... I intend to reduce the trial and error you two will face at the academy.”
He pushed two densely written sheets of parchment across the table.
This time, they were of a different nature from the admission documents.
They were...
A schedule from hell.
“This is the timetable prepared for you, Varg. Until your enrollment, you will stay at my estate and learn imperial etiquette, social dancing, table manners... Ah, and dialect correction lessons are included as well.”
“......Excuse me?”
“And this is a special week-by-week pregnancy care chart for Miss Kara. From listening to prenatal music to maternity yoga and nutritional meal plans... It was drafted with the advice of the empire’s finest obstetricians.”
I stared blankly down at the timetable.
【6:00 AM — Wake up: Imperial Standard pronunciation correction】
【8:00 AM — How to use a fork and knife (Beginner)】
【2:00 PM — Waltz steps (Partner: Heinkel von Aizen)】
“......”
My gaze stopped on the final item.
Heinkel von Aizen.
That was the name of the middle-aged man standing before me right now.
When I looked at him with a flustered expression, Count Aizen pushed his glasses up and added,
“Ah, of course, Miss Kara will serve as your partner at first.”
“Phew....”
I let out a sigh of relief.
No matter how likable a character he was, he was still a man.
Dancing with my beloved wife was a hundred, a thousand times better than waltzing with this middle-aged man who smelled of sweat.
But my relief did not last long.
“However.”
He attached an ominous condition.
“According to the medical staff, Miss Kara will also need to begin taking care of herself after three weeks. It will be a period during which she must rest.”
“T-Then...?”
“From that point onward, I intend to take charge.”
“......”
“You have many shortcomings, so I shall personally instruct you. I will come prepared to have my feet stepped on.”
He smiled gently.
It was the smile of a devil.
In other words, three weeks from now, I would have to hold this fastidious middle-aged man by the waist, exchange tender gazes with him, and dance the waltz.
Just imagining it made my stomach churn.
‘This man... is terrifying.’
As if switching straight into work mode the moment he finished apologizing were not enough, he had even prepared this thoroughly.
As expected, he truly was the “extreme-job administrator” from the original work.
He smiled and added,
“Once you enter the academy, there will be many occasions when you are looked down on as ‘foreign peoples.’ Especially you, Varg. If you do not wish to give those high-nosed noble bastards anything to nitpick... you will need to put in bone-shaving effort starting now.”
There was not a single wrong thing in what he said.
However.
“Um... could we maybe leave out the waltz steps? I’m rather large, so....”
“No. Do you intend to step on Miss Kara’s feet at the ball?”
He was firm.
Once he had decided, he had not the slightest intention of changing his mind.
I sighed and lowered my head.
It felt as though I had encountered an enemy more frightening than a snowfield wolf, or even a snow bear.
Just as my life in the empire was about to begin with that tragic prelude—
“Now! You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you? This is the finest liquor in our tribe!”
The tent flap burst open, and Gorgon strode inside.
In one hand, he held a platter of smoked meat with steam rising from it, and in the other, a massive horn cup the size of an adult’s head.
Gorgon laughed heartily and slammed the horn cup down onto the table.
“It’s snow ale! The legendary drink those imperial bastards line up just to taste!”
Boom!
The moment that heavy vibration traveled through the table and reached Count Aizen—
Flinch.
Count Aizen’s shoulders, which had maintained a perfect poker face until moments ago, jolted violently.
He was so startled that his glasses went crooked.
“How’s that? Warmed up now? Not cold anymore, right?”
Gorgon casually slapped Aizen on the shoulder.
There was no malice in it. It was merely a gesture of welcome.
But with a single touch, Count Aizen’s body swayed like a paper doll.
“N-N-No... not c-cold... Gorgon....”
“......?”
I doubted my ears.
The stutter had begun again.
The cold and eloquent man from earlier was nowhere to be seen; only a middle-aged man remained, shrunken like a gentle lamb at a single touch from Gorgon.
Gorgon chuckled as he poured the liquor, pretending not to notice—or perhaps truly not noticing—the cold sweat on Aizen’s back.
“Here, have a drink! Brings back the old days, eh?”
“U-Uh-huh... the o-old... days....”
Count Aizen accepted the horn cup with a deathly pale face, trembling.
Gorgon, who had smiled warmly while serving Kara hot winter honey tea, looked to Aizen like nothing less than a tiger teacher—no, a thug.
‘What’s with that reaction?’
He was not trembling from the cold.
That was a reaction born purely from fear of Gorgon.
Like an herbivore encountering its natural predator.
Just what on earth had happened between those two when they were young?
‘Now that I think about it...’
Resting my chin on my hand, I watched the two of them with interest.
The reason Gorgon, a barbarian to the bone, had unexpectedly come to dream of “coexistence with the empire” might have been because of his encounter with this man, who had apparently been coming and going as part of the envoy since twenty years ago.
If, even in that stuttering state—or even after the incident that had caused that stutter—he had managed to change the thinking of a great figure like Gorgon, then Count Aizen was certainly no ordinary person.
Though he was currently crushed by Gorgon’s presence and reduced to a shrinking violet, the inner depth he possessed was real.
I gave a faint smile as I looked at Count Aizen, trembling as he drank, and at my father-in-law and father, laughing as though he found such a friend unbearably adorable.
‘And...’
My gaze shifted toward the “schedule from hell” on the table.
That fastidiousness and intelligence network.
And the negotiation skills that had persuaded even Gorgon twenty years ago, when he must have been at his most hot-blooded.
‘He might become a pretty good teacher for me, too.’
Though as a waltz partner, I would prefer to decline.
Crackle, crackle.
The campfire burned warmly through the night.
And so, the eve of our departure for the empire deepened.