It was obvious that Entir didn’t genuinely expect us to agree to a technology transfer.

He was merely testing the waters—after all, there was no cost to asking.

“I have no intention of sharing our technology. Even if I agreed, Highcastle would never allow it.”

“I see. That’s truly a shame.”

Entir and I spoke to each other with polite formality.

I was, after all, the Count of the North by succession, while he was the husband of the Marchioness and the head of one of the Empire’s largest merchant companies.

“Then, why did you wish to meet with me?”

“The North and the Empire are not on good terms.”

“Indeed.”

“You and the Imperial Family are not on good terms either.”

“…”

At my words, Entir’s expression shifted, as though he had understood everything.

“What exactly are you offering me?”

“Everything but the technology.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Unlike Arad Salt, Mary’s Blessing and Northern Celadon are distributed exclusively through the Rune Guild.”

The North has two official guilds: the Arad Company and the older Rune Guild, which predates us.

“The problem is that the Rune Guild is too small. It’s incapable of meeting the ever-growing demand on its own.”

“So…?”

“The Arad Company will sell Mary’s Blessing and Northern Celadon not just through the Rune Guild, but also through the Bishop Company.”

“!!”

Entir’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“And there’s more.”

“More?”

When I said there was more, Entir’s gaze, filled with delight, now gleamed with a hint of madness.

“With increased celadon production, various logistical issues have arisen.”

“Logistical issues?”

“There are no large guilds in the North, only a few small workshops and individual craftsmen. As a result, securing raw materials is difficult.”

“What do you need, specifically?”

“Food, fabrics, bricks, timber, ingots, glass—these, for now.”

“Aren’t Imperial merchants already supplying these to the North?”

“We need more of it, and at lower prices.”

“Lower prices… in greater quantities.”

Entir repeated my words, his gaze turning pensive.

“You saw our factory-style division of labor earlier. We’ll pass this system on to you. With it, you’ll be able to produce more, even with lower-skilled workers, at reduced costs.”

“You’re serious about offering everything but the technology.”

“I am. If you’d like, we can also provide prosthetics, like our artificial limbs.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes, but you’ll need to send your patients here.”

In a world where hunting, war, and duels were commonplace, injuries were inevitable. Be it the Empire or the kingdoms, many nobles were left disabled.

High-ranking adventurers, mercenaries, and knights were no exceptions—few among them were without injuries.

For such individuals, talk of dark magic or other stigmas mattered little. If the opportunity arose, they would march to Highcastle with gold and silver in hand.

“Use this to extend your influence into the Empire.”

Entir’s expression showed less joy and more skepticism, as if he couldn’t quite grasp my generous offer.

“Do you trust me?”

I had been expecting that question.

“I trust your situation.”

“Perfect.”

Entir extended his hand first.

We shook hands, holding the grip for a long moment.

“However, there’s one thing I’d like to request.”

Even as we shook hands, Entir made his request without hesitation.

“My life is in constant danger. Given who my enemies are, it’s inevitable.”

His gaze shifted to Balzac, who stood nearby.

“…”

It was a brazen request, but one I fully understood.

After all, turning the Crown Prince and his Swordmaster wife into his enemies was no small matter.

To protect himself from them, he would need someone with skills equivalent to a Swordmaster as his bodyguard. But no matter how wealthy he was, even Entir couldn’t easily hire someone of that caliber. Top-tier warriors didn’t move for money alone.

“That’s a problem. I can’t assign Sir Balzac to remain in the Empire. It would escalate into a significant issue.”

Balzac, after all, was a Swordmaster of the North. If he stayed in the Empire, it would be seen as nothing less than a declaration of war by the North.

“Then at least assign me some of the North’s high-ranking knights. It doesn’t matter how much wealth or influence I gather among Imperial nobles—if I die, it’s all for nothing.”

His voice carried genuine desperation.

“I understand.”

In the original timeline, Entir was betrayed by his wife, losing his company and his entire fortune before being killed. I couldn’t ignore the urgency in his voice.

“So, you’ll assign me some of the North’s knights?”

“On your return, a few senior knights from the Frostblade will join your company as employees to facilitate communication with Highcastle.”

“That’s somewhat reassuring. Northern knights are the strongest on the continent, after all.”

Entir nodded, recalling his first encounter with Balzac.

But this time, I was the one to express doubt.

“No, I’m still uneasy. Even if they’re high-ranking knights, a Swordmaster is in a class of their own.”

This time, it was my words that left Entir puzzled.

“What…?”

I continued, addressing his confusion.

“So, I’ve thought of one more measure. Balzac tells me he has a connection with her.”

“Her…?”

Entir turned his gaze to Balzac.

“She should have arrived by now.”

Balzac smiled as he spoke, meeting both of our curious gazes.

***

On the continent, Swordmasters are divided into official and unofficial categories.

Official Swordmasters include figures like Duke Doom of the Shadows and Havana of the Flame in the Empire, Balzac the Frostblade in the Northern Renslet Territory, and Caron, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Gargant within the Kingdoms Alliance.

Unofficial Swordmasters, on the other hand, are either unacknowledged or individuals of equivalent skill who do not exclusively wield swords.

In the Empire, such figures include Archbishop Terezia, Yulkanes of the Golden Tower, and Duke Ricard, the Emperor’s Champion and a royal battle mage.

While Terezia is a cleric, Yulkanes a magician, and Ricard a mage-knight, none are formally classified as Swordmasters.

Similarly, the Kingdoms Alliance boasts Falcon the Divine Archer from the Republic of Feze and Inquisitor Longos of the Papal Court.

In the Northern Renslet, notable figures include Suun of the Icewall and Isabel the Witch of Spring.

Notably, Grand Duchess Arina of the North is a Swordmaster herself, though she has deliberately concealed this fact.

It’s not hard to see why the Empire is so wary of the North.

Despite its harsh climate and sparse population, the North is home to not one, but three Swordmaster-level warriors.

Some scholars speculate that the North’s extreme environment and abundance of mana stones contribute to this phenomenon.

But the North’s surprises don’t end there.

Among the Northern populace is another individual with Swordmaster-level prowess who does not align with Renslet.

A piercing screech echoed across the sky.

“Hmm?”

Carpe paused her work, looking upward at the familiar sound.

“Winterhawk?”

The sound had been absent for so long that it seemed like a phantom echo, but there it was again.

PIIIIIIII!

The noise grew closer.

Carpe’s rugged features—marked by years of mercenary life and countless scars—turned toward the sky. Her red hair, tied back into a loose ponytail, and piercing blue eyes fixed on the source of the sound.

Her bronze-toned skin, large stature, and muscular build made it hard for anyone to believe she was a woman at first glance.

Though she appeared in her thirties, her actual age was far older.

“…”

The Mercenary Queen, Carpe, extended a hand toward the descending white hawk.

There was no mistaking it. It was the Winterhawk, a mystical creature of the North.

“How on earth did a Winterhawk make it all the way here!?”

Carpe’s surprise was understandable. The Winterhawk’s usual range didn’t extend beyond the North or Central Empire.

But this was the Eastern Empire, near the Ragwoit Great Barrier, the dividing line between civilization and barbarism.

For the hawk to have reached this far meant that someone from the Northern Renslet, likely from Central-North, had deliberately sent it.

“Is the Frostblade nearby?”

Even for a creature as mystical as the Winterhawk, pinpointing her location was impossible without assistance. This meant that witches had likely employed a spell, perhaps using something as trivial as a strand of her hair left behind in the North years ago.

Hmm…

The nostalgia of her homeland’s scent was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by memories she had buried long ago. Those memories came rushing back, along with a debt she thought she’d never have to repay.

Carpe inspected the hawk’s leg, finding a small, folded note attached.

Tch!

Removing the note, she unfolded it. The Winterhawk, its duty fulfilled, soared back into the skies without a backward glance.

Carpe, however, had no time to see it off. Her face turned grave as she read the message.

“Now of all times!?”

Her brows furrowed deeper as she scanned the note, which was frustratingly brief.

“Disciple, it’s time to repay your debt. Come to the North.”

“…”

Without a word, Carpe stuffed the paper into her mouth, chewing and swallowing it before shouting at the top of her lungs:

“You son of a—!!”

After nearly twenty years, the first message from her old master was nothing short of infuriating.

“Of all the cursed…! You just had to do this! Really living up to the Northern reputation! Stubborn to the core!”

Carpe roared to the northwest, her voice echoing across the Eastern Wastes.

“What?! Disciple? Disciple, my ass! You taught me for a week and now you call yourself my master?! Besides, I don’t even use swords anymore!”

Her towering frame carried a massive battle axe strapped to her back.

“Goddamn it, past Carpe! You stupid, reckless fool! Why did you have to pull that idiotic stunt back then?!”

A short distance away, her mercenaries observed their commander’s outburst.

“Boss seems real pissed, huh?”

“You don’t say?”

“Think it’s that crazy Duke Doom pulling something again?”

“No, this feels like something different.”

Carpe was the Mercenary Queen, naturally surrounded by loyal subordinates.

Scattered around them were the corpses of twenty orcs, each one far larger and more muscular than the average orc, their fangs protruding menacingly.

These Mongar Orcs, clad in iron weapons that rivaled the arms of the Empire’s elite soldiers, were no ordinary foes.

“Shouldn’t we get moving?”

“Yeah, these spoils will definitely get the knights up in arms if they see them.”

“Then burn a bunch of incense. Let’s not give them an excuse.”

The mercenaries whispered among themselves, instinctively keeping their distance.

Years of experience under Carpe’s command had taught them to leave her alone during moments like these.

Despite her loud curses, Carpe’s mind was racing.

Ignore it. Just ignore it. You can ignore it!

She couldn’t think of any real debt owed to the North—specifically, not to the North, but to Balzac, that old man.

Years ago, when she was just a low-level mercenary, she had encountered Balzac during one of his missions as an enforcer in a demonic realm.

“Hey, you big-shot knight! How do I become a freak like you? Teach me your secrets!”

At the time, desperate and convinced she wouldn’t survive much longer as a mere grunt, Carpe had boldly approached Balzac for training.

“I’ve got nothing to offer, but if you want, I can keep you company. Do whatever you want with me!”

Even back then, Balzac had only clicked his tongue at her audacity.

“Ugly as sin, and still so confident.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not pretty. But don’t knock it until you try it! Or is it… you can’t?”

But Carpe wasn’t one to take offense.

“Fine, I’ll teach you. You’ve got some potential.”

“Wha—really!?”

“Sure. You’re heading back to Haven, right? A week’s journey, give or take? I’ll teach you some mana techniques and basic combat skills along the way. It’ll be enough to keep you from starving.”

“Wait, no! Nothing’s free in this world! This doesn’t sit right with me!”

“Persistent, aren’t you? Fine. Leave me some of your hair.”

“Hair? That’s your thing? Weird.”

“Enough with the sass. If you ever get famous, I’ll use it to summon you when I need you.”

“Oh, got it! How much do you want? Should I just shave it all off? It’s been annoying me anyway.”

And that was the entirety of her connection to Balzac.