The door that had confined Diana was not opened until her wedding day.

The baron had instructed not to give her more than a sip of water, but fearing complications on the journey to the North, the servants fed her just enough to keep her from collapsing.

She had become as frail as a twig, and her once beautiful white hair had become tangled and dull to the point that she could hardly be considered a bride.

The seamstress, who had brought the bride’s attire under the baron’s orders, frowned at Diana’s condition, which was much more serious than expected.

The story of Baron Laffin’s illegitimate child was an infamous one that everyone knew. Seeing that the situation was more pitiful than expected, the seamstress was determined to do her best as far as her conscience allowed and worked diligently.

Unlike the original design to highlight the slender arms, her excessively thin arms were covered with light fabric, and the skirt connected just below her chest was puffed out as much as possible.

Continuing, the hairdresser meticulously combed Diana’s white hair until it gleamed, finally weaving it into a net adorned with distinctive pearls and golden threads of the South.

As a finishing touch, they placed a veil on the net and added a touch of shade to the bride’s pale face.

Diana, now adorned, stepped outside, where a representative from the Phenril ducal household awaited her with a carriage ready.

The proxy was astonished three times: once at the sight of the bride coming out alone without any bridesmaid, twice at her attire, and finally, at the gloomy shadow that crept over her.

“I’m pleased to meet you. I am Aquilla; I come as a representative of the groom.”

“Please take good care on the journey to the north, Aquilla.”

Diana smiled weakly. She could guess why the knight before her was so taken aback.

‘Although I didn’t expect congratulations and blessings…’ Wasn’t it a bit too much? Diana sighed deeply when no one had come to see her off.

She didn’t receive a farewell. No, if they had met, she might have received hostile remarks. Wasn’t it better this way?

The representatives from the Phenril ducal family seemed more flustered by the situation than Diana.

“…Shall I bring you something to cover yourself?”

“…I’d appreciate it.”

The bride’s attire was beautiful, but it wasn’t suitable for the winter climate in the North.

Diana greatly appreciated the knight’s consideration.

Aquilla draped a large cloak over her shoulders, its edges lined with marten fur and the Phenril family crest embroidered in the center.

The cloak was exceptionally warm.

“Let’s depart.”

“Is it okay not to bid farewell to your family, Milady?”

“They’re probably busy exchanging the gifts sent by the Grand Duke at this point. Let’s just go.”

Displeasure crept over her face as she recalled the greedy glances from the baron’s family, who had been eyeing the gifts sent by the grand duke since morning.

Fortunately, the representative obediently opened the carriage door without adding anything else.

Diana buried herself deeply in the seat. Enveloped in the gentle embrace of a plush cushion and hearing the rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves echoing, she felt a soothing drowsiness wash over her fatigued body.

When she opened her eyes again, the view outside the window was not the dry, dusty landscape she knew about but a sight she had never seen in her lifetime.

The land, now covered in clean snow, had transformed into a pure wilderness where not a single footprint could be found.

The only colors present on the land were the pure white of the snow, the deep green of coniferous trees, and the ashy brown of dry branches.

Diana pulled herself closer to the window, thinking that the soft snow on the fir trees looked like a fluffy cream cake.

“It’s cold…”

As she brought her fingers to the window, a frosty mist formed around her fingertips.

After leaving early in the morning, the carriage couldn’t reach Phenril’s territory until late at night.

What greeted Diana as she stepped out of the carriage was not just the cold northern winds. Aquilla introduced to her the people who had come out to greet her.

“Welcome to Norbert, Your Grace. We’ve been expecting you.”

Contrary to the welcoming words, Diana could tell from their emotionless and rigid faces, along with their sharp, needle-like gazes, that she would never truly be welcomed in this land.

◇ ◆ ◇

Shrieeeeek—!

The breath of the calamity was extinguished, along with an ear-piercing scream. The creature, with wings partially torn, resembled a dragon, often seen in tales meant to frighten children.

Known as “Monster,” “Dragon,” or “Draughr” in ancient languages, it was a walking calamity, permitting no existence other than its own.

Its cruelty knew no bounds, possessing an indestructible nature that rendered even formidable weapons ineffective and exhibiting a relentless vitality that allowed it to survive even after its limbs were severed.

It was the embodiment of evil.

A man was dealing with such a being by himself.

Like the morning star reflected in the glint of the sword, yellow eyes flashed for a moment. Simultaneously, the man’s sword cleanly severed the monster’s head, a clean cut worthy of a skilled hunter.

Amidst the separated head and torso of the monster convulsing in different ways, he breathed out a long sigh and raised his sword.

As he swung his sword in the air to shake off the dirt stuck to it, his dark hair, loosely braided, waved lightly like a flag on his back.

His brief respite came to an end. Without hesitation, he kicked the ground and lunged toward a new foe.

The man swiftly found his target and penetrated the Draughr’s throat with his sword. If it were an ordinary monster, it would have died immediately, but the monster writhed its long neck like a serpent, aiming for the man’s shoulder.

However, the man’s sword was faster. Instead of pulling the blade out, he lifted it upward, slicing through from the throat to the forehead.

Only then did the Draughr stop moving completely.

A low sigh escaped the man’s closed lips. The blade dripped black blood, making previous attempts to clean it futile.

“Jarl** Erno!”

Someone called his name from afar. It was a warning that further exploration would be dangerous and a suggestion that he had done enough for today, urging him to return.

Nevertheless, the man raised his sword once again.

The enemy’s numbers were still frighteningly large, and he—the Jarl—was their commander, obligated to lead them and protect them from any enemy, their king.

After mercilessly slaughtering more than a dozen monsters, Erno finally returned to the barracks. He encountered an unexpected presence waiting for him.

“…Veronica?”

“Elder brother…”

Her voice, as pitiful as a wet bird, carried a mix of sheepishness and concern.

Today, as well, she was dressed in mourning clothes, wrapped in black lace from head to toe and even to her hands.

“What are you doing here, Veronica?”

Erno raised his hand to stop her, sensing that she might rush toward him at any moment. His body was covered in monster’s blood.

However, Veronica paid no heed and approached him closely. Their gazes interlocked between the dense veil.

“I told you not to come because it’s dangerous.”

Although his tone was stern, Erno’s face, when looking at her, was infinitely gentle.

“That…”

Veronica hesitated, glancing nervously behind her.

Erno, puzzled, turned his gaze to see yet another unexpected person. The smile vanished from his lips as soon as he recognized the newcomer.

“Ragna Nidhod greets His Grace Jarl.”

With eerily vivid green eyes flashing, an old man slowly appeared under the light, relying on his cane.

“I heard you brought a new wife.”

Instead of answering, Erno glared at him with wary eyes as if asking why he was there.

The gaze was not only wary but even hostile, as if he were looking at an enemy. Yet, the old man shrugged as if it didn’t matter and continued speaking leisurely.

“It’s troublesome if things continue like this.”

His tone was as if he were scolding his mischievous grandson. Actually, the age difference between the two was that of a grandfather and a grandson.

“There are many beautiful and wise ladies in the North, so why do you keep trying to find a companion outside? Must this old man keep coming looking for His Grace for such trifling matters?”

“Ha.”

Erno let out a hollow laugh as if he had just heard the most absurd joke in the world. His mind wondered why the old man had dragged his heavy *ss all the way there.

“What does it matter if I take an outsider as my bride or if I roll around with a monster?”

—

** “Jarl” is a title used in Scandinavian and Norse cultures. Close to what we know as Duke or Grand Duke.

Also, I’m wishing with all my heart that Veronica is not a bish >.<

_