NOVPUB
Chapter 122: 122:Teaching Them A Lesson
Kael stood on the walls, looking down at the fortress where bonfires blazed, casting flickering light over the soldiers.
The problem with rations was solved—Kael had brought enough food for two months. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the Guardian of the North go wild, throwing out meat, wine, and starting a celebration. Soldiers deserved a feast now and then—no one wanted to fight a losing war on an empty stomach.
But while one side was filled with laughter and energy, the other side was pure death. Kael turned his gaze forward, staring at the snow-covered wasteland stretching into the horizon. The land was barren, frozen stiff, and dead silent, as if waiting for something to break the stillness. From what he knew, the mines were about three kilometers away, and attacks usually happened in this area—but the range had increased lately.
Kael sighed as Gare spoke up. "My Lord, you said the attacks slowed down six days ago."
"Yeah, and?" Kael grunted.
"That’s the same day we arrived." Gare glanced at him, waiting for a reaction.
"Hmm," Kael nodded, uninterested.
"The only thing different that day was when we ran into that massive pack of wolves," Barret added.
Barret’s words made Kael click his tongue. "You dumbass, think properly."
Barret scratched his head. "What do you mean?"
Gare stepped in, his voice serious. "The monsters we’ve fought so far were mindless beasts. But those wolves? They weren’t just attacking like crazed animals. They were thinking, coordinating."
"So?" Barret frowned.
Gare exhaled, clearly annoyed. "So, doesn’t it seem weird to you? Hobgoblins and orcs should be smarter than wolves, but they’re acting like brainless idiots. Meanwhile, the wolves were the ones showing intelligence."
Barret blinked. "Oh... now that you say it, yeah, that is kinda weird."
Kael was about to speak when something below the wall caught his eye. He let out a low whistle.
"Well, shit. That’s some crazy shit going down there."
....
The bonfires burned bright, casting long shadows across the snowy ground. Around them, soldiers laughed, danced, and drank without a care. One soldier stood in the middle, singing in a deep, hearty voice while others clapped and stomped their feet to the rhythm.
"Through mountains tall and rivers deep,
We march where the cold winds sweep.
Winter bites, but we stand tall,
Brothers in arms, we’ll never fall."
His voice carried through the night, and the men cheered. Women, maids, and a few camp followers had joined the soldiers, swaying and spinning in the firelight. Bottles clinked, laughter rang out, and for a brief moment, the war seemed far away.
But not for Lyria. She stood apart from the crowd, watching the scene with cold, unreadable eyes. She felt nothing—no joy, no curiosity, no understanding of why humans wasted time on such meaningless things. The world was cruel, people were dying, and yet these fools danced as if their problems would vanish in the flames of their bonfires. She wondered if they even realized how fragile their existence was.
A group of soldiers sat nearby, their eyes drifting toward Lyria. One nudged the other, grinning. "Look at her. Ain’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?"
"Beautiful, yeah," another muttered, eyeing her warily. "But she’s not human."
"That makes it even better," someone snickered. "Bet she’s got a demon’s touch in bed."
A few laughed, but one man shook his head. "She’s dangerous. Look at those eyes. There’s no soul in them."
Another soldier smirked. "Maybe she’s just waiting for the right man to warm her up."
The jokes continued until a harsh, mocking laughter cut through the night.
"She might be serving Lord Kael quite well," a soldier sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"One quick session in the daytime, another at night... Kekeke."
The men chuckled, but then another voice spoke, filled with disdain. "Lord Kael? Pfff... Are you actually calling that trash ’Lord’?"
The mood shifted. Some of the Northern soldiers snickered, but the ones from Sparves immediately stiffened. Their eyes went wide with horror. Did these fools want to die?
One of the Sparves soldiers stood up, glaring. "Watch your mouth, idiot."
A Northern soldier scoffed. "Why? It’s the truth. You forget who he was before all this? He was nothing. A failure. And now you expect me to call him my Lord?"
"You don’t know a damn thing about Lord Kael," another Sparves soldier snapped. "Keep talking shit, and we’ll see how many teeth you have left."
A Northern soldier stood, stepping closer, his chest puffed out. "Oh? And what are you gonna do, dog? Bark at me? You serve a man who crawled out of the dirt and thinks he can lead."
The verbal fight escalated, men shoving and cursing at each other.
"At least Lord Kael is fighting out there while you sit on your ass drinking!"
"Fighting? That bastard probably got lucky and now acts like a hero!"
"Lucky? You moron, if it weren’t for him, you’d be dead!"
"You little shit—"
Fists clenched, voices rose, and tension crackled in the air like a coming storm.
Then, in the middle of the chaos, a drunken man stumbled toward Lyria. His face was red from drink, and his grin was twisted.
"Hey, bitch, why don’t you serve me instead of Kael?" he slurred, leering at her.
Lyria turned her head slightly, giving him the barest glance before looking away, uninterested.
The man’s expression darkened. "Bitch, are you ignoring me? Do you even know who I am?"
The man expected a reaction but Lyria didn’t react.
He stepped closer, puffing out his chest. "I’m Berat, Captain of the Mercenary Team of the North and leader of the Guild. Don’t waste your time on that weakling. Come to me."
Still, Lyria didn’t react.
Berat’s grin widened into something uglier. "I heard demonesses have high lust. I bet that bastard can’t satisfy you." He laughed wildly, lifting his hand to touch her.
The moment his fingers reached out, the air around Lyria shifted.
