I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy

Chapter 348

The Archduke's gaze, directed down at Ian, momentarily faltered. It was only for a brief second. As the Archduke unclenched his tight fists, a faint smile spread across his lips.

"What could be too much to give for warriors willing to lay down their lives for the North? But regrettably..." He likely wanted to speak with bold confidence, but it seemed he couldn't help his voice from catching slightly.

"There isn't enough stock here to fully arm an entire legion. Still, that won't be a problem, will it, Margrave?"

Nice try, Ian thought, nodding deliberately.

"Of course not. After all, since plenty of guardsmen are here at the moment..." He swept his gaze across the hall before finishing his sentence. "I'd like to rely on their help as well. It seems like it'll be too much for me to transport alone."

The guards who met Ian's gaze shifted slightly beneath their helmets. It was likely a subtle nod of agreement.

Seeing their cooperative determination, the Archduke clutched the armrest of his seat and spoke. "Take the weaponry, Margrave. But do not forget that this will leave Travelga vulnerable."

His voice was calm, almost benevolent, but his true feelings were likely conveyed through the hand gripping the armrest so tightly it seemed ready to splinter.

"So defend Karlingion to the end, just as Karha did—without ever retreating."

No retreat, huh?

Ian's lips curved into a faint smile as he met the Archduke's deep-set eyes without flinching, then politely bowed his head.

"I'll do my best."

After all, retreat was never an option for him.

***

Ian rode out of the castle gates astride a crimson horse. It was a replacement for the feeble one he had ridden here. But that wasn't the only change.

Clink-clank—clink-clank.

Behind him, three massive military wagons, each pulled by four horses, followed in a steady procession.

Inside those wagons were enough weapons to arm approximately three hundred and fifty soldiers. And every single one of them was crafted from Imperial steel. The Archduke had cleared out every spare weapon left in the armory. The sturdy wagons and twelve warhorses were additional perks. As for the soldiers driving the wagons, Ian planned to send them back on foot.

Still, Ian's expression as he glanced back at the wagons wasn't entirely bright.

It's not enough.

The quantity was less than he had expected. The Archduke, too, clearly didn't have much to spare. Even so, what Ian had taken was more than enough to fully arm the standing army of most fiefs. The enthusiastic cooperation of the guards had also saved him considerable time.

Their gaze toward Ian overflowed with awe and genuine respect from deep within.

... Well, it's true there are plenty of lords who treat their soldiers like cannon fodder.

He supposed, by comparison, he looked like a saint.

The outcome had been smoother than expected. He had unintentionally caught the Archduke off guard. Now that the man was aware of the Margrave's exact troop strength, he was likely to lose some sleep in the coming nights.

He might even hope we all just die fighting out there.

It wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption.

Even if Ian had unified the snowfields, it was unlikely that the barbarians would obediently follow the Archduke's orders. They would likely scatter across the vast snowfields again, just as they had abandoned the settlements painstakingly prepared for them in the past.

Of course, Ian had no intention of forcing things to align with the Archduke's wishes or letting them play out as desired.

If I tally everything we've gathered so far, we should be able to arm about five hundred and fifty more. Since half of the mercenaries are already heavily equipped, we can...

Ian organized his thoughts methodically. Given current resources, the remaining soldiers can be fully armed upon arriving in Karlingion. The only uncertainty was how much spare equipment would remain in the fortress afterward.

As he continued his musings, faint murmurs reached his ears.

"Unbelievable... the North's hero..."

"Please, protect the North..."

Soft murmurs of awe and desperation rippled through the crowd. Along the main street, the residents of Travelga had poured out in droves, lining both sides of the road. Word of Ian's presence had spread like wildfire. Although they bowed their heads respectfully, not a single person dared to block his path.

Very fitting for the North, Ian thought wryly, taking in the long line of people stretching as far as his eyes could see.

But then he paused.

Not everyone was clearing the way. Up ahead, at a fork in the road, carriages were emerging, blocking part of the street as they turned toward the western gate. Familiar faces stood at the intersection, almost as if guarding it.

Recognizing them, Ian's lips curled into a smile.

"...They weren't here earlier."

Signaling to the driver of the trailing carriage to follow, Ian cracked his reins. His steed galloped down the street, flanked by onlookers.

Clack, clack, clack!

The familiar faces grew closer in an instant. As they each greeted him in their way, Ian skillfully pulled the reins, bringing his horse to a halt and turning it slightly to the side.

"I didn't expect you to come in person. It's good to see you, Fael."

Standing there was Fael, the leader of the Hexagonal Alliance and head of the Imperial Ark Caravan.

Fael responded with his signature warm smile. "It's an honor to meet you here. Agent of the Saint—or should I call you Lord Margrave now?"

"Whichever you prefer. So, you're the support from the capital that I've been waiting for?"

Ian glanced over at the line of carriages approaching the western gate, his lips curling higher.

Fael nodded immediately. "That's right. After receiving word from Her Highness, we rushed here without delay. I've also brought along Joyce, the head of the Windmill Trading Company."

Fael gestured to his left, presenting the group accompanying him. Ian's gaze swept over the figures.

Ian's eyes followed, taking in the figures standing half a step behind Fael. There was Bor, Fael's loyal guard, as well as a sharp-featured man with a slightly irritable demeanor—clearly an Imperial. Beside him stood another Northlander mercenary, acting as the Imperial's escort. Every one of them was a familiar face.

"Thank you for coming such a long way, Fael."

"When a distinguished guest of the Alliance calls for help, it's only right to answer," replied with a smile.

Joyce bowed deeply once more, his movements precise and respectful. Meanwhile, his guard let out a derisive snort, clearly unimpressed.

Clearing his throat, Fael added, "Frankly, Her Highness's message caught us off guard. We lacked both the time and the goods. In our haste, we stopped by the Windmill Trading Company, which was conveniently along our route. Luckily, they had supplies and even agreed to join us."

"Agreed, huh," Joyce's guard muttered again, clicking his tongue in irritation.

Joyce shot him another sharp glare, his eyes flashing briefly with annoyance. Letting out a resigned sigh, he licked his lips and added, "...Truthfully, I hesitated. But this man here said if I didn't come, he'd split my skull with his axe right then and there."

"Is that so?" Ian asked, his tone calm but curious.

Bor, standing nearby, nodded as though such a threat were entirely reasonable. Ian's gaze shifted to Joyce's guard, scrutinizing the man closely. He remembered him—one of the survivors from when the Hexagonal Alliance was formed. The man had once wielded a single-bladed axe and steel gauntlets that crackled with lightning on the battlefield.

"I seem to owe you a debt. Come to think of it, I don't even know your name."

"It's Regin, Sir. There's no need to consider it a debt; you've already saved not only my life but also my homeland," the guard said solemnly.

"I feel the same way, Great Warrior," Bor added, his tone warm. He had clearly regained his full health, standing taller and broader than before. Though no longer as hulking as when Ian first met him, he was far from the emaciated figure he had been.

"We're truly fortunate," Fael interjected, flashing a broad grin.

"Just as we entered Travelga, we were worried that we might have to chase you all the way to the front lines. But as luck would have it, we heard you had just passed through!" He clapped his hands together as if marveling at the serendipity of it all.

"So we waited here to join you."

"A fortunate coincidence indeed," Ian replied with a slight nod. "It's good we didn't miss each other."

"Indeed, The Goddess must have guided us. I was curious to know what business you had with His Grace the Archduke, but..."

He smiled as his gaze shifted toward the carriages approaching behind Ian. "...It seems my questions have been answered. You've been holding the line alone because we were late, haven't you?"

"You weren't late. The timing was actually perfect. Your efforts were far from wasted."

"Thank you for saying so." As Fael expressed his gratitude, guards from both merchant guilds brought over four horses. While the two guild leaders and their guards mounted, Ian also took hold of his reins, urging his horse forward.

As they moved toward the western gate, Fael rode up alongside Ian and asked, "How large is your current force?"

"Over eleven hundred," Ian replied casually.

"Eleven...? T-That's a legion-sized force! Did you gather them all from the snowfields?"

"Not all of them, but it's true that I've unified the barbarians."

"What...!"

Bor and Regin both turned to look at Ian with wide eyes, while Fael let out a low whistle of admiration. Having traveled through the snowfields many times, Fael understood exactly how monumental that accomplishment was. Only Joyce, his expression growing grave, remained silent.

"You truly are the North's Great Warrior. I always thought such a feat was nearly impossible, yet you continue to exceed my expectations. That said..."

Noticing Joyce's grim expression, Fael licked his lips thoughtfully before continuing, "With a force of that size, I fear the supplies we've brought may not be of much help."

"That's unlikely," Ian replied briskly, glancing at the carriages ahead. "How much did you bring?"

Joyce was the first to answer. "The supplies from the Windmill Trading Company are enough to arm about one hundred and thirty soldiers, Agent of the Saint," he said, adjusting the thick turban over his curly hair.

"We've been stockpiling weapons since the Black Wall stirred, but after the Emperor's edict, most of it had to be sold to the Imperial Army at cost. What we have now are the items we hid away during that time."

Defying the Emperor's orders, are we? You've got more nerve than I expected.

"In that case, I'll pay you properly for your troubles.

"Khmm...!"

"Ahem!"

Both Bor and Regin cleared their throats at the same time, their sharp gazes fixed on Joyce. The merchant's brows furrowed slightly as he grimaced under their scrutiny.

"Even if my head were split into twelve pieces, I can't just hand it over! I'm already giving the lowest price because he is a golden guest... It's not free!"

Irritated, he snapped, turning sharply to glare at Regin. "The Agent of the Saint himself said he'd pay. Can you stop rolling your eyes?"

As Regin's nose twitched in irritation, Ian calmly interjected in an even tone. "I'll pay the price, so don't worry. Both of you, that's enough. I understand both of your positions."

At Ian's words, the two Northern guards immediately lowered their gazes.

Fael, catching Ian's look, broke the brief silence. "We have enough to arm only fifty soldiers, I'm afraid. I regret not being able to prepare more."

"There's no need to apologize," Ian replied evenly. "Besides, the goods from your guilds are all top quality."

He couldn't help but recall that in the game, these were items only available through rare, fortunate encounters. Unless Seras intervened from the Imperial Palace, the amount he was hoping for was never feasible from the start.

"The quality is guaranteed. All items are crafted from Imperial Steel, with a few magical artifacts mixed in as well.‌..."

Fael's voice took on a subtle undertone.

"We've also brought along the item you specifically requested, Agent of the Saint. I must admit, it was no easy feat. The budget exceeded, and I even had to chip in from my funds."

"... You delivered that on time."

"A merchant lives and dies by their reliability. Though, of course, intuition plays a role... and we both know I'm hopeless at that."

You've grown.

Ian thought silently as Fael flashed a quick smile and added, "I hope it meets your expectations."

"We'll see when I get back. As you know, time isn't on our side. Please push just a little harder."

"For a day or so, everyone will squeeze out every bit of strength they've got left," Fael assured.

"Excellent," Ian said with a nod, turning his horse toward the front of the formation. He knew better than anyone that leading by example was the best way to maintain morale during a march.

***

Fine snowflakes swirled through the air as Ian led the procession. Thick, dark clouds rolled across the southeastern sky like crashing waves. Gazing upward, it felt almost as though he were fighting against a strong current.

A fierce blizzard was likely raging in the heart of the snowfields by now. The snowflakes dampening his cheeks were likely only the outskirts of the storm.

It really feels like we're almost there now.

Ian's gaze dropped naturally from the sky to the path ahead. The palisade, previously hidden by the trees of the forest, came into view, following the winding uphill road.

Clip, clop.

The destination was in sight, yet the expected reaction didn't follow.

That was because the two merchants riding just behind Ian were dozing in their saddles. Unlike Joyce, whose head bobbed up and down as he struggled to stay awake, Fael had pulled his hood over his head and slumped forward, completely motionless. The effects of a night-long journey were clear.

If they hadn't been riding on a gentle slope, they might have fallen off their mounts by now. Of course, there was no reason to worry about that—on either side, Bor and Regin kept a close eye on their respective charges, though the exasperation in their eyes was clear.

"The Great Warrior has returned!"

The sound of a horn and an echoing shout broke the silence. The barbarians atop the watchtower had spotted the procession.

Both merchants jolted awake. Fael blinked drowsily and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth before muttering, "W-We've finally arrived."

... At least their mouths aren't frozen.

Ian glanced at Fael and Joyce, confirming their coherence before giving a nod.

"As I mentioned before, treat the goods brought from Travelga as part of your inventory and distribute them fairly."

"Of course. But..." Fael hesitated before exchanging a glance with Joyce and adding, "Are you really sure about leaving this to us? Can we handle this?"

It seemed they doubted their ability to manage the hundreds of barbarian warriors awaiting them. To them, it likely felt like stepping into a school of ravenous piranhas, especially with the noise of the commotion within the settlement reaching their ears.

"Just make the rules clear. They'll handle the rest themselves."

Ian's calm assurance drew a reluctant nod from Fael and Joyce. It wasn't trust in his words but rather an air of grim determination, as if they were steeling themselves for a perilous trade deal.

By the time they approached the palisade, the ruckus from within had already died down. The gates loomed ahead.

"Follow me at your own pace."

With that, Ian nudged his horse forward. As if on cue, the gates creaked open.

Creak—

Two barbarian warriors pushed the heavy wooden gates open, stepping aside as Ian passed through without pause.

Fael and Joyce followed, with their gaze soon shifting past Ian's back to the scene before them.

"Whoa..." Their expressions turned to astonishment in unison.

The square was filled with barbarian warriors and mercenaries, all gathered and waiting. Contrary to their expectations, the warriors stood in orderly rows, led by their centurions, ready and disciplined.