Chapter 41
Growth
“They say Virpier lured the men of the village and turned them into Hell Wolves.”
Günter explained what he had heard from the elder.
Their families and kin had been driven out into the wasteland of Vinfelt.
The hunger and miserable lives they endured.
Virpier, the shaman of Baitur, had blamed all of it on Goethe.
He planted resentment in the men.
Made them crave power.
Like moths to a flame, the men followed him.
Through the ritual, they became demonic beasts.
Now, only the elderly, women, and children remained in the village.
Their wariness toward outsiders stemmed from that as well.
They had no strength.
They lived in constant fear of being devoured at any moment.
Belonging nowhere, unable to stand anywhere—
caught between the Hell Wolves and the grim reputation of Goethe,
they had spent their days holding their breath on thin ice.
“They wish to apologize.”
No sooner had Günter finished speaking than about thirty elders and women bowed deeply.
The children blankly watched, then awkwardly imitated them.
“They say the heir of Goethe has brought them hope. That they can now live expecting a tomorrow. They want to help in any way they can. They wish to be part of the miracle happening in Vinfelt.”
The villagers, already gathered at the camp, were completely captivated by the blue flowers blooming around them.
Every face was flushed with emotion.
“Uh… well…”
Isaac scratched his cheek at Günter’s translation.
It wasn’t like he had done this with some grand intention.
What Isaac sought was simply the revival of Goethe.
It had been a calculated move—
and any benefit to the tribespeople was merely incidental.
Well… more hands wouldn’t hurt anyway.
The camp was short on manpower.
Rebuilding the camp, preserving the demonic beast meat from the Black Forest, hauling water, gathering firewood, caring for wounded survivors, maintaining equipment—
even small tasks piled up.
There was nothing suspicious about their goodwill.
The baskets the elders and women brought were filled with herbs and famine crops from the Black Forest.
They had scraped together what little they had.
Even without understanding their language, it was clear how much this meant to them.
“So, what are you going to do?”
Besimer, who had been watching silently, approached Isaac.
There was a hint of unease on his face.
He seemed anxious Isaac might reject them.
It made sense—
to Besimer, they were practically distant relatives.
The battle tribes of Vinfelt had once fought alongside Goethe.
There had been plenty of interaction.
“Guess what I’ll do?”
“…Boss.”
Besimer replied firmly.
“Günter, tell them this—old, young, men, women, children… no one gets to sit around and eat for free. If they can earn their keep, they can stay.”
“Boss!”
Besimer’s face lit up.
****
After accepting the villagers, the camp came alive.
For the first time since the battle with the Hell Wolves.
The elders offered wisdom.
The women tended to the wounded and helped with small tasks.
The children, under Günter—who spoke their language fluently—began learning swordsmanship.
The images of death and screams that haunted the soldiers slowly faded.
Instead of clinging to past losses, they were learning to look toward the future.
“Waaah—!”
A child practicing with a crude wooden stick fell on his backside and burst into tears.
“He’s really crying his heart out.”
Some soldiers chuckled and moved to help him up,
but Günter blocked their way.
“Let him get up on his own.”
“…Suit yourself.”
The soldiers shrugged and moved on.
The child cried harder, but when no one came to help, he eventually stopped.
Looking around, he slowly stood up by himself.
Günter told him in the tribal language:
if you want to protect something, you must learn to stand on your own.
“Next.”
Günter continued drilling basic sword stances, sparring with each child one by one.
After dinner, he gathered the villagers and taught them the common language.
Day by day, he moved busily between training and instruction.
***
“You’re working pretty hard.”
Carlson approached Günter, who was resting on a log.
The logs for rebuilding the camp had been cut and hauled from the Black Forest by Besimer himself.
“Me?”
“Have you looked at your face lately?”
“Where would I even find a mirror out here?”
“You look worse than the young lord.”
Carlson was right.
Günter’s face was dull and exhausted.
Dark circles under his eyes, his skin dry and rough.
His braided hair had come loose in places, messy and disheveled.
Though the villagers had only been accepted at Besimer’s request,
Günter was the most devoted to supporting and caring for them.
“Take it easy.”
“I’m just excited.”
“Excited?”
“My mother realized Virpier’s scheme—that’s why I ended up here. Before we ever fought Goethe, our tribe was defeated by another. The women and children of a defeated tribe become spoils of war. My mother, who had already lost everything, didn’t want to lose me too.”
“I see.”
“For me… this place is a new home. The lord made it that way. A home must be nurtured—made into a place worth living in.”
Günter took a deep breath.
“…I see. Want a drink?”
Carlson handed him a willow cup.
There was no sympathy or pity on his face.
Just… that’s how life is.
“Cough—! Cough!”
Thinking it was ordinary ale, Günter drank—only to choke as it burned down his throat.
“Not much of a drinker, huh?”
“What kind of alcohol is this?”
“I abused my privileges and had the steward get me some strong spirits.”
“I don’t see the appeal.”
“Yeah. A life where you appreciate this kind of taste isn’t exactly something I’d recommend.”
Carlson took the cup back and drained it in one go.
The familiar heat spread through his stomach.
***
“Company commander… how did you come to follow the lord?”
Günter asked, watching him.
“Follow?”
“The lord is remarkable, isn’t he? At such a young age, he’s steadily accomplishing things no one here ever even imagined.”
“So… you truly believe in that young lord of Goethe.”
“Yes. I’ve lived here over ten years, and I can’t think of anyone more suited to rule this land than him.”
“…Well. That’s one way to see it.”
“…You don’t think so, sir?”
“…Who knows.”
Carlson looked at his empty cup.
He was here because he had something to do.
Something to accomplish.
That was why he stood in Isaac’s shadow.
Besimer, Günter, the soldiers—
they might be filled with hope and determination.
But Carlson’s heart was empty, like the cup in his hand.
The darkness within it reflected the depths of his own.
“…Time to sleep.”
He poured the remaining liquor onto the ground.
“Sir…?”
“What.”
“May I ask you a favor?”
Günter spoke carefully.
“The children… need someone worth following.”
“Someone worth following?”
“When we’re young, there’s always someone like that. Someone whose back we want to chase… someone we want to surpass someday.”
“….”
Carlson stared at him, his gaze slightly flushed from the alcohol.
“Ah—never mind. Please forget I said anything. That was out of line.”
“…Do as you like.”
With that, Carlson turned and walked back toward his tent.
“D-Does that mean… you’ve agreed?”
At Günter’s shout toward his back, Carlson waved his hand dismissively.
“That much should be fine. Not like it’ll fill an empty cup.”
He muttered something even he didn’t fully understand.
***
Isaac, meanwhile, was still struggling with the Wolf King’s magic stone.
The stone maintained a constant warmth, like human body temperature.
To Isaac, it was nothing but a riddle.
He had already carved it using tools made of Rezolium and Demezitrium,
and refined it into a rune stone using demonic beast blood.
It clearly resonated with the turbulent mana within him—
yet there was no visible change.
The frost rune stone had allowed him to skip complex processes and use ice magic.
Over time, it had formed its own flow within his mana vessel,
embedding frost mana into his very body.
Compared to that, the Wolf King’s stone showed no defining traits.
By all standards, it was of the highest quality and density—
but that was all.
So far, Isaac had found nothing remarkable.
Still, the mana within the rune stone had begun spreading through his mana circuits,
circulating within him and gradually establishing its own domain.
This was the result of sleepless nights spent researching and meditating.
“…Hoo.”
Isaac stretched his stiff body.
Within the limits of his knowledge, this was as far as he could go.
Beyond this, he would need books—or an expert.
Even so, it wasn’t without results.
Perhaps the unique mana of the Wolf King’s stone had stimulated his own mana system—
A new pathway had formed within his mana vessel.
With that, Isaac had established his sixth mana circulation route.
***
Bzzzz—
Flies buzzed endlessly inside the tent.
So absorbed in his research, Isaac barely ate and handled most of his needs in a chamber pot.
The tent was filled with stench.
His body smelled.
The blanket smelled.
He hadn’t changed clothes in ages.
Still, he finally decided to step outside.
Though he received reports from Carlson, Besimer, and Günter,
he hadn’t personally inspected the camp in quite some time.
If necessary, he planned to head to the Black Forest—or somewhere farther—to bathe.
At the very least, as a lord, he needed to maintain appearances.
“…Huh?”
As he lifted the tent flap, Isaac felt something strange.
He usually needed to stand on a small stool—
but today, just rising on his toes was enough.
Did I grow taller?
He tilted his head.
He hadn’t moved his body in so long—maybe it was just his imagination.
But it wasn’t.
****
“…That’s not the lord, is it? Who are you?”
“Ugh, the smell… is that some vagrant sneaking around?”
In the darkness of night, the soldiers failed to recognize him.
His face was familiar—
but sharper, more mature.
The baby fat was gone,
his delicate features now more defined.
Most striking of all—
He had grown.
The boy who barely reached a soldier’s chest now stood at shoulder height.
It was as if a twelve-year-old had suddenly become fifteen.
“S-Sorry, my lord… you’ve changed overnight.”
“Have I?”
Isaac muttered, looking down at himself.
He hadn’t noticed—but judging by their reactions, it seemed true.
Come to think of it… I didn’t sleep at all last night. But I feel refreshed.
Though he looked exhausted, he felt full of energy.
Perhaps this was the effect of the Wolf King’s rune stone.
Once one began handling mana, it inevitably influenced the body.
***
“Where’s Carlson?”
“Ah—he’s in the training ground, demonstrating swordsmanship.”
“…He is?”
Isaac found that strange.
Carlson had only been forced into the position of company commander.
At heart, he was always ready to leave.
His mind was consumed by revenge.
Even his alliance with Isaac was purely because Isaac seemed the fastest path to that goal.
Aside from training duties, Carlson usually devoted himself entirely to his own practice.
And now he was giving demonstrations outside work hours?
This wasn’t the Carlson Isaac knew.
***
“Waaah!”
Cheers and applause erupted from the central training ground.
Most of the spectators weren’t soldiers—but villagers.
Though called a sword demonstration,
it was closer to a spectacle.
Deflecting arrows with a blade.
Extinguishing flames with nothing but the wind from a swing.
Clap clap clap.
“Impressive.”
At Isaac’s delayed applause, attention turned toward him.
But the villagers didn’t recognize him.
They couldn’t imagine the filthy, grown boy before them was the same young lord from before.
They simply stared.
“Finished with your work? It’s been over ten days. You’ve definitely grown. Hard to tell when you’re always sitting in the tent.”
Carlson approached, sheathing his sword.
“Ten days? Already?”
Isaac had been so absorbed in research—like in his past life underground—
that he had lost track of time.
***
“…Something feels off.”
Isaac looked around.
Carlson immediately understood.
“If you’re looking for Besimer and Hans—they haven’t returned yet.”
“They said they were scouting the Black Forest.”
“Yes. It’s taking longer than expected.”
“Don’t tell me Hans caused trouble.”
Besimer had taken five soldiers, including Hans, on a patrol.
Isaac had considered leaving Hans behind,
but Hans had insisted on proving himself.
Isaac allowed it.
By his sense of time, at least two days had passed.
Besimer wasn’t someone who’d fall easily to a few beasts—
but in the Black Forest, nothing was certain.
“Is there something you haven’t reported?”
“…There is.”
Carlson answered, glancing toward the camp entrance.
“What is it?”
“Speak of the devil… you should hear it from them.”
***
From afar, the sound of hooves echoed.
Closer.
Closer.
Five riders approached—
including Hans and Besimer.
They halted right in front of Isaac.
“…Boss.”
Besimer dismounted and spoke.
“The Hell Wolves… have appeared again.”