READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 23.1
Chapter 23. Northern Spring (4)
Even with my riding skills maxed out, I was just a layman compared to knights who had spent their entire lives fighting on horseback.
Just as swimming in the army became “combat swimming,” riding for knights was essentially “combat riding.” In fact, the game even had a skill for it—Charging.
Anyway, my golden carriage ended up crossing paths with these knights’ combat riding skills.
“Chaaaaarge!”
“Wooooaaaahhh!”
“Neighhhh!”
We recreated a scene straight out of Mad Max on the snowy plains of the Demonic Abyss.
And in no time, we reached Haven.
“Hey, isn’t that the golden carriage?!”
“I know that one! It’s the carriage Arad took into the abyss!”
“The driver and the knight riding on top—are they the ones from the High Tower?”
“Hey, hey, I don’t think they’re stopping!”
“W-what do we do?”
“What do you mean, what?! They’re important people! Just open the gate!”
Thanks to the quick-witted guards of Haven, we breezed through and continued north without stopping.
From Haven, we passed through Schuen, Narvik, and Remm, arriving at the High Tower in no time.
“Stay in the guest rooms for now. Let us know immediately if anything happens.”
“Just don’t wander around carelessly.”
“I hate to say this to guests, but… things might feel tense for a few days.”
Balzac, Eote, Sir Rosie, and Carrot handed Arina over to Isabelle, the Witch of Spring, and then began their grim work, swords in hand.
Because of this, the atmosphere at Renslet Castle was chaotic and tense.
Every time I wandered the castle, the scent of blood lingered in the air. Unwiped bloodstains marked many corners of the halls.
***
Two days after arriving at the High Tower:
“As expected, knights whose brains are all muscle! Calling me the savior of the North, and yet, leaving me here like this?!”
While I debated whether to ditch the High Tower without waiting for any rewards, a woman approached me.
“Greetings, Arad Jin, future honorary baron. I am Isabelle, caretaker of the High Tower. Ah! Thank you so much for saving our Grand Duchess.”
She introduced herself as Isabelle, the Witch of Spring.
***
Now, two more days have passed.
“Arad! What kind of dish can you make with these mandragora roots?”
“Ah, those… They’re great if you boil them with chicken and various herbs.”
“Really?”
“Especially good for men’s stamina.”
“Ahaha! The knights are going to go wild over this!”
I was elbow-deep in dirt, farming with witches on the southern outskirts of the High Tower.
These witches, the last of their kind on the continent, had gathered here.
“Arad~! What can we do with this root?”
“That one’s better suited for alchemy than cooking. Should I teach you the combination spell?”
“Uh… no, no! It’s fine! You don’t have to!”
“…Alright then.”
I had tried teaching them magical knowledge a few times, but their pride, or perhaps some other reason, always made them politely refuse.
I respected their pride and acknowledged their magical expertise.
It’s hot here…
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, marveling at the witches’ magic.
Incredible. A greenhouse farm.
Despite the lingering chill of the North, this place was warm. The hot, humid air felt refreshing after being in the cold for so long.
Greenhouses existed even in the Joseon era, so this isn’t strange. And this world has magic, after all.
I surveyed the farmland.
Still, the sheer scale of this greenhouse is astonishing. No wonder the North has survived without imperial support.
The greenhouse farm, fueled by magic, was enormous. The magical formations above regulated temperature and humidity, while elemental spirits flitted between the earth and sky.
Though it wasn’t as vast as a modern cornfield in the United States, the wheat, barley, potatoes, and fruits grown here were an oasis for the food-scarce North.
It was enough to feed the residents of the High Tower and the soldiers defending the Great Northern Wall.
This didn’t exist in the first iteration of the Silver Age. The Empire must have destroyed it after annexing the North.
If this farm had survived, the North wouldn’t have suffered so many deaths during the Great Famine that was to come.
After the Grand Duke went missing, the witches joined the Northern Resistance under the Witch of the Snowfields. But where is Mary, the Witch of the Snowfields? I don’t see anyone here who resembles her future self.
As I pondered the original history of the North, a group of witches sidled closer to me.
“Arad~! Arad~! Can we visit your golden carriage after work?”
Though they avoided learning magic from me out of pride (I could only guess), their curiosity about my magical creations was boundless.
“Of course.”
When I agreed, the young witches clung to my arms and squealed with delight.
“Yay!!”
“Thank you!”
“Arad, you’re the best!”
The scent of earth and herbs wafted gently to my nose, carried by the spirits around them. The soft, squishy sensation of their bodies pressed against me added to the experience.
Is this heaven?
Yes, if I was in another world, I might as well enjoy this classic fantasy trope.
I was particularly popular with the witches of the High Tower. My inventions, from Arad Salt to the golden carriage, had stirred their curiosity and admiration.
From young witches to middle-aged ones and even elderly ones, they all treated me with warmth and kindness.
Life in the High Tower was surprisingly pleasant.
“Hey, everyone! Breaking news!”
A witch ran toward us, her voice echoing across the fields.
At that moment, a witch wearing a wide-brimmed pointed hat and a robe approached from the sky, shouting excitedly. She was riding a broomstick, flitting toward us with purposeful energy.
“Her Grace the Grand Duchess has awakened!”
The witch wore a triumphant expression, clearly proud to deliver the news first.
“Oh my…!”
But as her eyes fell on me and the witches were still clinging to my arms, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
“…?”
Her face turned pale as her gaze shifted past me and the other witches to something behind us.
Huh?
I glanced over my shoulder and nearly froze.
Standing there were Arina and Isabelle.