Chapter 15: The Runaway Puppy and the Northern Frontier

Heinzel wrung out a towel soaked in warm water. He carefully unwrapped the blood-soaked handkerchief and gently dabbed around the puppy’s wound. The puppy, remarkably well-behaved, only whimpered softly without baring its teeth.

“My little pup, you must be in pain, yet you’re so good. Rosie, which one is the hemostatic?”

Henzel shuddered at the thought of ancient methods, like chewing herbs and spitting them onto a wound. He always wondered if such practices, while perhaps effective, might also spread germs through saliva, a common trope he’d seen in novels and films. Fortunately, Rosie presented him with a thick, black, viscous ointment.

“You just need to apply this thickly and then bandage it.”

“The wound is deep. Will this really be enough?”

Blood welled profusely from the gash, clearly inflicted by something sharp. He worried if simply applying the ointment would suffice. It felt akin to putting a band-aid and some topical cream on a knife wound.

“I don’t know, Young Master. But wouldn’t applying the ointment be better than leaving it untreated?”

As Heinzel pondered gravely, Rosie urged him to at least try something, pushing the ointment closer. Reluctantly, he scooped out a generous amount and spread it thickly over the wound. Once he had meticulously bandaged it, the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

“What a terrible person. Who would hurt such a small puppy? They must be truly wicked.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just scratched while playing?”

“No, it’s a knife wound.”

Rosie explained that, having grown up in the temple and seen many injured people, she could distinguish the nature of wounds quite well.

“It could still be a scratch from something sharp, or perhaps it cut itself on a discarded knife.”

“That’s possible, of course. It’s certainly better to think that than to imagine someone intentionally harmed the puppy.”

After the treatment was complete, Heinzel carefully placed the puppy onto the blanket. He then gathered the blood-soaked jacket and towel, along with the remaining ointment and bandages, and set them aside.

“Rosie, are there any dogs kept in the Duke’s estate? Do you know if any have had puppies recently?”

“The Duke does have a few hunting dogs, but they’re all quite old. It’s been a long time since they had any pups, so there wouldn’t be any puppies, Young Master.”

“Then is it a puppy belonging to someone else in the mansion?”

“Neither Madam nor the Young Masters keep pets. The kitchen staff seems to feed a few stray cats, but no dogs or cats are officially kept within the estate.”

“Then whose puppy is this, exactly?”

“Should we try to find its owner?”

“Hmm… no. We don’t know for sure. As you said, Rosie, someone might have hurt it. And that someone could even be the owner. If anyone comes looking for it, bring them to me, but don’t go searching yourself. And don’t mention it to anyone else.”

Heinzel vehemently denied wanting to keep the puppy himself. Yet, his flimsy excuse only made Rosie narrow her eyes, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face.

Henzel carefully climbed onto the bed and lay down, meeting the puppy’s gaze. Its dark eyes, appearing somewhat dejected, were moist.

“Are you sad because you’re hurt? That’s why you need to play carefully. Why did you get an ouchie? Your big brother told you to be careful, didn’t he?”

Though his words were a scolding, his tone conveyed anything but. Rosie sighed, relieved that no one else was there to witness Heinzel sprawled like a layabout, talking to a puppy.

“Rosie, could you bring some warm milk, please? In a dish.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Gathering the bundled remnants of the treatment, Rosie then exited the bedroom.

“Don’t lick it. You need to leave it alone so it can heal quickly.”

He gently dissuaded the puppy, which was licking the bandage, perhaps feeling pain from the wound. Playfully, he tickled the fur around its mouth with his finger. The puppy’s attention immediately shifted from its wound to his finger, which it then playfully nibbled with its tiny teeth.

“My little pup, how about you leave your careless owner and live with your big brother instead? Your big brother will give you food, pet you constantly, shower you with affection, and I’m confident I’d raise you exceptionally well. Unlike an owner who ignores you, your big brother can dedicate twenty-four hours a day to you. Your big brother, you see, has plenty of time on his hands.”

As he uttered the last words, a pang of sadness struck him. Heinzel looked up at the ceiling, swallowing back a tear.

“Anyway, your big brother, um… am I really your ‘big brother’? Or perhaps ‘older brother’?”

‘Should I check if our pup has a willy?’

Glancing around cautiously, Heinzel gently grabbed the puppy, which had been lying prone and meeting his gaze, and flipped it over. As his fingers carefully prodded its belly, the puppy seemed to sense something amiss and let out a series of desperate yelps. Its frantic struggles and mournful cries were so pitiful that Heinzel, startled, immediately let go.

“Alright, alright, I get it. That’s a precious spot, huh? I understand, so stop barking. If you cry like that, people will misunderstand and think I’m hurting you. I brought you in when you were hurt, treated you, let you on my bed, and even asked for milk for you. If you cry like that, your big brother will feel very wronged.”

“I’ll protect your precious spot, so stop crying,” he murmured, placing it back on the bed and patting its bottom. The puppy quieted down as if by magic. Heinzel marvelled at how well it seemed to understand him, almost like a person in a puppy’s disguise. He had never realized how intelligent puppies could be.

The puppy, apparently famished, quickly emptied the dish of milk Rosie had brought. It then wiggled, opened its mouth wide, and yawned. Its milk-stained snout, the tiny teeth visible through its gaping maw, and its extended pink tongue were all utterly adorable.

“Oh, you’re so cute! So cute I could die! Rosie, if I die, tell everyone the cause was death by cuteness overload!”

With a dramatic groan, Heinzel, who had collapsed onto the bed feigning death, suddenly sprang up. He scooped up the puppy, hugged it tightly, and showered it with kisses.

“Our first kiss tastes like milk! I just want to gobble up your snout and nose! You’re so adorable, I feel like I’m going to die!”

As she watched Heinzel stomp his feet and make a fuss, Rosie’s expression gradually soured. She looked utterly at a loss, unsure how to calm the Young Master, who clearly seemed out of his mind.

“I understand he’s cute, Young Master, but shouldn’t we start looking for his owner soon?”

“How about I just keep him? The puppy is so hurt, and no owner has come looking.”

“What if they can’t come looking? They might be anxious but unable to cause a stir within the estate.”

“That’s true, but…”

Unless it had fallen from the sky, the puppy surely had an owner. While he knew he ought to find them, Heinzel hesitated, somehow reluctant to let it go.

“His paw is still hurting, so let’s look for the owner after dinner.”

Henzel’s words were a thinly veiled attempt to keep the puppy a little longer. Hearing the earnest regret in his voice, Rosie had no choice but to concede.

The full-bellied puppy yawned widely a few times, then closed its eyes and drifted off to sleep. Heinzel carefully lay beside it, taking care not to disturb its slumber, and gently kneaded its tiny paw pads. Its belly, rising and falling with each breath, was so irresistibly charming that he couldn’t help but touch it.

Everything is cute when it’s a baby, but puppies truly are adorable. Heinzel, repeatedly murmuring “Cute,” watched the puppy until he, too, was lulled into a deep sleep by the quietude. When Rosie woke him for dinner, the puppy had vanished without a trace.

“That’s just absurd.”

He had taken in the injured creature, treated its wounds, fed it milk, allowed it on his bed, and even slept beside it—only for it to disappear without a word. It should have at least barked a few times to say goodbye! Apparently, it was an ungrateful puppy.

‘In all my life, I’ve never been fleeced by a puppy,’ Heinzel thought, letting out a hollow laugh into the empty air.

****

In the northernmost reaches of the North, where extreme weather froze the land, ice never melted, and only pristine white snow existed instead of lush greenery. The seemingly endless white expanse met a border of stark, dead black earth, as if someone had neatly cut and pasted it there.

“Attention!”

At the echoing command, the knights, though weary, roused themselves once more. They donned the helmets they had briefly removed and drew their sheathed swords. The air around them, heated by continuous, relentless hunting, felt stifling, as if defying the frigid northern climate. Yet, the knights were too exhausted to truly register the warmth.

“Guard!”

Seeing the monsters gathering in the distance, the knights tightened their grip on their swords. What had appeared as black specks rapidly grew in size, drawing closer. With only a few meters separating them, the knights charged into the horde of monsters.

“Uwaaaah!”

The shouts, meant to inspire morale, were closer to desperate screams of defiance. As monsters and knights tangled in battle, blood flowed, soaking the earth. The dead land greedily drank the blood, yet remained stubbornly black, as if feigning indifference.

The very last monster collapsed to the ground. A knight, surveying the surroundings and checking for casualties, approached the figure standing silently.

“Commander, everyone is utterly exhausted. If we continue hunting like this, the casualties will only increase. We need to rest.”

With a swift, light movement, Lyden shook the monster’s blood from his sword and turned around. The once eager and spirited knight order was gone, replaced by panting, weary knights who looked as though a mere touch would send them toppling over.

Lyden clicked his tongue in mild irritation, then nodded in assent.

“Don’t sit down, get up! Even if you rest, you must first re-equip. Attend to the wounded immediately!”

The Vice-Commander bellowed, encouraging the exhausted knights who were on the verge of collapse. Watching them, Lyden felt a vibration in his pocket and reached inside his clothes.

[Target movement. Guardian contact and injury. Target objective complete.]

It was a thin, palm-sized rectangular object. At first glance, it resembled a hand mirror, but it was a magic messenger made using a magic stone. Lyden’s brows furrowed slightly as he read the words appearing on its smooth, transparent, glass-like surface.

[Extent of injury?]

[Minor.]

He wrote a reply, and an answer came back instantly. The Vice-Commander approached Lyden, who stood still, deep in thought.

“Shall we move?”

“Go ahead.”

His voice, low and husky from keeping his mouth shut, emerged.

The Vice-Commander, seeing the magic messenger in Lyden’s hand, ordered the knights to form ranks and prepare to move. Even a land covered in ice was preferable to this desolate, blood-soaked landscape strewn with monster corpses.

“Return to camp and rest. Move out!”

“Move out!”

Ignoring the distant shouts of the Vice-Commander, Lyden removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. His black hair was a tangled mess, matted with sweat and the monster’s bodily fluids. Roughly sweeping his hair back with a gloved hand, Lyden wrote another message on the messenger.

[Objective?]

[Blood.]