‘…Then why don’t you try spending a single night in that underground prison!’
Ah. But maybe that guy doesn’t feel the cold as much, being a Northerner by birth.
This place wasn’t heaven nor hell.
Fully convinced now that he hadn’t died, Latian cautiously surveyed his surroundings to grasp the situation.
The bed he was lying on was made of elegant, old-fashioned wood, surrounded by bedposts and curtains in black and white, exuding a modern aesthetic.
A large rug embroidered with golden thread covered the floor.
Turning his head, he could see sunlight streaming in through the window, while a fireplace with a subtle, flickering flame stood in the center of the opposite wall.
Despite its medieval setting, the room was far cleaner and more refined than one might expect—likely because this was a K-novel interpretation of the medieval era.
‘Is this Claude’s room?’
Latian finally realized something—the room was warm.
It was leagues apart from the deplorable underground prison, with its relentless cold and squalor.
‘So, while I was freezing to death down there, this guy was enjoying a cozy, undisturbed nap?’
He’d assumed all Northerners lived in perpetual cold, but it seemed only the prison was that bitterly freezing.
A tinge of betrayal crept into his heart.
Latian shot a glare at Claude, who was seated in a single-seater sofa, and then checked on himself.
The fever that had raged through him like a blazing inferno had entirely subsided.
The body aches, as if his bones were being hammered, were also gone.
At first, he thought he might be imagining things, but it was clear that his condition had improved significantly.
His clothes… were clean, and someone had even dressed him in fresh ones.
“Um… did you treat me?” Latian asked cautiously.
“I couldn’t very well leave someone who looked like they’d croak any moment now, could I?”
Normal medication couldn’t have worked this fast.
It had to be the rare and expensive healing water.
‘…If only that mouth of his could say something pleasant for once.’
Though he grumbled internally, on the outside, Latian plastered on a cheerful smile, like the youngest sibling trying to butter up to the older ones.
He was the perfect “subordinate” in a hierarchical relationship.
A subordinate who owed a massive favor to his superior.
“Ah, so that’s how it is! You’ve saved me yet again, sir!”
“……”
“Thank you so much. I really thought I was done for this time. By the way, what is this room for? It doesn’t seem like a medical ward.”
“It’s my room.”
“…Why am I in your room?”
“Why? Do you want to go back to the prison? At least you seem to know your place.”
“No?! I love it here! My apologies for being so presumptuous!”
Startled, Latian frantically waved his arms in denial.
Claude arched one sleek eyebrow and snorted before crossing one leg over the other.
His long, lean legs immediately caught Latian’s gaze.
He found himself staring blankly at them until Claude’s cold voice snapped him back to reality.
“From now on, you’ll be staying in this room.”
“…Sorry? Who will?”
“Do you see anyone else here besides you and me?”
“Oh, it’s me. Yes. Why, though…?”
“Did you think I let you stay here because I trust you?”
Claude’s sharp, mocking tone left Latian speechless.
It was clear now—Claude intended to keep him under 24-hour surveillance.
As Latian failed to hide his displeasure, his brows furrowed, and Claude tilted his arrogant face slightly.
“Don’t like it?”
“No way, sir. Not at all.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“I’m absolutely thrilled! Spending all day with my savior? What an honor!”
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Latian hung his head and practically shouted his response.
“Fine! Watch me as closely as you want, and investigate to your heart’s content! I only ask that you understand I’m truly innocent! I’m not a spy!”
“Then prove it.”
“…Pardon?”
“I’ll give you the chance. Prove your innocence yourself.”
When Latian raised his head, Claude’s expression remained as impassive as ever.
Latian hesitated, rolling his eyes before finally asking, “When you say ‘a chance,’ what exactly do you mean?”
“You seem to know a lot about many things.”
“…I’ve overheard bits and pieces.”
“You’re also fairly quick-witted.”
Suddenly, Claude leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin on his hand.
He resembled a masterpiece carved by a meticulous sculptor.
The sight left Latian swallowing nervously, right before Claude spoke again.
“Become the assistant to the Winter Fortress.”
“…As-as-as what?”
“Use that knowledge of yours to be useful.”
‘What the hell does he expect a regular salaryman from modern Korea, who’s only read a few novels, to do here?’
Latian’s earnest attempts to dispel Claude’s suspicions seemed to have backfired spectacularly.
“I… don’t actually know that much….”
“Then you’ll die.”
“That was nonsense! I’ll do my best!”
Without his knowledge of the original story, he’d be in deep trouble.
Then again, the very fact that he knew so much about the original was what had caused this mess.
Still, that knowledge had saved him from one death flag already, so he figured he should consider himself lucky.
‘I’ll help him out as much as I can. Once I earn his trust, I’ll be free.’
Freedom. That was the ultimate goal. If he could return to his original world, even better.
But if that wasn’t possible, escaping this place—where death flags loomed around every corner—would be the next best thing.
“You chose your words well. For now, I’ll test the depth of your knowledge. I might ask questions at random, so don’t even think about slacking. You said you’d do your best, so I trust you won’t disappoint me.”
As Claude’s cold gaze brushed past him, Latian felt his blood run cold.
That predatory look was like a beast deciding how best to toy with its prey.
It was only after Claude left the room that Latian let out a heavy sigh of relief.
‘Will I… survive this?’
Letting his shoulders sag, Latian collapsed onto the bed.
The soft mattress felt eerily similar to a high-end modern memory foam bed, leaving him with mixed feelings.
‘Wait… this bed….’
He suddenly realized—it was Claude’s bed.
‘So… staying in this room together means… we’re sharing this bed?’
* * *
“Are you seriously appointing that outsider as a special assistant?”
Claude’s secretary couldn’t hide his disbelief as he held the paperwork confirming the appointment.
It was shocking enough that the Lord of the North, known as the “Reaper of the North,” had brought back a living person instead of a corpse.
Now, he’d not only freed him from prison but treated his injuries and was planning to make him an assistant.
“What if he really is an imperial spy, like Lucas was?”
“What do you think? I’ll use him as much as I can and dispose of him when he’s no longer useful.”
Claude replied mechanically, continuing to process paperwork.
“…What if he really was just a hostage?”
“I’m certain he’s no ordinary hostage. He knows too much for someone who claims to have just overheard things.”
“Then isn’t it even more likely that he’s a spy…?”
“The important thing is the information in his head.
His fate will be decided after I’ve wrung out everything he knows.”
The secretary let out a deep sigh.
“Even if we keep him under constant surveillance, what if he deliberately provides false information to sow confusion?”
Claude’s hand, which had always moved fluidly across the documents, came to an abrupt halt.
Soon, his previously indifferent lips curled into a cruel smile.
“I keep him around to use him, not because I trust him.”
“……”
“The information provided will be scrutinized far more rigorously than it was during Lucas’s time. False information is bound to be exposed sooner or later… So, you don’t need to worry too much.”
“…Understood.”
The air of ruthlessness that suggested he would dispose of anyone without hesitation if even the slightest error was uncovered during cross-verification silenced the secretary, who quietly withdrew without further meddling.
To those he held close, Claude was unexpectedly kind, but to anyone outside that circle, he was colder than the northern region’s midwinter blade-like winds.
A young lord of the winter fortress, possessing a body far superior to ordinary people, innate abilities unique to his kind, and a powerful aura unmatched by any—a Sword Master hailed as the greatest on the continent.
The man before him was, without question, the unchanging Reaper of the North.
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