274 Chains of the Past

William was right. His father and brother’s deaths were of their own making.

“…Then why am I still alive?” he asked finally. “If you want no loose ends, shouldn’t you have killed me as well?”

William tilted his head.

“Why? Have you suddenly decided to avenge them?”

Ainar fell silent.

As a son, he should. He should want vengeance.

But he didn’t.

Their deaths were their own doing. He knew that better than anyone.

A sigh escaped his lips.

“I don’t think I do.”

“Then the answer is clear—serve me, as Gunstein does.”

William’s words made Ainar’s eyes widen.

He had expected something like this the moment he was spared, but to actually hear it—William was truly intent on taking him in?

“Are you out of your mind? You killed my father and my brother.”

“And you just said you have no intention of avenging them.”

“That’s… true, but what if I change my mind later? What then?”

“Do you intend to?”

“I don’t plan to! That’s not what I meant!”

Frustrated, Ainar smacked his own chest as if to ground himself. He couldn’t tell if William was an idiot or if his audacity simply knew no bounds.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but before he could, another voice cut in.

“And this is exactly why I never liked you.”

Ainar flinched.

Gunstein.

The man was slouched against the far corner of the room, glaring at him with barely restrained contempt.

Ainar had no idea when he’d arrived, but before he could even process his presence, a sharp scoff came from the man.

“Now you see why I could never bring myself to give up my claim,” Gunstein said, shaking his head. “If it was a choice between following you or becoming chieftain myself, the latter seemed like the far lesser evil.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ainar shot back. “From the start, you—”

“Are you that obsessed with keeping yourself clean? That terrified of tarnishing your precious name?”

Ainar frowned. He had no idea where this was coming from.

Wasn’t it only natural for a warrior to value honor?

But Gunstein had no intention of listening to his objections. He pressed on mercilessly.

“What the hell do you even want, Ainar? Do you have anything you actually want? Or are you fine just living and dying as long as your name remains unblemished?”

“And what’s wrong with that?!” Ainar shot back. “What’s so wrong about living with honor as a warrior?”

“It’s completely wrong!”

“What?”

Ainar was left speechless by Gunstein’s sheer audacity.

But the man looked entirely unfazed, completely convinced of his own words.

“And tell me, who decided what was right or wrong?” Gunstein asked. “Our ancestors? The ones who lived and died in a world far different from ours?”

“Are you saying our ancestors were wrong?”

“No! I’m saying they never even experienced this world—so who are they to tell us what’s right or wrong? How can we possibly know unless we try?”

“That’s—”

“Are you so scared of stepping into a world you’ve never known?” Gunstein cut in sharply.

Ainar froze.

It felt like being struck over the head with a hammer.

Gunstein had seen through him.

He had dragged out the fear that Ainar himself had been too blind to recognize.

Clicking his tongue, Gunstein leaned back, crossing his arms.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? You’ve lived your whole life as a warrior under the laws of the Tundra. You’ve done everything right, everything honorable. So of course, stepping into a new world terrifies you.”

Ainar didn’t respond.

“So when the opportunity presents itself, you turn away,” Gunstein continued. “Because better to die as a ‘great warrior of the Tundra’ than step into the unknown and risk losing the honor you’ve built up, right?”

No.

Ainar wanted to say it.

Wanted to deny it.

But the words refused to come.

Gunstein’s voice was like a thorn lodged in his chest, pressing deeper and deeper.

Was that really it?

Had he truly been ready to die alongside his family out of guilt?

Had he refused to serve William because he truly believed it was shameful?

Or had he simply been using honor as an excuse—because deep down, he was too afraid to step forward?

“I refuse to live like that,” Gunstein declared. “Honor be damned. I will carve the name Gunstein into the world’s memory. And serving our king—that will give me the chance to do it.”

With that, Gunstein stood up and strode out of the room.

It was a clear declaration: While you waste away in this place, I will move forward.

Ainar remained frozen long after Gunstein was gone.

William, who had been watching quietly the entire time, made no effort to break the silence.

He simply waited.

And waited.

Only after several long minutes did Ainar finally speak, his voice low and heavy.

“Let me ask you one thing.”

William nodded. “Go ahead.”

“If I refuse your offer and let myself be buried here…” Ainar hesitated. “Will my name still be remembered in your story?”

“Do you think it would?”

William’s answer was immediate.

“What do you take this place for? A sacred land blessed by the dragon? Some great territory that I must conquer? It’s neither of those things.”

Ainar clenched his fists.

“This place is just another step on my path,” William said flatly. “As long as my name is remembered in history, so will the things I’ve done. But your name?”

William shook his head.

“It won’t even be a footnote. At most, a single sentence. The son of a defeated chieftain, slain in defiance. That’s all you’ll be.”

Ainar shut his eyes.

He had spent his entire life chasing honor.

Striving to be an example for others.

But the people he had once called his own were now following a new king, leaving the Tundra behind.

And so long as he remained shackled to its laws, he, too, would be left behind—forgotten along with this land.

Even if he preserved his name in death, what meaning would it hold?

“The choice is yours,” William said, his voice steady.