Chapter #49: The First Fang of the North
The train came to a halt with a metallic screech that echoed through the entire valley. Colonel Olivier Mira Armstrong stepped down without haste, letting the northern air strike her face like an icy slap. Briggs did not welcome—it examined, measured, judged. The cold was not merely temperature; it was intent. Even the town at the foot of the mountain seemed to shrink beneath the fortress's shadow, as if it knew that the wall of steel and snow did not protect… it demanded.
Waiting for her stood a tall man with a firm posture and a sharp gaze. His mustache was as distinctive as his severe expression. He wore the Briggs uniform naturally, as if the fortress were an extension of his own body.
"Welcome to Briggs, Colonel Armstrong," he said in a deep voice. "Captain Buccaneer, at your service."
Olivier looked him over from head to toe without the slightest attempt to hide it. There was no arrogance in her eyes—only pure evaluation.
"At ease, soldier," she replied. "Take me to the base."
Buccaneer blinked once. He was not used to officers who did not require ceremony. By instinct, he reached for one of her suitcases.
"If you'll allow me to help with your equi—"
"Who do you think I am?" Olivier cut in, fixing him with a hard stare. "A noble on a diplomatic visit? If a soldier cannot carry their own equipment, they do not deserve to wear a uniform—much less hold rank."
Buccaneer released the suitcase without offense. On the contrary, a crooked smile appeared beneath his mustache.
"This is going to be interesting," he murmured.
They walked along the path leading to the fortress. With every step, the wind grew more merciless and the slope steeper. Olivier breathed calmly, feeling the cold seep into her lungs. It did not bother her. She accepted it. The North was not an enemy—it was a judge.
Then the roar shattered the silence.
A massive bear emerged from the snow, rising onto its hind legs, its fangs stained with dried blood and its body marked with scars that spoke of countless battles. This was no ordinary beast—Briggs did not allow ordinary creatures.
Buccaneer reacted first.
"Colonel, fall back!" he ordered, hurling himself at the beast without hesitation.
Olivier dropped her suitcases. In one fluid motion, she drew her sword, the steel gleaming faintly beneath the gray sky.
"Don't give me unnecessary orders," she replied.
The Captain struck the bear with brutal force, his fists slamming into its thick hide. The beast roared and turned, swinging a massive claw to crush him. Olivier moved at once, slashing at its flanks with fast, precise cuts. She was not trying to kill it yet—she was studying it.
The bear responded with savage violence. A solid blow sent Buccaneer flying several meters back. Another strike caught Olivier full-on, hurling her into the snow. The world turned white for a second.
Any other officer would have stayed down.
Olivier did not.
She rose immediately, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body like frozen fire. Her breathing was controlled, her mind cold.
It's not brute strength, she thought. It's endurance and calculation.
She began running in circles around the bear, forcing it to turn, to follow her. The beast, confused, suddenly stopped. Its muscles trembled. Something was wrong.
The bear sat down.
It waited.
That unnatural gesture, so unlike a wild creature, chilled the air more than the wind itself. Olivier stopped. She felt the cold creep into her limbs, stiffening her muscles. The North was claiming its toll. For a brief moment, her body responded more slowly than her mind demanded.
"Tch…" she clicked her tongue.
Beside her, Buccaneer was already getting back to his feet. He was bleeding—but smiling.
"So you're not normal either, Colonel," he said. "I like that."
They exchanged a glance. No words were needed. Briggs taught one lesson from the very first day: hesitate, and you die.
Buccaneer brought his arms together, flexing them in a strange way, as if preparing for some absurd game in the middle of a deadly battle. Olivier understood instantly.
Momentum.
She ran toward him and jumped without hesitation.
At the very second Olivier leapt, the bear charged Buccaneer with a deafening roar. The Captain absorbed the impact, planting his feet in the snow, using every muscle in his body to avoid being crushed.
And then Olivier flew.
Propelled by Buccaneer's strength, she soared above the beast. In midair, she aimed her sword with surgical precision. There was no anger on her face. No fear. Only resolve.
The steel came down.
The blade pierced the bear's skull in a clean, lethal strike. The beast collapsed with a dull crash, kicking up a cloud of snow stained red.
Silence.
The wind resumed its howl, as if nothing had happened.
Olivier landed gracefully, withdrew her sword, and wiped it clean in the snow without ceremony. Buccaneer straightened, breathing heavily, then let out a deep laugh.
"Welcome to Briggs, Colonel Armstrong," he repeated. "Now officially."
She looked at him—this time with something different in her eyes.
"If all my men fight like this," she said, "this place will be impregnable."
"And if all commanders are like you," Buccaneer replied, "the North is going to change."
They continued toward the fortress. The immense wall of Briggs rose before them—imposing, cruel, eternal. Olivier looked at it without hesitation.
She felt no fear.
She felt belonging.
That day, Briggs did not merely receive a new colonel.
That day, the North gained its future master.
(End of the chapter)