Misbegotten world

Extra chapter: Past of Roderick

Before Roderick ascended to the throne of Royal Makaylon, his journey began far from the splendor of courts and the weight of crowns. In the frostbitten expanse of the Northern region, he lived among the Pengqeck, a proud and ancient tribe of Beastmen known as the Swordsmen of the North, believed to be among the oldest inhabitants of the frozen lands. These nomadic warriors were as fierce as the winters that shaped them, their lives bound to a code of honor, survival, and mastery of the blade.

Roderick, though an outsider, was drawn to their way of life, abandoning the comforts of noble lineage for the harsh trials of the north. The Pengqeck did not take him in easily; he was tested relentlessly, both in strength and spirit. Days turned to weeks, weeks into years, as he endured their rigorous training and earned their respect, wielding a sword with a precision and savagery befitting their traditions.

The young noble grew in both skill and understanding, embracing the Pengqeck's values of loyalty, ferocity, and unity. From them, he learned not only the art of battle but also the unyielding resilience needed to survive the most bitter of storms. It was said that his blade, forged in the cold and tempered in the fires of their trials, would come to bear the mark of both his time among the Beastmen and the legacy of his future reign.

Yet, even as he lived among them, Roderick's destiny as a ruler loomed on the horizon. The man who had once been a wanderer would one day return to his people, forever changed by his time in the icy wilderness and the lessons of the Pengqeck.

As the northern winds howled outside, Roderick huddled closer to the modest fire in the cave, its dim glow flickering against the icy walls. Across from him sat the young Pengqeck swordsman, his fur-lined cloak stained with the frost of countless journeys. His sword, worn but well-kept, rested beside him—a companion as much as a tool of survival. The two had exchanged pleasantries at first, but now, with the fire crackling between them, Roderick's curiosity got the better of him.

"You've been wandering these peaks for how long?" Roderick asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

The Pengqeck warrior shrugged, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows cast by the fire. "This is my fifth crossing," he replied, his voice low and gravelly, weathered by the cold and solitude.

"Five crossings of the peaks?" Roderick repeated, leaning forward. "Why? What are you searching for?"

The warrior's gaze drifted to the flames. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if weighing whether to reveal his burden to this stranger. Finally, he spoke. "We Pengqeck warriors have a tradition. Those who fail to find a mate are bound to wander, seeking... something. Perhaps it's knowledge. Perhaps it's enlightenment. Or perhaps it's a fool's errand to delay the shame of returning home empty-handed."

Roderick blinked, taken aback by the unexpected vulnerability in the warrior's words. "You wander the world... because of marriage?" he asked, incredulous.

The Pengqeck gave a short, bitter laugh. "It is not just marriage. It is legacy. Purpose. For our people, to wed is to plant roots in the snow, to carve out a piece of the world that endures beyond you. Without it, a warrior is incomplete—adrift, like a snowflake in the wind."

Roderick frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered the warrior's plight. "And you've found nothing? No one?"

The Pengqeck shook his head. "I've crossed the peaks, wandered the forests of Sajar, even braved the outskirts of the Sacred Lands. I've learned many things, met many people, yet..." He paused, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Each time, I return as I left—alone."

The silence between them grew heavy, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Roderick studied the warrior's face, searching for some hint of despair, but what he found instead was a quiet determination—a man who bore his solitude like a shield.