The snow never stopped. It whispered around their boots, crunching softly with every step as they made their way toward the garrison. The wind carried no scent—only the hollow chill of a world that felt half-dead.

  Kana walked near the front, her hand resting lightly on her blade’s hilt. She had learned a few things during the trek. Mica, Ger, and Ryle’s group had faced nothing unusual—no ambushes, no lurking beasts—but they had fought more monsters than usual. Twice the normal count, according to Ryle. Yet none of them had been dangerous enough to slow them down.

  So why had her group been the one targeted?

  Why had that man—precise, and terrifyingly dangerous arrows—taken aim at her first? And Suri? Why them, when others were easier to target? The memory flashed: the arrow slicing through air toward her head. She could still hear the sound, like glass breaking inside her mind.

  He hadn’t fired again. He could have. But he hadn’t.

  That unsettled her more than the attack itself. He was probably alive somewhere.

  A dull thud broke through her thoughts. Everyone turned.

  Ger was on one knee in the snow, brushing frost off his pants. “I’m alright,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual. “Just slipped up.”

  His breath came out in thick plumes. He laughed under it, but it was too forced.

  Artin’s eyes studied him for a moment. Then he sighed. “Maybe we should take a short break.”

  Kana’s gaze lingered on the scout. His hands were shaking slightly, whether from the cold or something else, she couldn’t tell. But his boots left deep, uneven prints in the snow. The same kind of trail an inexperienced hunter left before getting killed by something smarter.

  Artin exhaled again and looked toward Ryle. “Now I know why you were the last to arrive,” he said dryly.

  Ryle’s expression didn’t shift. He simply shook his head once and looked toward the horizon. “He’s doing his best,” he said, voice low but firm.

  Something in his tone silenced the teasing that might have followed.

  Kana said nothing. Her gaze drifted up toward the mountain slope ahead—the direction of the garrison. The snow there was unbroken, untouched. But even from here, she could feel it: a pressure in the air.

  Something was waiting for them.

  ….

  It took them nearly half a day to reach the next ridge.

  Kana’s breath came in steady, white wisps. The cold had turned sharp—biting—not the kind that stung the skin, but the kind that clung to the bones, seeping into every slow heartbeat.

  They should’ve been faster. Would’ve been faster—if not for Ger.

  She swore half their travel time was spent watching him rest.

  The man’s pace was like a pendulum—five minutes of walking, ten minutes of complaining, and fifteen of resting.

  For scouting, Suri’s a better choice, Kana thought, tugging her scarf tighter.

  They stopped again. Ger raised a hand, breathing heavily. “I think… this is enough distance.”

  Kana rolled her eyes. Rest again?

  Artin, perched on a rock above them, nodded. “We needed to get closer than I thought. Looks like the information I got about your stamina was a bit exaggerated, Ger.”

  “I’m… just not in good condition today,” Ger said, clutching his knees.

  Mica hid a smirk behind her glove. Shai, her feline, huffed like it shared the sentiment.

  But before Kana could remark, Ger straightened, took a deep breath, and muttered under his breath, “[Blueprint].”

  The air shimmered.

  A burst of golden light erupted from his palm, tracing radiant lines that snaked outward in all directions—delicate and fast as lightning. They danced and interlocked, weaving across the snow until they formed an image that hovered in the air like a phantom fortress.

  Kana took an involuntary step forward.

  The holographic construct rotated slowly above Ger’s hand—a perfect rendering of the garrison. The outlines of its stone walls, the collapsed sections buried beneath drifts of snow, the hidden corridors beneath—everything was visible, glowing faintly in the dim light.

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  Kana’s eyes widened. “That’s… incredible.”

  She leaned closer without realizing it, drawn in by the intricate symmetry, the precision of the lines. Her fingers twitched as though she could trace them in the air. She wanted to see how the mana threads interlaced, how they worked—because the structure and skill itself was marvelous.

  Ger’s cheeks flushed. “You’re—uh—too close.”

  Kana blinked, realizing her face was barely a handspan from his. She stepped back, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—It’s just… fascinating."

  Artin chuckled softly from above. “He’s more useful than he looks, isn’t he?”

  Ger gave a weak grin, half pride, half embarrassment.

  Kana folded her arms, still watching the intricate lines. But a quiet thought slipped through her mind.

  She’d seen something like this before.

  More complex. More alive.

  …..

  Ger studied the glowing structure with a furrowed brow, his hand hovering over the illusionary map like a sculptor appraising his own work. The golden lines pulsed faintly in rhythm with his mana, responding to every subtle flick of his fingers.

  He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “This fortress… judging from the stone alignment and the depth of the substructure, it’s old. Maybe a hundred years. Could be older. Reinforced and restored at least twice.” He squinted, tracing one glowing corridor. “Heavily secured. Every supposed weak point is suspected layered with rune traps. It’s too obvious.”

  Mica leaned in. “So you’re saying there’s no way in?”

  Ger nodded. “Not unless we want to dig through half a mountain. With just the five of us, it’d take months… maybe a year.”

  Artin laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that carried oddly well in the cold. “As expected of the Link family. Always the best at analyzing structures. If you weren’t here, I’d just dive straight into the center.”

  He extended his right hand, and his skin darkened—rippling like ink spilled across water. The hand twisted, reshaping into something monstrous: a black claw, large enough to crush stone.

  “But don’t underestimate the Royal Knights,” Artin said, flexing the talons. Frost shimmered across their edge. “This arm can dig a tunnel to that fortress in two days, maybe less—if I don’t die from exhaustion first.”

  The joking tone didn’t hide the weight behind his words.

  Then his expression hardened. “Where’s the prince, Ger?”

  Ger hesitated only a moment, then nodded, showing the side of the hovering garrison structure made of golden lines. “There are two possible locations—the lower keep here, beneath the outer barracks, or this room hidden under the great hall.” He pointed to the glowing points, their light flaring brighter for a moment. “One of them is a trap. They purposely designed it exactly that way.”

  Artin’s claw hand flexed again. “Then it means they are prepared. Prepared for someone like us.”

  “They do,” said Lex’s voice—calm, low, and too close. Shadows rippled near Kana’s feet, and he stepped out of them, dusting invisible snow from his cloak. “They’ve planned for our arrival. So we’ll need to plan harder.” His eyes shifted to the others, sharp and commanding. “Gather around. You’re about to see the Royal Knights in action.”

  Kana’s gaze lingered on the claw still dripping faint black energy. The aura of the two knights filled the clearing like storm pressure before lightning—quiet, heavy, unrelenting.

  Then, with an almost perfect sense of timing, Artin clapped a hand on Ger’s shoulder. “By the way,” he said lightly, “for a [Scout], you should really do more physical training.”

  Ger gave him a weak grin. “I’d like to, but it’s still better to sit and think.”

  Artin leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard Kana likes fit guys.”

  Ger froze. “Really?”

  Artin nodded solemnly. “Really.”

  A long pause followed. Then Kana, who’d been standing a few paces away, sighed. She turned and began walking off, her breath clouding in the cold air. It was one of those moments she regretted getting the [High Awareness].

  Mica snorted, trying—and failing—to hide her laugh. Shai’s tail flicked once, like it agreed.

  Kana, shaking her head, allowed herself the smallest smile as she adjusted the strap of her bow. The humor didn’t erase the chill crawling up her spine. Because beneath all their banter, she could still feel it—something moving far beneath the snow. Watching. Waiting.

  …

  “Are you sure we aren’t going to war?” Toby asked, squinting against the dimming sun. His voice came out muffled through the scarf wrapped around his mouth, breath steaming in the cold.

  Rin followed his gaze, her gloved hand shading her eyes. “I think we are,” she said after a pause—and smiled. The kind of smile that tried to be brave, but didn’t quite make it.

  The wind carried the smell of smoke and steel. The group trudged over the snow-packed plain, their boots crunching with every step. Hours passed before the horizon began to shift—what first looked like dark dots turned into banners, wagons, and ranks of armor.

  The northern army.

  Thousands of soldiers, maybe more, clustered beneath the weak sunlight. Lines of tents spread like a second city across the frozen land. Colorful banners—red, blue, white—fluttered beside the drab northern ones. Among them were students, young faces half-hidden by fur hoods and scarves..

  A few waved at Kana’s group as they approached, holding tin cups of steaming soup. The air smelled faintly of broth, and burning pine.

  Yuri slowed her pace, her breath trembling as she asked, “Professor Wor-en… do we really need to participate in this?”

  “Of course,” Wor-en said without hesitation. His breath came out in clouds, his tone annoyingly certain. “You’re underestimating yourself. A proper buff from you and Toby can change the outcome of a fight. And Suri’s illusions can scout a mile ahead without losing a single soldier.”

  He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing with pride and a hint of challenge. “You think war is just about swinging a sword? Support wins battles.”

  Leo ran a hand through his hair, his expression grim. “I heard most of them are [Spearman] or [Swordsman]. Northern local supports are very hard to come by.”

  “Indeed,” Wor-en agreed, scanning the formations of men with a scholar’s detachment. “And that’s where you come in. Gods, do any of you even listen in class?”

  A low trumpet sounded through the camp—deep, mournful, vibrating through the cold air. Soldiers turned in unison, their movements disciplined.

  They’d arrived.

  A northern soldier jogged toward them, face half-covered by frost and windburn. “New group of students?” he asked, voice hoarse. When Wor-en nodded, the soldier gestured toward the heart of the camp. “You’ll be quartered with the second battalion. Follow me.”

  As they walked, Rin stole another glance across the gathered army. Spears and Swords glinted in the like fields of ice. There were no songs, no laughter. Just the rhythmic sound of metal and the hiss of cold wind over canvas.

  “I don’t like this,” Roy muttered, almost to himself. “Everyone’s too quiet. Feels like someone is going to die.”

  Meanwhile, the group of adventurers gathered in one tent. Reviewing the contracts. After all, protecting the students against the empire force wasn’t part of their quest.