Aslan surveyed the campsite blanketed by a layer of frost.
A campsite that, until yesterday, had been bustling with the noise of nearly a thousand warriors.
Now it lay eerily silent, devoid of even the sound of insects, dead in its stillness.
Deep death had settled over the camp.
It was an icy cold, bone-chilling and pale.
Looking at the bigger picture, almost half the camp was frozen solid, covered in frost.
Those who had been sleeping there were also without exception frozen to death.
The only exceptions were the warrior-monsters who had gained the power of regeneration.
Even they were barely alive, having had parts of their bodies frozen off, cut away, or seared by fire, but this was far better than being completely dead.
Most of the casualties came from the regular troops.
“Ch-ch-cold, u-u-ugh.”
A soldier lying on the ground gasped for breath. Aslan turned his gaze away absentmindedly but then bit his lip when he noticed the scattered corpses around him.
It was a horrific sight.
Nearly half of the thousands present—still numbering in the thousands—had perished.
With so many bodies sprawled about, death seemed less special.
It felt as common and ordinary as tripping over something with your foot.
Aslan took in the scene with a dazed expression before suddenly turning and running.
He trampled across the frozen ground toward a tent.
Tiamat’s and Richard’s tent.
When Aslan entered, brushing aside the tent flap, he let out a sigh of relief.
“You made it.”
Tiamat hadn’t frozen to death.
“A-Aslan, come in!”
Instead, Ereta was nearby, radiating heat. The warmth that pushed back the cold revealed others behind her.
People speaking casually to Aslan.
“Aslan, is this what the Northern Empire is usually like?”
“Of course not! This is definitely the work of a priest.”
They were Richard and Angie.
Seeing the uninjured members of the group, Aslan visibly relaxed.
Tiamat observed Aslan’s relief and chuckled, swiping his tail across the floor.
“What’s wrong? Worried enough to rush here?”
“Like I wouldn’t be worried? Damn it.”
Tiyamal gave a familiar chuckle in response to Aslan’s cursing.
He wiped his chin, smiling leisurely, until his expression froze upon seeing the view beyond the tent door Aslan had left open.
“…What is that?”
There were countless bodies.
A chill emanated from them.
The white spread of death caused Richard to furrow his brow uncomfortably, while Angie crossed her arms, clearly irritated.
Ereta appeared unmoved but glanced at Aslan’s face, aware that he wasn’t pleased.
Sure enough, Aslan’s expression was grim.
The man looked disheartened, lowering his eyes.
“Aslan.”
“Yes?”
“What happened? Was it the Veil of Mercy?”
Aslan’s question sought the cause of this mass death.
Underlying it was the understanding that someone trained as a priest would know well.
Unfortunately, Ereta didn’t know much either.
But she could guarantee one thing.
“No. If it were death brought by the Veil of Mercy, no one short of the deity herself could withstand it.”
She touched the symbol resting on her chest as she spoke. Then she added:
“The fire of the spider weaving flames, Mother’s Flame, burns the universe and recreates it—a flame of ‘Rebirth.’ While I can stand against death from the Veil of Mercy, the flame I possess is merely its remnant. I couldn’t possibly match the Veil.”
“So…”
“Yes, this is magical cold.”
Hearing the clear words and traces of magical cold, Aslan frowned deeply, biting his lips.
In the corner of his vision, a system window hovered mockingly.
[Ongoing Side Quest]
[ ! Defeat the Priest of Your Mother, Astrid of Lamentation]
[ ! Defeat the Monsters of Krabrige, the Priest of Your Mother]
[ ! Defeat Leranda’s Knight, the Priest of Your Mother]
Astrid of Lamentation.
Clutching his teeth, Aslan sighed and turned around.
“I’ll go check the situation outside. Everyone, gather your weapons and equipment, and be ready to move at any moment.”
His tone was calm, showing little sadness.
Rather, the very calmness was sorrowful. Angie stepped forward instinctively, opening her mouth.
“I’ll come too. I—”
“No. Help me by preparing instead. I’m not planning to disappear anywhere, so don’t worry.”
Caught exactly where it mattered, Angie had no choice but to close her mouth and hesitate.
During that hesitation, Aslan had already gone outside, leaving Angie staring at his back with a troubled expression.
Outside the tent, the white death was scattered everywhere.
As Aslan moved forward, stepping on the frost-covered ground, the deaths became more vivid to his eyes.
Dead soldiers.
They had died without a single sign of resistance.
It was only natural, given that even Aslan hadn’t noticed it coming.
Aslan looked down at one of the bodies.
Their frozen skin was cracked and dry, revealing flesh without a drop of blood.
Their skin, bluish-white, resembled ancient trees after a heavy snowfall rather than human.
Pitifully fallen corpses. Eyes wide open, their crystalline structures shattered by the cold.
Countless soldiers surrounding the campfire, dead, brought Aslan pain.
Pain born from memory.
Astrid of Lamentation was an excellent evocation school mage.
One who had reached a certain level of mastery in magic.
And mages who reach such levels tend to exhibit distinct characteristics in their magic.
Just as Anton embodied efficiency and combat integration, and Anna sacrificed mana efficiency for sheer power.
Astrid’s magic was characterized by manipulating the environment using her emotions and mana.
In the Northern Empire, where death was common.
A royal mage responsible for funerals.
That was Astrid.
Her duty involved loading coffins onto sleds, magically sealing them, and sending them into distant worlds where traces of ancient empires remained.
Using somewhat resistant mana to freeze the coffins, her role was to send them as deep as possible into those distant worlds.
Aslan remembered.
The quiet tears she shed each time she began her duties.
The snow that fell like those tears from the sky.
Aslan remembered.
When she cried, the world itself wept.
An evocation school mage superior to Anna in terms of water and freezing magic.
People called her Astrid of Lamentation.
Once again, the world wept honestly with her tears.
Numerous deaths of white were conceived and born into the world.
Placing his hand on a frozen corpse, Aslan clenched his teeth in anguish.
“Astrid.”
With a grieving heart, he lifted his head and stood up, moving forward.
The further he went, the worse the frozen traces of the campsite became.
Some areas were so frozen that they had broken apart.
As he advanced, Aslan realized.
All these soldiers had fallen asleep and died without putting up a fight.
And that this wasn’t an instant freeze.
Aslan saw the frost and ice spreading over the tents, the extinguished campfires, and understood that Astrid had gradually lowered the temperature to kill everyone.
Much like the story of a frog in a pot that doesn’t notice the slowly rising water temperature until it’s too late.
Of course, in reality, the frog would escape.
But humans accustomed to the cold of the Northern Empire, especially those asleep, could not.
“Sven! Sven, damn it…!”
“Aaah, my leg! My leg!”
“Can’t see ahead… Grrr…”
The outcome was clear.
Many were disabled, and those who weren’t couldn’t maintain full combat readiness.
Some lost friends, others lost family.
Passing by a soldier grieving the loss of a family member, Aslan clenched his fists.
Certainly, this was war.
It was normal for people to die in war.
Every life taken, however it happens, is precious and regrettable.
Nevertheless,
Aslan felt bad.
Because this felt less like death on the battlefield and more like slaughterhouse death.
‘Astrid, is this your magic?’
Swallowing the unanswerable question within himself, Aslan raised his head, following a growing intuition.
His luck was reacting.
It resonated heavily in his brain, warning of some impending danger.
The warning felt like a bird pecking at his brain.
Following this resonance, Aslan turned his head and walked toward a faint sound.
Moving through the bodies slaughtered by the cold and frost, he headed towards the front line of the most severely affected campsite.
“There you go, you bastard! If you’d just done your job, this wouldn’t have happened!”
“It’s not me! It’s not me! I kept the fire going properly, I tell you!”
At that spot, a group of warriors was scolding a man.
Probably an important firekeeper in charge of fire management in the Northern Empire.
It seemed they believed everyone had died because of the firekeeper’s mistake.
Unable to imagine this as magic, they blamed only the firekeeper.
Approaching slowly, Aslan listened.
“Alright, if you couldn’t even manage the damn fire and refuse to admit your mistakes, then I’ll…”
Finally, unable to hold back, one of the warriors drew an axe and swung it down. At that moment, Aslan reached out and caught the axe.
Clang! The metallic sound rang out as Aslan’s hand intercepted the axe.
The warrior froze momentarily upon seeing Aslan’s face, fear quickly filling his eyes.
“Adviser…”
That fear was immediately consumed by anger.
“Don’t interfere, adviser! Our comrades would want this incompetent pig dead!”
The warrior growled, revealing his teeth. Others agreed, reaching for their swords.
Aslan stared at them expressionlessly and shook his head.
“It’s not the firekeeper’s incompetence. This is due to magical influence.”
Magic. The unexpected word made the warrior look puzzled, prompting Aslan to sigh and mutter briefly.
“Can’t you hear it?”
At that, the warriors fell silent.
After a long silence, they muttered weakly, looking pale.
“Damn it.”
…thud thud thud…
Hoof-like sounds approached from afar. Confused, Aslan quickly shouted.
“Gather the remaining soldiers and prepare for battle! Move the wounded to the rear and bring anything burnable or capable of blocking access!”
“Damn it, did you hear the adviser? Move, you bastards!”
Warriors rushed out, yelling curses while tearing down tents and throwing wood into piles.
Standing amidst the commotion, Aslan gazed toward the horizon, where a chilling wind blew.
He thought.
This magic that had frozen half the regular soldiers wasn’t the final blow.
It was just the beginning.
The essence of this magic was to paralyze and destroy the army.
This was merely preparation for an assault on a paralyzed and disintegrated army.
…thud thud thud thud!
The hoofbeats grew closer. Aslan looked up toward the horizon, catching sight of approaching shadows beneath waving banners.
Dragon banners.
The Havelisg army.
Monstrosities combining various beasts: moose, horses, wolves, birds, lions, bears, leopards.
Cavalry riding these monsters, wielding axes, swords, spears, heading toward the camp.
Among them, knights who appeared to be priests led the charge.
Wearing unmistakable clear signs of beasts, concealed under armor.
Their mounts resembled dragons.
Though seemingly haphazard combinations of various beasts, they bore resemblance to dragons.
Rough, repulsive, yet clearly attempts to recreate something.
A great legacy of the ancient empire rebuilt by the power of an evil deity.
One of them—the dragon knights.
Thud thud thud thud!
As the dragon knights charged closer, Aslan gripped the beast at his back, and the soldiers who had just recovered fled in terror.
Amidst the fleeing soldiers chased by the dragon knights, only Aslan stood firm, drawing his sword.
Grrrrr…
The greatsword emitted a menacing dark blue glow as it was unsheathed.
Ka-a-a-a-aang!
The dragon knights and Aslan clashed.
*
Thud thud thud thud!
The chaotic stampede of battle-ready moose hooves.
Cavalry circling and creating a noisy perimeter. Among them, Lumel and Phey wore disgruntled expressions.
Well, understandably so.
Their own moose had lost its head to a javelin, while the surrounding ones were unscathed.
However, this disgruntlement stemmed not from envy or jealousy.
Rather, it was the realization that escape was now impossible.
The moose circled wildly, protecting a woman and a girl.
Thus, Lumel quickly abandoned any thoughts of escape and instead looked toward those watching from across the encirclement.
A burly middle-aged warrior with thick fur and a delicate, fine-featured young man.
The moment Lumel met their gaze, he knew.
“Who are you?”
That they were the priests Aslan had warned about.
