“I understand the Count’s true nature now. Quite savage, I must say. But you still need more discipline. One who breaks so easily, how can he call himself the bulwark of the Empire?”

Only then did Count Balzac’s expression reveal the impact of Aziel’s words. It was as though he had just taken a clean blow to the face. His facade faltered.

“Your sons weren’t even worth scrutinizing. Count, I must say, I’m disappointed. Deeply disappointed.”

The sons could not hide their rage. Their faces twisted with fury.

On a platform that had until now been nothing but cold wind and snow, a strange heat began to rise. An almost scorching atmosphere surrounded them as Aziel walked leisurely, ever so slowly, through their midst, savoring the burning gazes trained on his back. As he stepped off the platform, a wide northern cityscape spread before him, blanketed in snow and veiled in clouds of white steam.

And in the far distance, 

“I should head to the Bonfire. Lead the way. Will you be joining us, Count?”

“May I? I imagine the Bonfire’s administrators won’t be pleased by my presence.”

“I’ll make it worth the watch. Come along.”

Aziel boarded a luxurious carriage, his crimson gaze fixed on a tower that stood conspicuously tall in the distance, a tower where the snowstorm spun wildly around, but the flame at its summit blazed red-hot against the white world.

[Reading Subject’s Fate… A storm of discontent, hardship, anger, patience, injustice, honor, responsibility, and enforced sacrifice all entangled as one.]

[The subject stands at a pivotal crossroads. Rebellion and loyalty, defeat and triumph,all loom near.]

[Subject’s fate is closely entwined with a specific place. Observing: Filthy corruption… A dying flame.]

New threads of fate stirred, announcing their presence in a chaotic roar.

• The Power Struggles of the North  –

In the North, power was divided into two principal forces.

One was the Count of House Dvorak, the stalwart who governed the entirety of the North. The other was the Empire’s sacred flame, the mystical Bonfire, a force that not only justified the existence of the Border Counts, but also sustained the North.

The reason northern citizens could survive the eternal permafrost was thanks to this Bonfire, said to have been lit by the Founding Emperor himself. It was housed in the heart of the North, atop a towering spire, and from it radiated the heat that allowed civilization to persist in such a brutal land.

That heat was distributed through the land, warming estates, fortresses, homes, and cities alike. Yet the relationship between the Count’s House and the Bonfire’s administrators was long steeped in mutual hostility.

The Bonfire’s stewards believed themselves to be the ones sustaining the North and demanded the Count’s deference. From the Count’s perspective, it was infuriating that those being protected dared to act as though they were the North’s rulers.

This was why Count Balzac had done his best to please the prince. Should Aziel take the side of the administrators due to a poor first impression, the politics of the region would grow unbearable.

“Prepare everything. When His Highness arrives, we must greet him with gifts and proper ceremony.”

“Everyone, show our utmost sincerity. We must impress him while he is here.”

“So that the Count’s family can’t freely wield their power over us.”

The Bonfire’s side thought much the same.

Its administrators had prepared numerous extravagant gifts, eager to curry favor with the prince.They had also treated the knights and mages whom Aziel had dispatched, those tasked with investigating and safeguarding the Bonfire after an assassination plot against its stewards, with utmost courtesy.

“We’re relying on all of you to speak favorably of us when His Highness arrives.”

Indeed, many bribes had changed hands.

The Bluewing Knights and the Third Combat Mage Division, in turn, responded with amicable cooperation.

“Don’t worry. We’ll say good things.”

“His Highness is sure to be pleased.”

As their bonds grew, and laughter flowed freely between them … 

“His Highness, the Prince, has arrived!”

A delegation was approaching the Bonfire Tower.

At the forefront was Count Balzac, and as his face came into view, the expressions of the administrators twisted with contempt. A few muttered curses under their breath. 

Soon, the most lavish carriage in all of House Dvorak came to a halt.

“Clack.”

“We humbly greet His Highness, the Prince!”

Aziel stepped out, regal and commanding. The administrators bowed low in unison. Though the North was smothered in snow, the earth around the Bonfire remained exposed and warm. 

As Aziel descended … 

“What an indignity, to escort His Highness in such a shabby carriage. Count, have you no shame?”

“Tsk. You train your body but not your taste. You know nothing of true nobility.”

“His Highness possesses a grace far greater than any noble I’ve ever seen. Even these eyes, long accustomed to the flame’s mystique, find greater mystery in him!”

Still bent low, the administrators disparaged the Count while lavishing praise upon the prince.

Aziel smiled, clearly amused.

Behind him, the northerners who had accompanied the group stiffened, their expressions sour. 

So this was the spectacle he wanted us to witness?

Spurred on by the mood, some administrators presented their gifts with ostentatious flair.

“Your Highness, behold, a set of goblets carved from the purest snow quartz of the deepest North. No single cup could contain your nobility, so we’ve prepared an entire set.”

“Your Highness, to match them we bring the finest medicinal wine: infused with herbs grown only in the frozen lands and aged with ice drawn from century-old glaciers. Even the bottle is snow quartz, carved to perfection.”

“Your Highness, to guard your health during your stay, we offer a coat of white wolf fur, laced with ash from the Bonfire for added warmth. The buttons are made from yeti teeth, to symbolize your valor.”

Aziel’s smile deepened with each offering. The northerners’ faces contorted in disbelief.

Where had they gotten the funds for all this?

Even the Count’s family possessed but a single heirloom goblet of snow quartz, passed down through generations and handled with utmost care. And yet these people had forged a whole set, and even bottles, from it?

They were the same administrators who, every winter, refused to donate even a single coin to help starving northerners survive the cold.

The northerners seethed. Rage boiled over. These men lived in such luxury, then had the gall to blame the Count’s house for their shortcomings?

“And if you’ve given away so many gifts, what do you have left? How do you plan to survive in the North?” 

“Nothing is too precious when offered to Your Highness. And we have more to present. Please, worry not.”

The prince’s and administrators’ laughter rang in the air.

Hearing it, several northerners unconsciously reached for their sword hilts. So this is how they amassed their wealth, while we bled in the cold! With our pain …            Our suffering.

Faces flushed, a few trembled with heated breaths. But Aziel, seemingly intoxicated by the grandeur of the gifts, simply laughed. It was revolting to think this man might one day rule the Empire, it terrified them.

Yet Aziel, unaffected by their glares, donned the white wolf coat himself and accepted the snow quartz bottle. Even House Royce, the richest in the Empire, had no such thing.

He looked curious.

“So… this won’t break, will it? I’d hate to damage such an expensive bottle, or spill this fine liquor.”

“Snow quartz is famed for its cold, but it’s true value lies in its strength. You could strike it against stone, it won’t chip.”

“Ah, then I suppose it would survive a blow to the head.”

“Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha!”

Everyone laughed, except the Count’s people, and then, “Smash!”

Something unbelievable happened. 

Aziel swung the bottle and cracked it against a steward’s skull.

“W-What?”

The man collapsed, limp, Aziel struck him again, the steward raised his hands to defend himself, but it was no use. Aziel’s expression remained cold. He continued to strike,again, again, until blood sprayed high into the air.

Silence descended.

Only the thuds of the strikes, the steward’s moans, and the sloshing of liquor echoed.

Blood splattered Aziel’s face and his newly gifted coat. The red was shockingly vivid against the white. 

Only once the man stopped moving did Aziel uncork the bottle and pour its contents onto the corpse.

“Unlucky. Had he not stood in the front, he might’ve lived.”

He offered a mock blessing, then, raising the blood-slicked bottle to his lips, he drank.

The mix of harsh liquor and gore ran down his chin.

“Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.”

It looked as if he were drinking blood. No one dared move. Even Count Balzac stood frozen.

Aziel’s crimson eyes gleamed with madness. He closed the bottle and approached the next steward.

“Y-Your Highness …!” The man backed away in terror.

“How dare you, how dare you profit off the Empire’s mystery? Where did all this money come from, you bastards? Did you think a noble prince like me would be moved by trinkets from scum like you?”

Aziel advanced, striking heads and shoulders as he went, sending men scrambling.

“Speak! How much blood did you squeeze from this land? How much of the royal treasury did you steal? How much of the Founding Emperor’s flame did you sell for your greed?!”

Then, suddenly, he turned toward the Count.

“What are you doing, Count? Must I kill them all myself? Have you no intention of hunting the vermin feeding off the Empire’s flesh? Or are you enjoying this show?”

A veiled threat.

At last, Count Balzac snapped out of it and looked at the prince in horror.

Aziel turned to the others gathered.

“I command you, in the name of the prince, kill them all. Or bring them to me. I’ll do it myself.”

Everyone stopped breathing.

Only blood, death, and shock remained.

Aziel stood alone, his coat soaked in red, licking his lips with a satisfied grin.        Only then did they all realize, shivering from head to toe.

The mad prince had arrived in the North.