What the Frontier Count himself couldn’t do …  No, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t do it. As the Frontier Count, it was simply something he couldn’t. But as a prince, it was possible. If he were to strike directly at the powers set to keep the count in check, the central nobility would inevitably suspect rebellion.
Moreover, those powers controlled the lives of the northern people, and so, for a long time, hesitation had outweighed determination. But the prince, with nothing but a bottle of liquor, toppled the count’s long-standing burden and pain in an instant, as though mocking it all.

If, thanks to that, the situation in the North improved, then so be it.

“A hell of a storm this will be.”

But thinking of the pain they’d have to endure before that improvement, his head throbbed.  It felt like finally cleaning out the garbage he’d ignored for far too long.

Should those administrators request help from the central government and trigger an audit, it would only grow more exhausting.

“…Should I just kill them all and claim ignorance?”

Even such extreme thoughts crossed his mind. But he shook his head. That was absurd. Perhaps the prince’s outrageous behavior had left a deeper impression than expected. As he sat, great shoulders hunched, pondering the path forward …

“Lord! Lord!”

A voice called out urgently from somewhere, followed by the door to the office bursting open without a knock. But the Frontier Count ‘Balzac’ did not scold the intrusion.Rather, he rose awkwardly, instantly scanning the room. His posture shifted instinctively, like a beast preparing for battle.

“What is it? Don’t tell me… were yetis hiding in the blizzard?”

At the pinpointed prediction, the aide who had rushed in gasped and nodded.

“Yes! Roughly twenty yetis have appeared at the Northern Wall!”

“Tch. Any casualties? Did they leap the wall? Or…?”

Though it was a serious matter, it wasn’t entirely unheard of. Balzac was preparing to assess the situation when a flicker of dread crossed his face.

“His Highness! Wasn’t the prince dining atop the wall?!”

Damn it all! Why dinner there?! Why tonight of all nights?! What cursed nonsense is this?!

Swallowing the curses and outrage bubbling within, he braced himself for the rest.

“Yes, sir! While His Highness was dining atop the wall, the yetis swarmed in!”

“So he drew that much attention. Was there a battle?”

“Fortunately, thanks to taking the knight order and mage corps, they were safe. The Snow-white Knights have also deployed to guard him. There should be no issue. But… there are reports of flames erupting atop the wall.”

“Flames? What do you mean by, never mind. Let’s go. I’ll drag him down myself if I have to. He wouldn’t dare break my skull, would he?”

He stormed through the corridor with powerful strides, grabbing his helmet just in case, and made his way toward the Northern Wall where the prince was last seen.

“Count! Count!”

Right on the heels of the previous messenger came another aide, his voice even more urgent. A creeping unease tickled the back of Balzac’s neck … Something felt wrong.

The messenger rounded the corner and locked eyes with the count.

“The Frozen Ground! Sir, Frozen Ones have appeared!”

The instant he uttered those dreadful words, his face pale … 

“BOOM!”

Balzac shot forward like an explosion.

Eskimos on the Northern Wall?!
That alone warranted a top-level emergency.

And the fact that the prince was there made it the absolute worst-case scenario.

“Damn it all! Shit! Damned cursed mess!”

For the first time in many years, Balzac, once a fierce young warrior, unleashed the curses of his youth without reserve.

He tore through the howling wind.

His martial prowess ranked among the best of the Empire’s swordmasters.
A low-level blizzard was nothing more than a breeze to him. 

Moving like a streak of deep violet, both straight and curved, he raced toward the wall.

“Northern Wall! Prepare for battle!”

The moment it came into view, he poured mana into his voice and bellowed.             In response to their lord’s urgent command, the vast Northern Wall sprang to life. Even in the deepening night, torches flared brightly. Soldiers trained through relentless drills moved in perfect coordination.

Balzac noted this with a hint of satisfaction, but pressed on in haste. No matter how well-trained they were, if the prince was dead or injured, none of it would matter.
He would lose more than honor, he would lose everything. And truthfully, he was curious.

What exactly was that Prince Aziel scheming?
How had he changed so dramatically?
What kind of upheaval was he about to unleash?

He had done what the count had long been unable to do. And so … 

“Protect His Highness!” He shouted with all his strength.

Just for a moment, buy some time until I arrive!

At last, he reached the most densely packed area, where a faint scent of blood lingered. With one great leap … 

“THUMP!”

“Where is His Highness?!”

He landed atop the wall in a single bound. The rescuer had arrived.

Truthfully, Balzac had fantasized about this moment as a younger man, a rugged northern knight, appearing in the nick of time to rescue a royal in peril. 

In those daydreams, the royal was, of course, a princess. Not a prince. But this would do.

“Who dares threaten a royal heir of the Empire, wretched scum of the Frozen Ground?!”

He roared indignantly … 

“His Highness has already left.”

Garon blinked at him, looking utterly bewildered. Balzac scanned the area and confirmed,there was no prince. Not even a trace of the mage corps or knights remained.

“W-what? Left? To where? The heavens? The afterlife?”

The ridiculous words slipped from his mouth without thought. After running here at full speed, where else could the prince have possibly gone?

“I’ll have revenge … !”

“Wait! No! My lord, please calm yourself! His Highness is alive. And safe.”

Garon scrambled to pull his lord back from the brink of treason.

“What? Then where is he? Didn’t you say the Es … no, the Frozen Ones …had appeared?”

“That is true, but the meal ended without incident. He’s now headed toward the bonfire.”

“No incident at all? Are you being serious?”

“Yes. Allow me to explain.”

And so Garon began his account.

Of the yetis appearing during dinner. Of the prince’s fire. Of the voice they all heard amidst the blizzard. Of the prince’s arrogant remarks and laughter …And of the humiliation Garon had suffered.

Balzac’s expression shifted constantly as he listened.

When he reached the part where the final yetis had placed their hands on the wall, and the Eskimos had begun to climb toward the prince … 

Even the apex of the North, Balzac himself, held his breath.

What sort of conversation had taken place between a descendant of the founding emperor and the ancient phantoms once defeated by him?

Had they fought over the fate of the world?
Had he declared his intent to protect all?

No … this prince was no legendary hero. If anything, he likely declared the Empire as his own and reveled in chaos.

Yes… that felt far more fitting.

As Balzac entertained such legendary imaginings … 

“Before they even reached him, His Highness severed the yeti’s arm with a sword.”

“…What?”

Garon’s words struck like lightning. The prince had cut the creature’s arm off in a single blow.

His mind went blank, as if buried in snow.

“What did you just say?”

As if understanding the dazed question, Garon gave a solemn nod.

He had witnessed it himself.

“Exactly as I said. As the creature tried to climb, His Highness severed its arm. It’s still hanging there.”

“…That’s it?”

“He did say a few things afterward.”

“What did he say?”

Now too mentally exhausted to even react, Balzac asked dully.

Garon cleared his throat a few times, then spoke in the most arrogant tone he could muster.

“‘A savage who doesn’t even know how to wield fire dares to meet my gaze? Crawl on the ground. Then I may consider speaking with you.’”

“…Ah. Aha.”

“‘O frozen-brained Eskimo. Listen well. Covet not the flame, nor the lands beyond this wall. Lest you repeat the shame you suffered at the hands of my ancient forebear.’”

“…Ohh.”

“‘That’s all I have to say. Now get lost … back to your filthy, frozen shacks.’”

“…Did it just stand there?”

“When there was no response, His Highness simply laughed. For quite some time.”

“Whoooooooosh.”

A different kind of wind swept over the Northern Wall.

Balzac slowly nodded, trying to grasp it all.

“…Does that even make sense?”

He asked again, desperate for clarity.

“It doesn’t. But it’s the truth.”

All Garon could do was rub his reddened nose and shrug.

The two of them stared out past the Northern Wall, something mournful in their shared gaze.

And then … 

“BOOM! WHOOMPH! WHOOOMPH!”

Loud explosions rang out.

“The bonfire! The bonfire’s burning again!”

Soldiers buzzed with excitement as they turned toward the distant blaze.

“Haah… this is exhausting…”

Balzac couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He simply wiped the corner of one reddened eye. And Garon, ever dutiful, reached out to gently pat his lord’s broad back. Even a man like him , strong and unmoving like the wall itself, needed comfort sometimes