Though the heat rising in the street was real, it was as if a sudden cold had fallen over the people.
The prince’s words had landed with the force of a blade, spreading panic in every direction.

The expressions of the Northerners around the count stiffened too much, too fast. Just when the count had hoped to leave the people with a positive impression of the prince, all of it was shattered with a single sentence. If he had just stayed silent, the people’s gratitude would’ve naturally turned toward him.

“Uh, uhh… Did… did he just say…?”
“What did he just say…?”

Just moments ago, the people near the count had been chattering gratefully, warmed by fire and relief, but now they muttered in hushed tones, gulping down fear. Some turned their heads, pretending not to have heard at all.

Was the prince enjoying their reactions?

“I said, let’s go on an Eskimo hunt, Count!”

He spoke the name of the Frozen Ones again.

A chorus of screams and gasps followed. People immediately scattered, fleeing back into their homes.

Though the heat from the bonfire still lingered, a chill crawled into their bones.

It wasn’t only the commoners who were shaken by the name Eskimo.

“Ahem, h-hm.”
“Your Highness… how do you know that name?”
“Count, shouldn’t you stop him?”

The knights beside Count Balzac couldn’t hide their unease. There was no need to voice that name among Northerners … Doing so only stoked fear.

Yet the prince smiled brightly, unaffected by their concerns.

Had it been the prince of the past, Balzac would’ve despised him.
A foolish royal who rampaged without understanding fear, mocked behind a smiling mask. But now, as he stood in the midst of raging heat and cold, winds and stillness, the prince resembled the very North itself.

“What… are you thinking?”

The question slipped out of the count’s mouth.

At first, he thought the prince had changed a little. Cracking the heads of corrupt administrators had been surprising. News of encounters with yetis and Eskimos … shocking.

One could be a chance. Two, a coincidence. But three in a single day? No. This was intentional. 

The count was now certain. The prince had changed. And now, he was using madness and cruelty as tools, scheming something in the North. Had anyone else said so, they’d be called mad. But after looking into the prince’s eyes …  Balzac dared not dismiss the thought. Beneath the gleaming madness, he glimpsed something colder. Something vast.

The prince, watching the count closely, began walking toward him from afar.

“Crunch, crunch.”

His footsteps pressed against snow that had yet to melt.
Each step was regal. Like a storm on approach.

Balzac flinched as he felt sweat trickle down his temple.

When had he last broken into a cold sweat facing someone?

As a swordmaster who had reached his peak, he hadn’t felt intimidated in years.   But as the prince drew near, he had to flare his own presence just to hold ground.

Even so … he sweat. It wasn’t a matter of strength. It was a matter of aura, of weight. Noble blood and overwhelming madness shook the unyielding wall that was Count Balzac.

“Gulp”. The sound of his swallow rang in his ears. Like the tension before a duel to the death. 

At last, the prince stood before him.

“You’re not afraid,” he said, amusement curling his lips, “even after hearing that name.”

The count answered in a subdued voice, one that even he found constrained.

“Are you not afraid, Your Highness?”

“Why would I be?”

“They were said to have matched the founding emperor himself. The curse of the North, present since ages past.”

“Matched?”

The prince frowned, repeating the count’s chosen word. Then he spat it out like a bad taste.

“Does the North call defeat a match now? That’s new.”

A ghostly moan echoed, like the cry of a spirit, and the color drained from the count’s face.

While others quivered at the name Eskimo, unable to see past the myth … The count was different. He seemed more confused than afraid. That confusion was directed squarely at the prince. It was… satisfying. A relief, even.

The leader of the North wasn’t some fool paralyzed by an old name.

“So then, Count, do you also see the Eskimos as terrifying foes?”

He asked, not to mock, but to awaken something.

The count slowly shook his head.

“Not foes to fear. Foes to be wary of.”

“Because they’re strong? Strong enemies exist beyond the wall and within it, don’t they?”

“…You’re right.”

“Then are you planning to give all monsters nicknames and tremble before them?”

“…No.”

“Is that so? That’s all you have to say, Count?”

As the prince tilted his head, the air around them grew taut. No one could guess what he was aiming for, only that he kept pressing.

Newly arrived knights observed the tense standoff, unable to step in. A duel not of blades but of words.

The prince questioned. The count …

“Then teach me, Your Highness.”

 …. replied with honest humility.

This was why wise bears were terrifying. But the prince wasn’t about to reveal his hand so easily. He let the silence linger, smirking. The count sweated while others sighed in frustration.

Then, after a moment … 

“The Frozen Ones are not enemies to fear. They are enemies to block … no, to conquer. The name Frozen Ground was made to define a distant border. But do they still belong there, Count?”

“……”

“Let me ask again. The Frozen Ones … no, the Eskimos, are they foes to fear?”

“No. They are foes we must repel.”

“Then what of now? Look around you.”

“!”

“The times have changed. So have your people. What once was mysterious becomes terror when left unchallenged. Do you think the will of your ancestors is still the same as yours? Have you ever tried to look beneath the snow covering the North? Have you ever truly seen the land buried underneath?”

The prince’s question struck hard.

The count’s eyes widened. He looked around quickly … His knights avoided his gaze.

Was that the grinding of teeth?
Or the sound of long-standing illusions breaking?

“Go. There are those looking for you.”

The prince deliberately stepped aside. Before the count could say anything, he turned.

“I will prepare for the hunt. Return when you’ve found your answer.”

Leaving the count and his men in stunned silence, he walked away. He did not turn around.

Looking back would ruin the effect.

[You have consumed Count Balzac’s lower fate,stagnation. Large Destiny Shift Points acquired!]
[The target attempts to uncover the truth of this place! His fate and that of the land begin to change!]
[A new path trembles between rebellion and defeat, loyalty and triumph!]

The flickering fate-threads made him smile.

Balzac fled back to the castle, nearly stumbling. He had received reports on the way, but the words had blurred together. He couldn’t comprehend them. His legs, which had never wavered even when running the long distance from the castle to the Northern Wall, now trembled.

No … it wasn’t just his legs. His entire body was numb.

“A mental demon”.

The count immediately diagnosed himself.

In martial cultivation, such a state “heart demon”,was triggered by internal conflict:; envy, pride, impatience, anger, desire…

The problem was that he was a ‘mastered swordmaster’. That he could feel a heart demon just from the prince’s words …  that Was proof of how dangerous and shocking it all was.

Sitting in his study, he took a deep breath, settling himself.

“Search the records. Find out why they were called the Frozen Ones. Everything. Bring anyone who can help.”

He gave the order, masking the tremble in his voice.

Then … 

“Count, Young Master Cardis has arrived.”

“Let him in.”

The eldest son he had once sent to escort the prince entered the study.

Broad-shouldered, with a face much like his father’s. His aura hinted at deep sword training, not unlike Balzac himself.

The scene shifted once more, and the hunt had only just begun.