The world outside the Northern Wall was utterly different.

Snow piled so high that it reached above the knees, and at times threatened to swallow the entire body. Just wading through it was exhausting in itself.

The wind was not just sharp, it was heavy enough to shove bodies backward. Each time it blew, the snow on the ground surged upward like a blizzard, cutting visibility to nothing.

In the midst of disorienting sensations, only the sounds of snow being shoveled aside and labored breathing filled the silence … until,

“CRACK!”

A tree, burdened by snow on its branches, snapped overhead. The heavy branches fell along with clumps of snow, crashing to the forest floor with a roar. It was hard to tell if that sound had come from the falling snow, or from some monster’s cry.

Everyone instinctively froze, on high alert, scanning their surroundings … Everyone but one.

“Y-Your Highness! It’s dangerous to go ahead alone!”

Only Prince Aziel strode forward, undeterred by fear, No, it wasn’t just that he walked forward confidently.

“What’s with all this junk in the way?”

Unlike the smooth, paved roads of Steel Fortress or the Capital, this forest path was littered with snow, branches, and debris. He muttered complaints with every step.

As he swung his greatsword with wide arcs, those nearby flinched away.

Truth be told, the prince, rampaging in such a foul mood, was more dangerous than any monster. At least monsters could be fought. The prince’s temper could not.

“Your Highness, allow me to take point.”

Unable to bear it any longer, Count Balzac drew his sword and stepped forward. With a few clean swings of the glowing blade, the trees and snow blocking their path were neatly sliced away.

Andre and the elite knights of the Azurewing Order stood dumbfounded.

The cut edges of snow and wood gleamed like polished mirrors. It looked as if the very laws of nature had been severed.

Prince Aziel’s lips curled upward.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you. I’m relieved I didn’t disgrace myself with sloppy work.”

“Your skill is sufficient. Keep clearing the path.”

“…Continue? You mean me?”

“Of course. Surely you didn’t come forward just to show off. You’re the most skilled, so you should lead.”

“A-Alone?”

“Why, shall I assist you myself? With these noble hands? Are your hands more noble than mine, Count?”

“…I’ll clear the way.”

Under the prince’s sharp gaze, the count had no choice but to take the lead, cutting through the path ahead. The knights shifted uncomfortably, but with the prince behind them, there was little they could do.

“Your Highness, perhaps I should … ”

“Silence. Charging ahead without the skill is not bravery. It’s folly, commoner.”

“Yessir.”

Andre’s brief spark of courage was crushed instantly, leaving him sulking at the back.

After that, no one dared speak.

Only the slicing sound of the count’s sword and the eerie noises of the woods echoed through the group.

The prince marched forward without clear direction, simply pointing vaguely as he moved.

“Your Highness… where exactly are we going?” Sol finally asked, unable to suppress his curiosity. “I mean, I’ll shut up if you want me to …”

“There are many ways to hunt.” The prince actually answered. “Fix your face, commoner. Remember the sewers?”

Andre looked betrayed that Sol hadn’t been told to shut up.

“Yes, I remember,” Sol replied.

“To take down a powerful enemy, what did we do?”

“Hmm… We flipped their dinner table. Wrecked all their plans.”

“A good metaphor. Yes, to borrow the commoner’s words … we’re here to flip a table.”

“A… table?”

“Well, maybe not a full table. More like ruining a single dish. Whether it’s an appetizer or the main course … we’ll see.”

They stared at him, puzzled by his cryptic talk, then resumed walking in silence.

“We’ve arrived.”

After two days of trekking across the snowy North, the prince declared they had arrived.

Where they had arrived to, no one could say.

“Ugh, the smell.”

“This stench…”

“I’ve smelled it before, but what was it?”

“It’s so pungent it’s confusing.”

A strong, acrid stench wafted through the snow-laden air, so sharp it stung the nose.

Count Balzac recognized it immediately, he’d been tormented by it since childhood.

“Snowfield orcs.”

Known as another native of the North, they were a common monster. Unlike the green-skinned orcs found in the central regions, these ones had blue skin and black manes that covered their backs, a peculiar breed.

Though smaller in stature, their dense bones and agile movements made them troublesome foes. But the magnitude of this smell …Something was different.

Following the direction the prince pointed, the count swung his sword and cleared away the thick branches obscuring the view.

“Wha … !”

“By the gods.”

“That many orcs?!”

“This is no colony… it’s a massive stronghold.”

Nestled within a deeply sunken basin was a sprawling orc settlement the likes of which they had never seen.

Dozens …no, hundreds of huts lined the landscape. Smoke curled up from fires. The orcs went about their lives, unaware they were being watched.

What was chilling was not their numbers … 

“Why haven’t we detected this until now?”

“Did our Northern knights miss this?”

“Impossible. We’ve never let our guard down.”

“But this massive encampment, we’re only now discovering it.”

“That’s…”

It wasn’t due to laziness or incompetence.

Northern patrols had always been vigilant. Whenever a large orc camp was discovered, elite knights and soldiers were immediately dispatched to neutralize it.

That was how it had always been, especially with something of this size … There should’ve been noise, no lights, and no smells.

Then came the prince’s voice.

“Look at the ceiling.”

Ceiling? Not sky.

Everyone tilted their heads upward, and froze. Their eyes widened in disbelief.      The prince was right. Above the orc stronghold wasn’t the sky … it was a ceiling.

“Trees… snow… ice?”

“This is insane…”

“Snow piled atop tangled trees… blocking the sky. The heat from below turned the snow to ice, and massive icicles stretched downward like pillars. And between them… a hidden, warm habitat.”

The prince explained calmly.

All eyes turned toward him, stunned. Of course, this information came from a report he’d read in a previous life. But no one here knew that. To them, it seemed as if he had deduced everything on the spot.

Shock and awe swirled through the group.

Until just yesterday, he had been a crude, volatile prince with a bad temper.  

And now… now he sounded like a sage. A strategist. A seer.

What were they supposed to make of him?

Staring into the encampment, the prince smirked.

“Don’t you think it’s odd, Count? Does this look like a mere coincidence? A natural miracle?”

“…”

Deep lines carved into Balzac’s brow, he clenched his jaw, as if chewing on something bitter. He didn’t want to accept the truth, but he had to.It was as if the fog before his eyes cracked open.

“No… too many coincidences. It’s… I’ve heard something like this before.”

His voice was low, strained. Lately, that hoarseness had become more frequent.

Memories stirred within him …Of a stormy window, a warm bed, the faint scent of incense, and his mother’s voice. Soft, but heavy with foreboding.

From one of the old legends she used to tell … A legend not unlike this.

“An igloo.”

At those words, the prince nodded with satisfaction.

“Yes. It’s crude, but unmistakably resembles the igloos said to be the Eskimos’ nests.”

The Northerners around him turned pale, as if about to faint.

What in the world was happening? A crude igloo … made by orcs?

Then… did that mean … 

“Are you saying these orcs follow the Eskimos? All of them?”

A knight behind the count asked in a trembling voice. But the prince ignored the question and looked amused.

“Oh? Are those wolves over there? White wolves? Strange color, though.”

He pointed into the distance.

“Grrr… Bark! Bark!”

A pack of wolves stood nearby, easily over two meters tall with grey fur. They barked furiously, clearly having caught the scent of strangers. They resembled the white wolves of the North, but their fur was off-colored, their bodies smaller, their demeanor far more aggressive.

Something had changed …And this discovery was only the beginning.