Once revered as spiritual beasts, the white wolves of the North were a symbol of nobility. The coveted White Wolf Medal was bestowed only upon the bravest knights and soldiers. 

But now, the creatures that barked and drooled before them bore no resemblance to such revered beasts.

And the truly shocking scene came next … 

“Shiiiiik”!
 

An orc appeared out of nowhere and bellowed something unintelligible. At once, the wolves stopped barking.

The orc was commanding them. An orc … controlling wolves? It was absurd.

The prideful, lofty white wolves… tamed by orcs?

“They must’ve been crossbred,” the prince observed. “But can orcs even do that?”

Crossbreeding? Selective breeding? 

That would require intelligence. Planning. Time. Effort. If orcs had that kind of brainpower, they’d have formed a kingdom long ago.

Though phrased as a question, the prince’s words were already an answer. 

Central knights stared in disbelief.

Northern knights, faces bleached of color, staggered back in silent horror.

Not merely shocked but ashamed.

“How could this happen…”

“It’s our failure.”

“Count, we must rally the troops immediately.”

“The Tundra has begun controlling monsters…”

They were ashamed of their oversight, tormented by the realization.

Worse still was the time they had spent misidentifying the true enemy, wasting their strength on the wrong battles.

Count Balzac’s expression, in particular, was agonized.

No one could bring themselves to criticize them.

Except, of course … 

“You pitiful fools. Stop gawking and use your brains. No wonder you’ve achieved nothing all this time. Idiots.”

Prince Aziel, who didn’t give a damn. He scolded them outright. When the Northerners gasped, choked by his words … 

“Wipe those stupid looks off your faces. Who cares if they’re working with the Eskimos or not? Sitting here shocked doesn’t change anything.”

“Change… what, exactly?” one knight asked, weakly.

“Exactly. Has your mission changed?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then what is your mission, Count Balzac? What of the March Warden’s oath? The role of the North? What have you endured all this bitter cold and sacrifice for? Just to stand here slack-jawed and stammering?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Answer me properly. Why are you here? Why have you struggled and refined yourself until you reached such heights?”

Color began to return to Balzac’s face …Yes. He had not forgotten.

The pride of the North. Its shield. Its final line of defense.

“To protect the Empire from the external winds. To renew and stand unyielding. That is the North’s duty, and I, Balzac Dvorjak, was appointed to carry it out.”

His declaration rang into the silence like a war horn.

There was a sea of enemies ahead. Orcs, wolves. And surely more would follow.

Yet in that moment, the prince’s question and the count’s vow echoed with the solemnity of the Founding Emperor and the very first March Warden.

“What do those external winds consist of? Is it just the blizzards?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then what is it?”

“Everything that threatens the North. Even the Eskimos,those who once fought the Founding Emperor himself. To slay them. To seize their ankles so they never breach our walls. That is my duty. That is the duty of House Dvorjak, and of the North!”

Though spoken quietly, Balzac’s voice carried immense weight. Surrounded by enemies, his voice may have been small, but its meaning was monumental.

Even the eerie silence of the forest seemed to lend brilliance to his vow.

At those words, the prince smiled …genuinely.

“Yes. That’s the spirit. Your mission hasn’t changed just because your enemy is stronger. Your duty is to hold the line. Not to flinch, but to figure out how to hold it. That’s why I came here. Isn’t that why you came too?”

Flames of conviction ignited in the Northerners’ eyes.

Yes.

Whether the enemy had changed or grown stronger, whether this was an unfamiliar alliance or a massive stronghold, it didn’t matter.

They would stop it. They would not let the North’s cold bleed into the Empire.

With resolve in their hearts, their spines straightened, and dignity replaced dismay.

At last, they looked like true Northerners.

“Your Highness, give the order! Let the knights and soldiers of the North gather,we shall sweep through the wastes beyond the wall!”

“We shall!”

The count’s rallying cry and the knights’ unified voices resounded together in perfect harmony.Even the central knights, carried by the fervor, knelt beside their Northern comrades.

They too were knights. How could they not be moved?

And at the center of it all stood the prince, tall and proud.

His platinum hair swayed softly in the wind. His crimson eyes gleamed like twin flames. He fastened his white coat, stained now with blood, with calm solemnity.

“Then, Count,does your vow to defend the Empire… include me?”

“Of course! I will lay down my life to protect you! Just say the word!”

The count swore it to his face, boldly.

“Very well. Then protect me.”

The prince smiled, satisfied, and nodded.

All around, faces were lit with excitement. They anticipated a grand battle to come. Then he spoke again.

“Right now.”

And with that, he stomped once and hurled himself from the cliff overlooking the basin below.

The prince’s figure, suspended in midair, with his hair streaming behind him and his eyes gleaming with wild, playful madness … 

“Your Highness!”

He disappeared beneath the cliff, there wasn’t even time to stop him.            Everyone froze… 

“There’s no time to gather! I told you … it’s hunting time!”

His voice echoed behind him, echoing and receding. The moment he leapt, wind whipped past his ears, tore at his hair. His coat flared behind him like wings.

As he thought of the stunned faces he left behind, he laughed.

The gasps, the wide eyes, the sheer disbelief, it was all so delightful.

“Maybe I really am going insane.”

What had started as half an act had become half the truth. The life of a mad prince… was more enjoyable than expected.

Behind him … 

“Your Highnessss!! Waaaah!!”

Andre screamed as he fell, flailing his arms.

“Wait for me!”

Sol floated beside them, hovering thanks to magic.

“…”

“I said some really cool lines earlier. I was really cool…”

Alfred and Count Balzac scaled the cliffside in pursuit. Balzac’s grumbling made the prince laugh again.

The clear, ringing laugh caught fire in his chest.

From his heart, flames surged outward, engulfing his whole body and heating Breaker, his greatsword.

Fwoooosh!

The rushing wind buffeted his body, but he pulled his limbs in, adjusting his posture midair. He gathered flame at the tip of his sword, and more … He pulled the wind into it … More.

Breaker glowed red-hot, a star falling from the sky.

In the distance below … 

“Krurk? Kreeegh?”

“Shkreeeee!”

Orcs, poking their heads out of their homes to investigate the commotion, now turned toward the sky.

Hideous. Grotesque.Repulsive.

He hated the sight of them, so he shouted …

“Burn!”

He landed. And at the very moment his boots struck earth, he swung, Breaker and released all the gathered fire.

“FWOOOOOOOM!”

The blaze surged forward, melting snow, tearing through earth and buildings alike. Huts exploded, Orcs screamed.

“PHUUUU-WOOOOOO”!

A war horn sounded …The stronghold had awakened. But as the flames consumed the huts and monsters alike … 

So too , did Aziel’s madness awaken.