The cabin the red-nosed old man guided them to was unexpectedly cozy.

A warm fireplace crackled at the center, filling the air with the savory aroma of smoke-soaked meat. The walls were lined with cured game, and earthen jars filled with fruit-infused spirits and honey mead sat cooling in snow-packed alcoves. When scooping a bit of snow into a cup and pouring the sharp liquor over it, the drink went down as smoothly as an expensive aged wine, fragrant and clear.

“This here’s a once-a-year batch of blackberry and mint, steeped in glacier streamwater deep in the mountains,” the red-nosed elder declared with pride. “Pairs perfectly with this smoked haunch of a mountain-hairy stag. Now you take a slice of this thin meat, savor that saltiness on your tongue, and then, just a sip of the drink, and oooh, it’s sweet and savory at once, a real treat, ‘krk’!”

As he spoke, his own description must have stirred his appetite, because he cut himself off with a loud lip smack, eyes gleaming at the thought of it.

But before he could ramble further … 

“Can we just eat already!?”

Even Count Balzac, known for his unshakable patience, snapped with irritation. That alone was a testament to the exhausting, bizarre nature of the recent battle, and the collective gnawing hunger they’d carried away from it. It seemed only food and drink could plug the hollow in their hearts left by what they’d seen.

The old man coughed awkwardly, rubbed his strawberry-colored nose, and nodded. Only then did everyone at the table dig in, biting into slabs of meat, tearing dense bread into hunks, dipping it into fruity liquor and swallowing it down in haste.

“I’ve prepared a special selection of cuts and brews just for the prince! This particular slice … ”

“No need to explain,” the prince said flatly.

“But I carefully crafted this speech … ”

“Your effort is noted. The food is appreciated.”

“…Understood.”

With his firm refusal, the old man let out a soft sniff and turned away with sagging shoulders. But not a moment later, he was already mingling among the others, laughing boisterously and drinking like he’d never been snubbed.

The prince sat slightly apart from the crowd, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, staring into the fire.

[You glimpse the fate: hunting, tracking, survival, and drunken rambling. Target belongs to the Order of Old Soldiers. Ancient wisdom stirs and begins to seek you out.]

[You have devoured the fate of the great orc: warband, ferocity, endurance, ambition! Gained a large amount of Fate Mutation Points! By consuming both the life and destiny of the target, you have acquired Mystic Points!]

[Mystic: Flame Emperor’s Core has enveloped and evaporated a lesser frost mystic. Part of the Eskimo mystic has been sealed. The original master has noticed. Fate’s trajectory is shifting.]

Even now, the windows of fate rippled and chimed noisily.

Like the crackling fire before him, countless destinies twisted, clashed, ignited, cooled, surged, and then slowly dimmed.

No doubt the Eskimos, those who had gifted mystic power to that orc, had now realized part of their essence had been destroyed.

Inside the prince’s mind, new strategies, new futures were already being assembled, one cog turning into another.

Still, for now, he simply chewed on a strip of smoked meat and swallowed a sip of fruit liquor. The salty richness of the meat, the aromatic sweetness of fermented fruit, it all lingered faintly on his tongue.

Drowsiness crept in. The firelight soothed him.

He allowed himself a fleeting, indulgent thought: perhaps when all the war was over, when the struggle to survive had ended, moments like these wouldn’t be so bad. Quiet. Warm. Alive.

A sudden, sharp sensation brushed his cheek, someone watching him.

He turned.

“…What are you all staring at?”

The lively chatter of meat and bread, mugs and mugs of strong drink, all of it had gone quiet. The others, who’d been loudly feasting just moments ago, were now all gazing at him.

Caught in the act, their eyes quickly darted away. But it was clear, their attention had been fixed on him for a while now.

In such moments … 

“Commoner, why were you looking at me? Speak.”

Blaming Andre was always a safe choice.

“A-ah… no reason, sire. I was just… looking.”

“All of you? Just ‘looking’? You’d best tell the truth. Unless you’d prefer a long, chilly walk through the snowy forest tonight.”

“Is that just for me…?”

“Yes.”

As Andre stammered, the others scrambled to signal him, eyes darting, fingers twitching, urging him not to speak. But in the end … 

“Pack your gear. Scout for enemy movement. Return when you’ve confirmed the area is secure.”

Andre, deciding he wouldn’t go down alone, puffed out his chest and delivered his line while deliberately ignoring Count Balzac’s increasingly threatening glare. He even cupped his hands to block his view of the others, like a fool trying to silence the audience.

Was he truly a knight? Or had they mistakenly recruited a traveling fool?

“Sire… noble and wise as always, surely you had a reason. What did you see in that orc? Why did you call him noble in the end?”

“You mean that?”

“Yes. You suddenly grew quiet, and some of us, well, one of us, suspected that perhaps you were just charging up for some larger catastrophe…”

“Hic! I-it wasn’t me! Sol didn’t think that at all!”

“Anyway, we’re curious. What did that fight mean? What’s next? We’d like to hear it, if you’re willing.”

The entire group leaned forward slightly. Even the red-nosed elder had gone still, staring into his cup.

A beat passed. The prince smiled crookedly at the sight.

[The thoughts of those who know you converge, giving birth to a new fate! Sub-fate: Expectation now surrounds you!]

[Those caught between awe and hope will now follow most of your actions without hesitation.]

Expectation, of all things, blooming in the life of a tyrant. How strange.

The question wasn’t hard. So he sipped his liquor again, let the sweetness dance in his mouth, and answered slowly.

“Anyone who resists fate is noble. That orc chose the right path in the end. That alone was worth praising.”

“And the battle itself?” Count Balzac asked, unable to contain himself.

“You mean why I didn’t kill him quickly?”

“…Yes. You risked much.”

“If I said I did it because it was fun, or beautiful, what then?”

Count Balzac gave a low chuckle.

“If that were your answer, I could finally accept it. Given who you are, sire,it would make perfect sense.”

“You’re half right. But that’s not the whole of it. You’ve been thinking I’m just some madman this entire time, haven’t you? How disgraceful. Alfred, make note of the Count’s insolence.”

“At once, sire.”

Whether it was the rebuke or the unexpected retort, Balzac looked genuinely struck.

Trying to understand the prince always backfired.

The prince chuckled at their stunned faces, chewing a bite of meat before continuing.

“Balzac, how long has Northwall stood?”

“A long time.”

“And your house has fought the Eskimos before, hasn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

“And yet, they remain. The north stays cold. Why?”

“Because we never destroyed their mystic… is that it?”

“Correct. At last, a sensible answer. You can kill them a hundred times, but unless the mystic is undone, they’ll return. The cold will remain. Do you know why?”

The fire cast eerie shadows across the cabin as wind moaned faintly through the cracks.

“Because mystics persist. If they endure, the wielder cannot truly die.”

“Yes. Records tell of their deaths. Heads were severed, but their mystics remained untouched. Not even the sharpest sword could break them. So, was that battle a lesson in how to kill mystics?”

“That’s not quite right. You can’t kill mystics.”

“Then… what happened?”

“I didn’t kill it. I sealed it. That’s one method to neutralize a mystic.”

“Mystics aren’t simply things to hold. If that were the case, there’d be no need for warriors or training. No need for a sword or a spell.”

“If not to possess,then to bear?”

“Exactly. You must be worthy. Live with purpose. And if you stray, if you lack resolve, then the mystic will consume you.”

“Then… the orc was consumed?”

“Yes. The Eskimos showed him dreams and desire. He believed in them. But in the end, he was too small. That piece of the mystic won’t return to them. Once rejected, it won’t go back. They’ve lost a part of themselves,permanently.”

Everyone stared in silence, unease creeping into their eyes.

“But… how did you know how to seal it?” someone whispered.

And he’d said it was only one way?

The firelight seemed to melt into the prince’s pale hair, painting him in gold.

Even his lips, red and flushed with drink, seemed to glow faintly.

“Because I’m noble. Exceptional. Brilliant.”

So said the prince, with ridiculous arrogance.

“Have you forgotten? I’m royalty. Knowing what commoners can’t, it’s only natural. Now quit asking questions and follow me properly.”

That was the end of it.

Arrogant. Abrupt. Dismissive.

But instead of annoyance, soft smiles broke out around the fire.

They were used to this by now.

They trusted there was more behind his words.

As they returned to their meal … 

“Sniff sniff…”

They’re here. Smells like damp old soldiers too stubborn to die.

”The red-nosed elder suddenly stood and threw open the heavy door.”

“WHOOOSH.”

“Cold wind poured inside.”

And with it, 

“We saw the signal. The prince is here.”

“Get inside, you decrepit slowpokes! Cold wind, I’ll make His Highness sick!”

“Wind in our bones is one thing, but for the prince? You senile fool, he’s nothing like us!”

And just like that, the elders arrived.

And the hunt was not yet over.