The northern region of the Empire, often called the Everfrost Land. A place where snow-storms raged for more than half the year, and even corpses, frozen solid in the fierce cold, could not decay. 

They said that being trapped amid the ceaseless snow and white landscape gave one the sensation of time itself being buried, along with all feelings. Perhaps that was why so many philosophers hailed from the North. Some said it was because they had too much time to think. Others argued it was the environment itself, one that could so easily drive a person mad. But those who had experienced the North firsthand would tell you otherwise, that it was precisely because they were strong enough not to go mad, that they became philosophers. That they overcame a landscape maddening to any soul, endured it through deep contemplation, and kindled a flame of their own within.

Those who withstood the cold, the snow, and the presence of death kindled their own flame, sometimes within the flesh, sometimes within the spirit.

Northerners were proud of their resilient minds and bodies. They took pride in being the bastion of the Empire itself. Because they had survived this terrible land, because they were strong, so strong, they believed it was they who had protected the Empire. Perhaps that was why, 

“Can His Highness the Prince endure this frozen land?”

“Hmm. That remains to be seen.”

“There’s nothing to see. Someone who’s lived a life of comfort in the palace, how could he possibly withstand the North’s cold?”

“Hey now, that’s a bit much. There’s no need to stir up unnecessary discord.”

“Especially Prince Aziel. Prince Aziel. That infamous prince. What on earth were they thinking, sending him here?”

“Enough. Go any further, and that becomes an insult.”

“But, Father … “

“I said enough. Even I find myself growing irritated just listening to this.”

Northerners were often sensitive to the weaknesses of others. It was only after their father’s stern warning that the sons finally held their tongues. Yet their faces brimmed with dissatisfaction.

This was the House of Count Dvorak, guardians of the North.

In the middle of the day, on the snow-covered northern train platform, the Border Count stood with his two sons, those who would one day inherit his title, awaiting the arrival of the prince.

Snow fell steadily over the train station, chilling to the bone. 

The father, looking up at the cold white, changed the subject.

“They say there was an attack by demons.”

“It’s not looking good. Things beyond the northern wall have already been unstable, and now demons are appearing out of nowhere.”

“The state of the bonfires isn’t great either. And the managers… well, they’re all a mess.”

“That’s why, if anything, they should have at least sent the Seventh Prince. The one who can use magic.”

“Exactly. This is about protecting the northern territory of the Empire. What were they thinking?”

As the sons’ complaints continued, the father sighed and shook his head. 

Still young, still full of fire.

“What about Violet? Even if it’s Prince Aziel arriving, shouldn’t she be here to greet him?”

“Ah, the young lady left. Said her duties with the knight order were more important.”

“What? She left on a mission? Without even so much as a greeting?”

The sons, and even his only daughter, how would any of them ever adapt to political life with personalities like this?

The old butler standing nearby let a small smile escape.

It seemed the Count had forgotten the story from his own youth, when, on his very first day stepping into central politics, he’d smashed a wine bottle over the head of a noble who insulted the North. 

By comparison, the children were positively mild-mannered. Though of course, he didn’t say this out loud. 

He simply smiled, deep wrinkles lining his face.

“So then, where is the eldest?”

“According to the latest report, he should be arriving soon.”

And just as that report had been received …

“Whooo-oooo,!”

Through the distant haze of snow, a train emerged, steam billowing behind it.          Its form gradually grew clearer with the steady rhythm of iron wheels clacking against tracks.

The prince had arrived.

“Everyone, prepare to receive him.”

The Border Count bent at the waist, preparing to welcome the prince first.

“What are you two doing?”

He frowned as he looked at his sons, who remained standing stiff and upright.       He could tolerate a bit of informality among family, but this was not the time to express it so openly. He was just about to scold his grown sons, something he hadn’t done in a while, when … 

“Uh, Father, look at that. That… that’s the train His Highness is on, right?”

“Uh, uh… it’s stopping. That thing is stopping?”

At the alarm in his sons’ voices, Count Balzac lifted his gaze.

“Wait. Didn’t they say the eldest was coming with him?”

He too expressed doubt.

The train, having just pushed through the snowstorm onto the platform, was in a miserable state. Its compartments, most of them, were missing. Only one remained, and even that one was ripped to shreds. It seemed the train had expended all its strength just to crawl into view. It didn’t even make it to the center of the platform, halting near the edge.

The Northerners exchanged glances, and slowly began to grasp their weapons.

Could there be demons aboard?

The Count’s expression grew especially grim.

Could it be… the prince had died? The eldest son too? There was no way the prince would be aboard such a wreck. Was this a trap by the demons? Were the prince and the eldest traveling via another route?

He hadn’t had so many thoughts since taking over the family.

Just as they approached the train … 

“Clank, clank,bang!”

Someone rattled the door harshly, then tore it apart.

A long leg stepped forward, followed by a figure who planted himself firmly on the snowy platform.

“Your Highness?”

Aziel, the Eleventh Prince.

It was almost unbelievable that he had been in battle, for his platinum hair was pristine, and his white coat matched the blowing snow as if it were tailored from it. Only his crimson eyes stood out vividly against the sea of white. After scanning the area briefly, his gaze met that of Count Balzac.

“It’s been a while, Father-in-law.”

Ah … no, not yet, huh? The smug grin that followed his tasteless jest froze everyone in place.

Upon seeing the faint fury and revulsion that flickered across Count Balzac’s face, Aziel’s lips curled upward.

But then, 

“Wahahahaha! Your Highness still has such a sharp wit! This humble Count is ever impressed! Wahahahahaha!”

Count Balzac burst into hearty laughter, covering his true expression. The way he forced laughter upon those around him was amusing in its own way.

Aziel took a moment to observe their reactions.

The old butler and a few vassals joined in the forced laughter, but the two sons remained silent.

No … in truth, most did not laugh.

Aziel made sure to memorize the faces of those who did. 

Northerners were often mocked as dumb bears, but bears were not foolish animals. In fact, few creatures were more dangerous than a bear who had learned wisdom and how to survive in the world. In that regard, it was fortunate that the Count was a clever bear. The sons, however, might need a little disciplining.

“The Count’s reactions are quite enjoyable. It’s tempting to keep joking. I think life in the North will be rather amusing.”

Aziel’s calm remark drew shocked expressions from everyone present, including the Count. The prince, known for his arrogance and cruelty, offering someone praise?

Even Balzac couldn’t hide his surprise.

Aziel merely smiled as he walked through them. Behind him trailed only a few agents from the Imperial Intelligence Bureau, including Andre and Sol.

The Count, his expression uneasy, approached with a question.

“Did my eldest son not come to greet you? I heard there was a demon attack.”

“We met. Both the demons and your eldest son.”

“Then… where are they? Are they following behind?”

“They couldn’t accompany me. As you can see, there wasn’t much room left in the carriage.”

The crowd began to murmur. 

At a raise of the Count’s hand, silence fell once more, with a nod from him, several subordinates quietly left the platform. The Count’s gaze turned ice cold. When it came to his children, it seemed he could not conceal his inner thoughts.

“Was it the kind of place where fallen demons turned to snow? Was it my son?”

“And if it was? If he died trying to protect me?”

Aziel’s voice remained calm, but his words struck like cold steel.

The Count bit down for a moment before replying.

“Then I must honor the name of a son who died protecting a royal heir. That is all.”

“Father!”

“Father, how can you say that?!”

The other two sons burst out, but the Count simply narrowed his eyes and glared at Aziel. Fierce calculations seemed to flash across his mind.

Count Balzac Dvorak. In both his past life and this one, he was the shield that protected the North, a true Border Count. In Aziel’s previous life, Balzac had lost everything; his homeland, his children. He had died alone upon the snow, a fallen knight of the North.

A sigh escaped Aziel’s lips.

If a man like that had died such a meaningless death… then just how enormous would the storm be that was soon to sweep across the North?

While Aziel pondered the future, the Count seemed focused solely on the fate of his son. His eyes glinted ominously. His presence swelled, his very frame seemed to grow larger by the second.

Andre and Sol instinctively tensed, their hands tightening near their weapons.           It was an unmistakable threat. Even more concerning, when the Count revealed his true feelings, none of the Northerners standing behind him moved to stop him.         In fact, several looked like they would be glad to egg him on.

Aziel cast his gaze over them before saying casually …

“If that were the case, I would have brought his corpse. You’re worrying needlessly. I gave him another task. I ordered a few Intelligence Bureau agents to join him and search the area where the demons appeared. The situation was too abnormal to ignore, and he insisted.”

With that, he dropped the facts as if they were nothing.

Then turned back toward the Count with a sly grin.