Just as the Founding Emperor Kyron had once perished, unable to withstand the passage of time, so too did the fire within the prince’s chest begin to falter.

The second heart,the super-crimson blaze,slowed its thunderous beat. What had moments ago roared like a twin-engine of fury now began to flicker and fade.

“Khak… damn it,” the prince choked, coughing up smoke that poured dark and acrid from both his mouth and ears.

“Your Highness! Get a hold of yourself!” Lucar shouted, his voice hoarse with concern.

The backlash was vicious. The overexertion had pushed him beyond his limit. Inside, everything felt charred and dry, as though even his blood had been cooked away. The Mystic that had once surged so fiercely now collapsed in upon itself.

And yet, as the prince faltered, the Eskimo let out a low, long sound,pleased. Triumphant.

Off in the distance, the prince could see soldiers pouring toward them from the northern wall, forming waves of steel and banners.

It was then that he understood.

The Eskimo had changed its plan. Just as they had outmaneuvered it before the annihilation of the North, it had now adapted. It realized it needed to destroy not just the armies but the force of change within the North.

That force was him.

Heir of the Flame, the Eskimo murmured. Your revered ancestor failed to defeat us. He only pushed us back.

“Don’t flatter yourself. If you were beaten and chased off, then you lost. Spouting nonsense about ‘not being defeated’ after living a thousand years is about as pathetic as that shiny bald head of yours.”

He died, the creature pressed. In the end, time conquered him. Maybe he won for a moment, but who stands here now to protect his descendants? Will Kyron rise from the grave to save you?

The prince bared his teeth in a grin, despite the black smoke hissing from his nostrils.

“Who said I was going to die? You’re the one stuck in an igloo, playing ghost because you’re too stubborn to move on. I’ll be the one watching your downfall from a warm fireplace, sipping hot chocolate… maybe with a splash of whiskey if I’m feeling generous.”

…

For once, the creature fell silent.

Perhaps it had realized that words were wasted.

Without warning, it turned its focus away from Lucar and lunged at the prince. The blade of the former count slashed through air, barely missing the Eskimo’s form.

Too slow.

The prince had no strength left to move, not even enough to dodge.

In that instant, joy shimmered in the creature’s abyss-like eyes.

But then,

“Founding Emperor Kyron has arrived,” the prince whispered.

The name was a whisper, a blade of memory,and it cut deep.

The Eskimo flinched.

Just as the North had feared the name Eskimo,equating it with frozen death,the enemy feared the name Kyron, founder of the Empire, breaker of their lineage.

So that’s why it called him “heir of flame.”

He had gambled that the name would stall it,and it had.

In that fraction of a heartbeat, Lucar’s blade struck.

A perfect, soul-poured strike.

The creature staggered.

Then came the prince’s final effort,he hurled Breaker, his massive sword, with all that remained in his ruined body.

“KRAAAANG!”

The greatsword howled through the air, catching the Eskimo’s side. It spun him mid-air like a falling star, casting him aloft as fire danced along the wound.

I will kill you, the creature snarled, its fury rekindled.

Realizing it had been deceived, it tried to charge again.

But the prince raised his middle finger high,calm, composed, and entirely too smug.

“I think I hear the Founding Emperor yelling up at you from the grave,” he said, voice like steel dipped in fire.

The Eskimo’s eyes widened.

It glanced below.

Below the maintenance tower, beneath the platform, the pit yawned wide.

A chasm as dark as its own gaze.

“KOAARRRR!”

From within that void, a fire surged,hotter than any it had ever seen. A blaze born not from wood or oil, but from the will of an empire.

“You,!”

The Eskimo had no time to finish.

The fire rose up in a torrent, engulfing it.

Lucar moved swiftly, mana coiled around his blade. He slashed the creature mid-descent, pinning it in place.

The prince hurled Breaker again, this time aiming directly between the neck and shoulder. The blade embedded itself deep, the rotating edges slicing again and again as the fire seeped in through every cut.

The creature’s flesh resisted,but the flames fed upon it.

Then,

With one final cry, Lucar gathered his mana and his spirit into his sword and threw it like a javelin.

“HAAA!”

The strike pierced through the creature’s skull and pinned it against the stone chimney wall.

Its body, now headless, flailed violently… then fell into the furnace below.

Gone.

Burning.

“Didn’t you say you could fight for a hundred nights and days?” the prince muttered. “I wonder how long you’ll last in the fire. A thousand? Ten thousand? Burn for as long as it takes. Let it be the vengeance of every noble orc you twisted.”

Despite his body being broken, his spirit was a-light.

He grinned.

Smoke curled from every part of him,his robes were charred, his wounds numerous. His chest wheezed, and black steam hissed out with each breath.

It was hard to speak. Harder to stand.

But he did it anyway.

Because whatever pain he felt now was nothing compared to the hell the Eskimo was experiencing below.

“Those who live alone for centuries… they don’t understand,” he said quietly. “You may have time,but we have legacy. We have will. And we pass it on.”

If the Eskimos lived like mountain ranges,enduring, unchanging,then humans lived like fire. Brief, brilliant, and unrelenting.

They had left behind Mystics, the North Wall, their tools and tech, their unbroken will.

As long as someone inherited that legacy, humanity would never lose.

Even if the severed head on the end of his sword couldn’t hear him anymore, the prince leaned in and whispered:

“Just like you, the other Eskimos will fall. One by one. Before the will left behind by Kyron and those who kept this wall standing.”

With that declaration of victory, his vision went black.

Perhaps it was the sheer brightness of the fire, or maybe his body had finally given out.

He welcomed the darkness with a faint smile.

[The destiny of the Eskimo,immortality, frost, death, and ancient time,has been devoured! You have gained Mystic Points! You have gained a massive amount of Evolution Points!]

[Breaker’s destiny has forcibly awakened! Second evolution initiated!]

[The destiny of the Campfire Maintenance Tower has been twisted! Stronger Mystics are now surging from within!]

[Lucar’s destiny resonates with enlightenment! A new Mystic is taking root! Devouring previous destinies of limits, failure, and despair…]

[A new destiny blossoms in this place: The Third Path.]

As fate reshaped itself in cascading waves, the prince closed his eyes and surrendered to the calm.

Even as chaos stirred around him, he sealed his ears to the noise and allowed himself,finally,a moment’s rest.

– Elsewhere – 

From the moment the prince had gathered all the Northern forces, the Empire’s other armies stirred.

The East, West, and Central divisions,like vultures circling a battlefield,began creeping toward the Northern border. Some in plain sight, others more subtle.

It was as though they were hoping,expecting,a rebellion to break out in the North.

Along one of the major routes connecting the Northern provinces to the imperial capital Ferma stood the great city of Marce.

And guarding the entrance to “Marce” was a fortress, often called the Marce Gate. Publicly, it was built to repel monsters in case the North collapsed.

Privately, everyone knew,it was a noose around the North’s neck, meant to tighten at the first sign of insurrection.

“Anyone without a valid imperial ID will not be allowed entry!”

“Have your identification ready before approaching the gate!”

The recent unrest had made border checks strict and aggressive.

“I didn’t bring it this time! You let me in before, didn’t you? Just this once,!”

A merchant burdened with bundles shouted, trying to reason with the soldiers.

“Try saying that again in front of the knights,” one guard growled, dragging him aside.

The moment the word knight was mentioned, everyone went silent.

Whispers of rebellion stirred, passed in hushed voices.

Then,

“Out of the way! Clear the road at once!”

Silver-armored knights burst through the front gates.

People scattered.

Behind them emerged figures in crimson armor, exuding killing intent.

“The Hongik Knights…!”

“From Ironhold? What are they doing here?”

One of the Twelve Imperial Knight Orders. If they were here, something serious was unfolding.

Just then,

“CLACK, CLACK.”

A grand carriage rolled slowly toward the gate.

The emblem on its door: the sigil of the Northern Border Count.

Recently accused of treason.

The Hongik Knights stepped forward, blades drawn.

“The Border Count’s carriage! Stop it at once!”

The carriage halted.

Only a single figure sat at the driver’s bench,hooded, robed.

Yet the Knight Captain of Hongik did not relax.

That man’s shoulders… far too broad.

“Step out of the carriage. Disarm yourselves and come with us to the capital,” the captain commanded.

The driver finally spoke.

“What kind of orders, exactly?”

“You are to abandon your weapons and the carriage. You will follow us,peacefully or not.”

The driver turned toward the carriage and asked a quiet question.

He nodded, then replied, “He says he’ll reveal his identity, but he won’t abandon the carriage. For your sake, I recommend you don’t force the issue.”

“Draw your swords!” the Knight Captain roared.

“SHING!”

Dozens of blades gleamed in the light.

The driver sighed, then slowly removed his hood.

Gasps erupted.

It was Lucar Dvorzak, former Imperial Knight,one of the Empire’s Five.

He looked tired. Sad, almost.

“I’m warning you. If the man inside steps out… it’ll be you who regrets it. Please, as your senior,stand down.”

But the captain, though hesitating, shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Sir Lucar. I have my orders.”

“Then… you’ve made your choice.”

Lucar closed his eyes, weary.

From within the carriage, a voice rang out,arrogant, unbothered.

“They want to see my face, do they? I don’t mind. But it’s you, Lucar, who seems to hate the idea.”

Lucar opened the door.

A single leg descended,graceful, poised.

Then another.

Prince Aziel emerged, tall and radiant.

His platinum hair shimmered. His crimson eyes swept over the knights and the gate.

“I am Prince Aziel. Open the gate.”

“…We’re sorry, but we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“There’s been a decree. If you are found collaborating with the North… you are to be arrested.”

The Prince’s lips curled into a dangerous smile.

Ah.

So they had already labeled him a traitor.

“Then,” he said coolly, “just as planned.”

Lucar’s expression twisted. Grimly, slowly, he drew his sword.

And pointed it at the prince’s neck.

“I’ve taken Prince Aziel hostage. Knights,clear a path!”

“!”

Everyone froze.

“Aaaah, how terrifying,” the prince droned, voice utterly disinterested. “If I’m stabbed here and now, everyone who sees it will be marked a traitor too. What a tragedy.”

He pressed his own neck harder against the blade. Blood trickled down his throat.

“Your Highness, please,don’t move…”

“If you want to live, step aside. Or we all burn together.”

And so began a most peculiar journey:

A polite captor…

And a completely fearless hostage.

The expressions of the Hongik Knights as they got swept into the madness?

“Priceless”