“This deep should be right, right?” Artin’s voice echoed faintly from below, distorted by stone and distance.

  Kana crouched near the hole, cold air breathing out from its mouth like the exhale of some slumbering beast. The tunnel was just wide enough for two people to crawl through at once—tight, dark, and steep.

  Ger’s voice came muffled from within. “Dig a bit deeper!”

  A low scraping answered him—claws on rock. The sound grated through the silence, steady, methodical. Artin’s transformed arm struck sparks as he carved downward. The smell of disturbed earth and faint mana residue drifted up.

  Kana stood watch beside the opening. Snow whispered around their boots, thin as dust. The world here was too quiet—no wind, no birds, not even the sound of shifting branches. Just their breathing. And the rhythmic clawing below.

  Mica fidgeted, hugging herself for warmth before glancing between Kana and Ryle. “Are you two really fine?” she asked. “It’s too quiet here.”

  Kana smirked faintly. “Now that you mention it… I kind of miss Suri’s constant talking.”

  Mica laughed softly, but it didn’t last long. “It’s rare to be this close to you, Ryle Greece. The favorite to win this year’s annual tournament. Again.”

  Ryle looked up from sharpening one of his curved blades. His breath formed small clouds. “Ryle is fine,” he said. “Normally I’d be bragging about that tournament, but…” His gaze lingered on the hole, where Artin’s digging had stopped for a moment. “Today, I’m thinking about other things.”

  “Other things?” Mica tilted her head.

  He shrugged, his expression shadowed. “How dangerous is this…”

  Mica’s grin faded a little, and for a few heartbeats no one spoke. The cold filled the silence, seeping into Kana’s gloves and boots.

  Then Ryle looked at her. Trying to change the atmosphere, “But if you did join, Kana, I’m not sure.”

  Kana met his gaze. “I’m not planning to participate.”

  That drew a disappointed groan from Mica. “Pity. I wanted to have a serious match with you.”

  Kana arched her brow. “Are you not worried about Shai?”

  Mica chuckled and nodded toward her massive feline familiar pacing the treeline. The beast’s eyes flickered in the gloom like twin lanterns.

  “You must not know,” Ger called from inside the hole, voice echoing upward. “Mica’s party used to win every year—until he showed up.”

  “Before this guy,” Mica corrected, jabbing a finger at Ryle. “And I don’t use Shai in the tournament.”

  Kana blinked. “You fought without your summon?”

  “Yes and no,” Mica said with a grin, drawing the hidden short sword from her hip and raising it, “I share physical attributes with my tamed beast. So I’m a little stronger than your average person.”

  Ryle chuckled quietly, sheathing his own blades. “A little? She broke three shields last year.”

  “My abilities have improved since then, I should target the one behind the shield, not the shield itself. Thought breaking shield was the easy way.” Mica said, her tone half-joking, half-proud.

  Kana’s gaze lingered on her, studying the way Mica held the sword—balanced, confident, no hesitation. It didn’t match the cheerful, spoiled image she’d imagined of the girl. A tamer who could fight like a warrior…

  She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or uneasy. It was different from what she could remember. From the strange knowledge she had, it wasn't supposed to be like that.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Then, from below, Artin’s voice echoed up, “Come down! All of you!”

  …………

  The tunnel pressed close around them, tight enough that Ryle could feel the frost breathing from the walls. Each breath came out in a mist, catching in the faint glow of Ger’s skill — a lattice of golden lines suspended in the air, sketching the shape of the garrison above. He was still closely studying it.

  Artin’s claws scraped rhythmically against the soil ahead. The sound was steady, almost comforting at first — scrape, crumble, breath — until it wasn’t. Until it began to echo wrong.

  Ryle exhaled slowly. He hated silence like this. It gave him too much space to think. About the garrison. About the Empire. About the family name carved onto his shoulders like a brand.

  He shouldn’t be here. He was a Greece, a scion of a noble line tied to the Empire’s military command. He should have been sending messages, alerting them to what the kingdom was doing in secret. But that would mean condemning everyone here — Kana, Artin, Mica.

  The ground trembled faintly beneath his boots, shaking loose a small rain of frost. Ryle’s hand drifted to his sword. Habit, not fear. Or so he told himself.

  “Almost there,” Ger murmured, his tone low, scholarly. The glowing model of the garrison shifted in his hands, lines of light reforming to show layers of stone and hidden passages. “Another few meters and we’ll be under the main compound.”

  Kana crouched beside him, her gaze fixed on the image. “That’s where they’re holding the prince?”

  “Probably.” Artin’s grin flashed from the front, teeth catching the light. “Unless it’s a trap.”

  He sounded too casual — the kind of casual people used when they were masking the edge of adrenaline.

  Mica said softly. “This is exciting.”

  Artin simply sighed, they were still underestimating their situation. He continued his task, surprised the soil was softer than he thought. His claw pressing into stone. Digging was faster than he thought. Half a day was enough to arrive at their target location.

  A bit suspicious. He thought.

  Then came the smell. Subtle at first. Smoke. Oil. The faint sting of burning pine.

  Ryle froze. Every muscle in his body went still. Someone was above them. Moving. They could feel the slight vibration from above.

  Artin raised two fingers. The entire group went silent. Even the sound of breath seemed to vanish.

  For a moment, Ryle could hear nothing but his own pulse hammering in his ears.

  How can I notify the empire without anyone noticing? I heard Kana has very sharp senses. he thought.

  Artin leaned back slightly, whispering, “The wall’s thin. Just above this section. One more push, and we’ll see what kind of welcome they’ve prepared. Now we wait here. Wait for a signal.”

  Ryle’s grip tightened on his hilt. He could almost feel the choice solidifying in front of him — the one he’d been avoiding. Once they breached that wall, there’d be no going back. He’d either stand with them or turn traitor.

  He swallowed hard,”What kind of signal?”

  Artin laughed,”I don’t know. But we will know.”

  Kana hesitated,”Our infiltration is carefully planned. Right?”

  Artin’s head turned into a monkey,”Right? I think so.”

  He chuckled,”You didn’t laugh this time.”

  “For some reason, I feel anxious.”

  …..

  The last of the stragglers arrived just as the order came down the line.

  A thousand northern soldiers began their march toward the garrison — a dark, moving wall against the white wasteland. The wind bit through armor and cloak alike, carrying the dull groan of metal and the crunch of boots over snow.

  Rin muttered as she trudged forward, “I thought today was going to be the first peaceful sleep I’d get in a week.”

  Her voice vanished into the wind, but Toby chuckled beside her anyway. The warmth of his breath came out as steam.

  A young man in thick furs jogged up to them, teeth chattering. “Hey—you’re Toby, right? The one who can make people feel warm?”

  Toby squinted at him. “Depends who’s asking.”

  “Dan,” the man said, rubbing his arms. “From House of Martin. [Mage] class.”

  “Oh.” Toby smirked. “A noble. Thought so.” He lifted a hand, light flaring briefly around his palm. “[Dispel Curse].”

  The warmth spread outward, rippling through the cold like a sudden breath of summer. Dan’s eyes went wide, his trembling slowing.

  He let out a grateful laugh. “The rumors are true. If you ever need anything, the Martin family owes you one.”

  Toby shook the numbness out of his fingers. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  When Dan trotted off, Boris gave a snort. “One of these days, you’re going to start charging people for breathing near you.”

  Toby’s grin widened. “Already did.”

  Adam blinked. “When?”

  Boris frowned. “Yeah—when?”

  Toby only shrugged. “When you weren’t looking.”

  They exchanged a look, both exasperated and a little impressed. They swore, Toby was beside them the whole day and night?

  Toby leaned in, “But then, Suri’s got the better idea. She said she’ll spread the rumors with her illusions. Make sure every noble she knows thinks I have a skill that can remove the coldness here. She told me that giving a favor to a noble would be worth more than a coin.”

  From up ahead, Professor Wor-en’s voice carried back, “I feel like... I’m more scared now of my students than what’s waiting ahead.”

  That earned a few laughs from the northern soldiers marching nearby, the sound thin but real against the endless wind.

  Still, as the garrison came closer—its dark outline rising from the white—those laughs faded. Even Toby stopped smiling, his breath quiet as frost clung to his lashes.

  The atmosphere felt heavier now. Not the kind you could cure with Toby's skill.