Round 35: The Frosty Winter Approaches

In a remote area connected to the vast, towering World Spine Mountains on the side of the endless permafrost glaciers in the far north, a frost lizard nearly as large as the sailboats in Deepstream Port waited patiently on the windswept rocks. A foolish fool who had never been to the World Spine Mountains might not even notice this massive creature perched atop the cliffs—even from below. The frost lizard clung tightly to the iron-hard frozen soil with its six strong, powerful claws. Its body was covered in rough, icy scales, resembling cracked and frozen rock layers. Its triangular head, adorned with long ice spikes, bore cruel little eyes that seemed like mere spherical ice beads formed by chance in the rock fissures, reflecting faint, glaring light under the gray-white sky illuminated by a sun that had lost its warmth.

Generally, ice monsters of such size rarely appeared so close to the World Spine Mountains. In the deep, spiderweb-like fissures of the fractured glaciers, where survival meant fighting and devouring each other with the fittest ruling, creatures like it were mere minor players at the bottom of the food chain. Even the wisest scholars found it hard to imagine how life could exist beneath those icy layers—cold, dark, and suffocating to the soul. Moreover, these creatures were larger and more ferocious than their kin living on the edges of the glaciers.

The frost lizard had forgotten why it was here or how it got there.
It didn’t want to know, nor care, about the principle that eating too much caused blood to flow to the stomach, dulling the brain. Not long ago, it had attacked a few bipedal creatures and devoured them whole. Though they weren’t particularly delicious—aside from their cool shells, which tasted fine in its mouth—their warm blood made the frost lizard burp slightly until it was transformed into hard red ice shards by the cold within its body, at which point it felt satisfied.

Another gust of wind blew across its uneven surface; it was hard to say which was colder.
This made the frost lizard comfortable, as it didn’t feel the discomfort of leaving the depths of the glacier—its semi-solid, oily blood lubricated its organs. Its two hearts, located in its neck and abdomen, beat alternately every few minutes, pumping blood through its body to prevent it from completely freezing.

Vibrations caused by movement entered the frost lizard’s perception range. Though very slight, it detected them thanks to the numerous sensitive, columnar protrusions nestled in the rocky ridges along its soft abdomen.
There were several sources of vibration… Judging by their movement, they would pass by the other side of the cliff. The frost lizard lifted its head slightly, too lazy to move. The previous bipedal warm-blooded creatures hadn’t been to its taste, and judging by the intensity of the vibrations, these ones were likely the same. It wasn’t hungry enough to force itself to eat something it disliked, so it decided to let them go.

It lay motionless on the rock, quietly feeling the pleasant cold wind blowing from the direction of the shattered glaciers—deciding to take a nap first before figuring out where to go next.
The cold wind seemed to grow sharper suddenly. The Frost Lizard’s eyes flashed, as if a stone statue had suddenly been given some evil life. Vibrations came through the howling wind. These vibrations weren’t caused by air movement or environmental changes, but rather by some ancient and profound voice that seeped directly into the Frost Lizard’s pitifully small brain—
Kill.
“Kill!”
Nancy twisted aside with all her strength, dodging the blade that skimmed past her face by mere inches.
While losing her balance, the tattooed warrior raised her sharp sword high and, with a roar, plunged it deep into the mess of tangled metal components. Blinding sparks erupted from every crack in the pile of scrap metal. At least ten long legs still attached to it twitched and scratched wildly, adding more wounds to Nancy’s body before finally going limp.
Nancy spat fiercely at the thing, stepped on it, and shook it several times before barely managing to pull out her magic sword.
After such a fierce battle, the wind felt especially cold on her body… especially since Nancy was injured in many places and covered in blood. Yet she still managed to bow to the smug onlooker sitting aside.
She still had no idea whether this idle guy was a new type of construct developed by Agus or a demon summoned by Morriel from some abyssal layer to serve him. After he declared himself the “Chief Instructor of Eight Hundred Thousand Imperial Guards”… Nancy guessed it probably meant he wanted to train the guards of commercial outposts. Although this was usually the job of advanced tattooed warriors like her, she still obediently agreed without hesitation. Obedience to the red-robed mage, obedience to the stronger—these were the iron laws of survival in the Red Robe Mage Order.
Forty-Seven looked more casual—his steel armor often changed with complex details according to his mood, and today it was in a relatively soft and smooth style.
“Not bad,” he chuckled. “You’ve begun to grasp the Force…”
He was about to say more when Morriel’s voice appeared in his mind.
“I’ll consider strengthening it a bit next time.” Forty-Seven stood up and walked toward the grayish-black fortress-like main building of the outpost. As he moved, the multi-clawed machine that seemed completely destroyed on the ground regained its vitality—it emitted more sparks, red lights flickered again on its torso, and its claws moved in a strange yet incredibly fast manner as it followed Forty-Seven, picking up along the way the body parts that Nancy had cut off during the battle.
“Monsters,” Nancy muttered, swallowing a mouthful of salty saliva as she watched the two figures walk away. The few onlookers remained silent as mice.
Unlike the luxurious style of the lower floors, the red-robed mage’s study on the top floor had a simple setup. Aside from rows of books and scrolls on the bookshelves around the walls, the only other furniture was a comfortable high-back chair in the center of the room and a huge desk.

“You’ve been quite kind lately… Don’t let it in; it’s bad enough that it keeps cutting through the furniture.” Moriel didn’t look up. A parchment scroll floated up from the table, tied itself together automatically, and then slowly returned to its original position—another masterpiece of invisible servants.

Forty-seven tapped on the scythe-like claws of the construct clinging to the door frame. The multi-clawed monster emitted a faint noise, similar to meaningless static. Whatever instructions Forty-seven gave it, the sharp claws struck the ground and walls in a peculiar rhythm as the construct fled.

Forty-seven closed the door. “Why isn’t Wonder Woman bothering you today?”

Moriel leaned back in her chair and took off her magic glasses, which could decipher many common spell encryption methods. The enchanted chair adjusted itself to a more comfortable position based on her posture. “Chloe? He went to the Glorious Church with your kitten.”

“In a moment, the head of the Deepflow City merchants’ association will come here to discuss the shortage of magical goods.” Moriel rubbed her forehead lightly. “I think you’ll be interested in listening this time. I’ve almost guessed that one of them is a follower of Xyrik… and likely a high-ranking member of the Dark Sun Church.”

“A trap?” Forty-seven rubbed his hands. “Good, I like traps… Still no news of Keri?”

Moriel shook her head. Thinking of another “Divine Weapon” that had fought her in the sewers that night, the female mage was quite worried. What was its purpose? According to the “senile” mage Kiskayne, these superweapons were ultimate destroyers created for divine wars. If its target was Kayro, could the Divine Flame, still extremely weak as Lady Mist just woke up, withstand the pursuit of a Divine Weapon?

Suddenly remembering the prostitutes she saw when destroying the Xyrik Dockyard Church, Moriel became troubled.

“We can’t rush things now.” She tried to calm herself down. “If that ‘Keri’ is determined to hide in the vast labyrinth beneath Deepflow City and wait for the right moment, it will be extremely difficult to find her if she doesn’t want to show herself. Not to mention, she’s likely to detect and avoid my detection magic…”

“Let’s talk about it later. I hope Miss Keri isn’t too reserved.” Forty-seven walked over to the table, flipped open an old, seemingly simple book, and after glancing at it, found it wasn’t filled with strange long sentences or convoluted spell combinations. “Let’s deal with the idiots from the Xyrik Church first… especially O’Sullivan. I’ve never liked pretentious, pretty-faced bosses. What’s this?”

“That’s Chloe’s book. Probably some bard’s memoirs… Oh, our guest has arrived.”

Mel Ferdinand, the current president of the Ferdinand Merchants’ Association and the third viscount of the Ferdinand family, got off the carriage adorned with the family crest. Wrapping himself in a soft, warm cloak, he looked up at the heavy, gloomy buildings in the commercial hub—feeling as though they were a ring of fangs, ready to swallow fools like him at any moment.

Hmph. Ferdinand immediately dismissed such weak and absurd thoughts. Who was he? He was a noble with a title in Deepstream City, the ruler of the powerful Ferdinand Merchant Guild, and…
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Frees.” Ferdinand politely greeted the fat merchant who squeezed out of another carriage, though in his heart he despised this vulgar and opportunistic swine—a man without strength, scheming in the cracks of order, getting rich through petty cleverness. He was no different from those adventurers who stayed in inns and taverns in Deepstream City; equally lowly, equally detestable.
“Haha, Lord Ferdinand!” Frees walked over, holding his belly. Even if the abnormal cold covering Deepstream City continued for some time, his fat alone would likely be enough to keep him warm. “What strange weather… How can it be this cold at this time of year!”
Ferdinand slowed down slightly to walk alongside Frees. He never showed his true emotions on his face, masking them perfectly as if wearing a mask. “How did you end up here too? Could it be that ‘Gem Shield’ has decided to enter the market for magical items?”
He made an exaggerated gesture and said in a clearly joking tone, “It seems I need to seriously consider adjusting my business strategy and preparing countermeasures…”
“Hahaha, you’re still as good at joking, Lord Ferdinand.” Frees appeared to be a completely naive country tycoon. “Your merchant guild holds an unshakable position in Deepstream City’s noble society!”
The two entered the grand living room on the first floor of the headquarters—almost everyone had arrived. Not everyone could carry themselves with Ferdinand’s arrogance or maintain Frees’ relaxed attitude.
“Miss Moriel, we’ve been long-time customers of the Red Robes Mages, and we can even consider ourselves friends of Archmage Jali.” An old warrior with gray hair and beard sat on the sofa next to Moriel, negotiating with her. “To speak frankly, your demand that we openly become enemies of the Church of Xeric as a condition for business… As far as I know, this goes against the Red Robes Mages’ usual business principles.”
“Of course, Deepstream City is currently targeting the Church of Xeric,” the old warrior said carefully. “But for adventurers who don’t reside in Deepstream City, openly opposing a servant of a powerful deity is rather reckless. We’re not afraid of dark caves or fierce orcs, but we don’t want to worry about hidden blades behind us or poison in our food every time we stay in an inn or drink in a tavern… Please reconsider, Miss Moriel. The Red Robes Mages are merchants worthy of everyone’s trust. Under these circumstances, I hope you’ll follow their traditions and make the right decision.”
“I think you misunderstand the Red Robes Mages’ business principles, Mr. Fabre.” Moriel sat upright like a proper lady, remaining calm in front of these powerful figures in Deepstream City, while Forty-Seven sat beside her, engrossed in reading an old book that wasn’t too thick.

“I admit that my decision to make this was entirely due to personal grudges with some members of the Shirek cult,” the female mage said casually, yet with an unyielding determination. “To those who truly help me fight against the Shirek Church in Deep Flow City, I will do my best to offer favorable prices—keep the original cost or even give a better deal, as they have paid for it with their actions. If others are unwilling to do so, I won’t force them… then they’ll just have to pay with real money as I see it. It’s just business, with mutual consent.”

“Hey, beautiful lady, you’re destroying the Red Robe Mage’s business foundation in Deep Flow City,” said a male elf sitting on the other side, in a somewhat sarcastic tone. Judging from his slender build, the arrogant gaze typical of spellcasters, and his attire unlike that of a mage, he seemed to be a sorcerer. Generally, those born with the ability to communicate with the magic network don’t get along well with mages, and he seemed no exception. “Want to destroy the Shirek Church? Your ambitions are too great… or are you just acting on impulse as a woman? Do you really think that aside from the Red Robe Mage, we can’t obtain what we need elsewhere?”

“You’re the second leader of the ‘Punisher’ adventuring party, right?” Moriel smiled slightly. “You’ve become quite famous in Deep Flow City lately. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name. But as far as I know, the ‘Punisher’ party suffered heavy losses a few days ago while adventuring in the ‘Dead City’ due to a powerful ghost creature. Even your leader is bedridden because of a ghost curse, and your savings barely cover your healing supplies. Since you say so, I have no objections… Whether it’s shops in the commercial district or the underground black market at the port, you can go there to buy the magical items you need. If you can find a better deal, I believe everyone here will be grateful to you.”

“Enough arguing—it’s pointless,” said a tall figure dressed entirely in black, with a row of gleaming daggers hanging from his belt. “I’m here to make purchases. The ‘Rattlesnake’ guild believes Miss Moriel’s demands are reasonable. With winter coming early and sudden blizzards disrupting trade routes in the north, it’s only natural for prices to rise, especially for enchanted items that require large amounts of materials and processing. Our guild will fully support Miss Moriel’s efforts to combat the Shirek Church, whether through intelligence or military support. Take me to get the items—ten magic missile wands, ten fire-hand wands, ten first-level monster summoning wands…”

The black-clothed thief’s words were met with opposition. “Hey! Don’t try to take advantage of the chaos in the port area to seize territory! Don’t you want to follow the rules? You bunch of untrustworthy people…”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Frees, who had been listening for a while, with a smile. “Please calm down. Miss Moriel has already shared her proposal with everyone. So why not consider it carefully based on your own situations?”

“I’m glad you could make it, Mr. Frees,” Moriel stood up. “Gentlemen, I’m not a competent merchant nor a skilled manager of a commercial outpost. But until the City of Sel sends a new high-ranking Red Robe mage to replace me, I insist on my terms—those who genuinely help me fight against the Church of Xyrik will receive the best discounts as compensation. As for those who, for various reasons, refuse to do so, they’ll have to purchase supplies from me at the current market price. I’ve asked Mr. Frees, the vice president of the Gem Shield Merchant Guild, to negotiate with you on my behalf. You may express your opinions to him, but I won’t change my terms. Besides… trust me, in this situation, no Red Robe mage will be more lenient than me. If you don’t believe me, go inquire in other cities.”

She then turned to Viscount Ferdinand, who had also been standing by silently. “Let Mr. Frees handle this. As for matters between you and me, let’s talk upstairs.”

Si Si closed his book and glanced at the elven sorcerer before leaving. “How can I help you when you don’t even wear a skeleton vest and still call yourself a Punisher?”

“It’s already been made clear—why the fuss? So annoying.” In her private office on the second floor, Moriel took out a bottle of amber-colored liquor from the wine cabinet. “Would you like something to drink, Sir Ferdinand?”

“You’re too kind, Miss Moriel. The temple priests advise me to abstain from alcohol,” Ferdinand said gently. Hmph, that reckless brat.

He tried to ignore the guy leaning against the wall by the door, reading a book—was that the newcomer they were talking about? He certainly didn’t look like an construct.

“Miss Moriel,” Ferdinand decided to end this meeting quickly. He needed to go back and prepare a strategy. “Regarding the contract for these constructs… to be honest, they should have been delivered before Archmage Jali left. You know, the people in Deepstream who can afford constructs are the richest and most noble… They’re already dissatisfied, accusing us of not keeping our agreements. But I ordered these constructs from Archmage Jali long ago and paid a deposit. I think this damned abnormal weather shouldn’t affect our deal, right?”

Moriel thought for a moment before smiling kindly. “Of course, Sir Ferdinand. See, with all the hustle these past days dealing with those despicable and evil followers of the Church of Xyrik… I completely forgot about this.”

Damn it. What right does a Red Robe mage have to call others despicable and evil?

Ferdinand’s smile grew wider. “So… can I pick up those goods today?”

“Of course. You can take back what belongs to you anytime. But…” Moriel set down her glass. “There’s one thing—I’d like your advice. What do you think I should do next to deal with those followers of the Church of Xyrik?”

This question surprised Ferdinand. He sensed something ominous in it—but the viscount quickly calmed down. No one could possibly know his identity. Even among his colleagues in the church, only a few knew him.

“Hehe, you’ve done very well,” Ferdinand said, offering insincere praise. “You made full use of your advantages, uniting as many forces as possible to strike at these servants of the Dark Days… I believe the Hierarchy followers are already struggling greatly in Deepflow City.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Moriel continued to smile, but there was no trace of joy in her eyes. “But I don’t just want to make things difficult for them. I want to eradicate every Hierarchy follower… including you, Sir Ferdinand.”
Without hesitation, Ferdinand activated the magical protection on his ring and rushed at Moriel with speed far beyond what a pampered noble merchant like him could possess. Having been in business for so many years, he knew exactly whether someone was serious or just bluffing by listening to their tone.
A hand passed through the protective shield and grabbed his arm; the scorching red flames seemed like mere smoke to him.
Before he could react, he was slammed hard to the ground by that demonic hand.
The impact of his back hitting the floor nearly made him vomit. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Moriel’s annoyed voice: “Gently! Do you want to kill him?”
“Moriel! I’m the viscount of Deepflow City! What right do you have to hold me here? I want to see the Holy Warrior Milia!” Once bound to the execution platform and realizing he had no chance of escaping by force, Ferdinand began to scream in despair.
“Hehe, now you remember the benefits of the Holy Warriors?” Kani stood beside Moriel, mocking him with a cold laugh.
“Sir Ferdinand, to hide something without a trace, wearing a mask on your face alone isn’t enough.” Moriel raised her hand to level the platform and stepped forward, looking down at the viscount. “I’ll give you a chance. Abandon the Hierarchy and help me find O’Sullivan and Kayro, and your momentary mistake will remain a secret forever. After this is over, you’ll still be one of the elite in Deepflow City. Maybe I can even do you a small favor… Count Ferdinand, what do you say?”
Ferdinand trembled under the mage’s gaze. Then he cursed loudly, “Bastards! This is outright crime! You filthy red-robed scum! I’ll complain to the Lord Alliance about you—”
Moriel snorted coldly.
“Use your methods, Kani.”
The female dwarf clapped her hands excitedly. “No problem, Moriel.”
A collar was placed around Ferdinand’s neck, restricting his head movement to a very small range. A rustling sound came from somewhere in the dim room, as if some soft-bodied creature was crawling out from a corner.
“Let’s go, Moriel. I swear you won’t like what happens next. What about you, Iron Warrior?”
…
“Oh, I guess you want to watch.”
The door opened, then closed.
The rustling sound grew louder… along with a stinky odor of grease.
It was touching his legs. Even through his pants, he could feel that disgusting, slippery touch. Its fingers writhed on Ferdinand’s legs like a mass of entangled maggots.

Ferdinand tried hard to lift his head, but he could see nothing—only an increasingly intense sensation, as if the viscount were slowly sinking into a mass of semi-solid oil, gradually suffocating. It was touching Ferdinand’s body, carefully, leaving no inch untouched. When the thing finally appeared in Ferdinand’s vision, he turned his curses into hysterical screams. It was a flat, pale face with no protrusions, even its eyes were covered by a yellowish-white, blurred membrane. Judging from its expression, it seemed to be smiling, but without distinct features, it was impossible to be sure. A shapeshifter. “Insects! The Dark Day will rule the entire world! The great Eternal Shirek will kill you! Your souls will endure every torment imaginable in his hell forever, wailing endlessly, and I will be your executioner!” Forty-seven turned his gaze away from the book. “Hmm…” He seemed to forget what he was going to say, so he flipped a few pages back and read, “A Tashirian proverb: ‘The world will never be as you wish.’ I like this book; you should read it too.” But Ferdinand could no longer hear what he was saying. The shapeshifter covered him entirely, using its oily, slippery pale skin to taste Ferdinand’s body and soul. It wrapped the viscount completely and began to slowly reshape itself. The door to the underground laboratory opened, and Ferdinand and Forty-Seven stepped out one after the other. Morriel scanned the viscount from head to toe and had to admit that this creature’s mimicry ability was absolutely perfect—even he, who already knew the truth, found it hard to distinguish reality from illusion. “Where is O’Sullivan?” the female mage asked. The shapeshifter dressed in Ferdinand’s clothes shook its head and spoke in exactly the same accent as the viscount, “He doesn’t know either. There’s very little information about O’Sullivan in his mind… But we do know they have a new meeting place. However, we couldn’t locate it. This man has a strong will; I can’t fully access his thoughts.” “As long as you haven’t killed him, I’ll find out.” Morriel had little fondness for this creature. “Go back. You’re now Viscount Ferdinand. I’ll let you know what needs to be done.” The shapeshifter responded with a sly smile. It stuck out its tongue—pale as death. But the next moment, Morriel’s staff touched its back. Extreme pressure and pain made the shapeshifter scream as it knelt on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Its voice distorted into meaningless screams, and its face began to dissolve. “I’ll let you know what needs to be done,” Morriel said coldly, his voice like a thousand needles pricking. “I don’t need you to decide for yourself. Hide your filthy thoughts forever. Don’t let me discover them—if a single hair on this viscount’s family is harmed, even if you just touch his wife’s hand, I’ll peel your skin off and sew it back on upside down. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.” The shapeshifter lay on the ground, convulsing as it tried to nod, but it couldn’t.

Fortunately, Morriel still needed it. The female mage ceased the power of “Command Magic,” left the still suffering shapeshifter behind, and turned to leave.
“It seems you don’t have Castelroy’s luck.” Forty-seven appreciated the scene and then, as usual, muttered a mocking phrase that no one else could understand.
As the shapeshifter slowly sat into the carriage, filled with dread of the female mage, Morriel watched from the window.
So far, everything had gone fairly well.
But finding O’Sullivan didn’t mean finding Kayro, and destroying the Shirek Church of Deepstream certainly didn’t mean freeing Kayro from the Lady of Mist’s control—indeed, from another perspective, perhaps she was only helping the Goddess of Lies achieve her goals more easily.
The future was always uncertain and full of ambiguity, which was the most frustrating aspect of being a prophecy mage. The predictions might be correct, but once you glimpse a fragment of the future, you’re led down a path entirely different from when you were ignorant… Fate was like an endless ocean, not to mention fighting the waves alongside gods?
A bit of white stuck to the window glass. It was a hexagonal snowflake, perfect and flawless, witnessing in its tiny form nature’s most mysterious and incredible power.
It was snowing.
Winter was coming.