“Huff—”
The white vapor Garon exhaled froze into frost the moment it touched the frigid northern wind.
His mood was even darker than this barren frozen wasteland.
He had just mocked Grey for taking on a “thankless assignment,” only to be handed orders himself, exiling him to this cursed place.
He even suspected Grey had whispered something in the clan leader’s ear, setting him up on purpose.
The Empire never bothered to claim this far north for a reason.
As far as the eye could see—only endless snow and ice.
Roads were impossible here. Horses couldn’t survive. The only way forward was stumbling step by step on foot.
Resources were scarce to the extreme, not worth the Empire’s effort.
His mount had been left behind in the Empire’s last border town. From then on, the long journey was all on foot.Apart from the brutal terrain, he hadn’t met much trouble.
Only once—just past the border by a frozen river—he was ambushed by two invisible monsters. He killed them easily, and after that, no further problems.
He passed through scattered settlements along the way, but no one dared provoke an Imperial emissary. When he demanded supplies, they “volunteered” them without hesitation.
Now at last, he neared the Demonoid tribe.
“Recruitment? Hah…” Just thinking of the mission made him sneer. “A bunch of trash hiding in this forsaken corner of nowhere, probably never even seen real combat—what’s worth recruiting here?”
Crunch—
A faint sound beneath his boot. Frowning, Garon looked down. His sole had stepped on something odd.
He scraped at it with a fingertip. A pale, snow-colored thread clung there.
“Mycelium?”
Glancing around, he noticed thin white filaments everywhere—in cracks of ice-covered rock, tucked into sheltered corners—stubborn enough to push up tiny gray mushrooms even in this bitter cold.
Surprised that fungi could live here, he dismissed it from mind.
When he reached the Demonoid camp, he frowned again.
Grey’s report had spoken of two to three hundred. But here, most huts were abandoned, few figures moving. Fifty living souls would be a stretch.
“I come as emissary of the Demonoids of the Empire.” His voice was cold, carrying across the snow.
“Honored emissary, the chieftain awaits in the great tent,” a guard said respectfully.
“Chieftain?” Garon snorted, striding straight to the largest tent.
Inside, he found Shou and Xinghuo.
He immediately noticed Shou’s hand was not maimed as the report had said. But that wasn’t a concern. Limb restoration was difficult, yes—but not impossible, especially for Demonoids.
Diamond rank? Even if there were two or three more, they posed no threat to him.
What made his eyes narrow was the mycelium entwined in their dark runes.
And when he recalled, the gate guards’ markings had shown the same. He had dismissed it as unusual patterns, but now…
Contaminated demon cores? If so, he’d have a problem explaining this mission.
And another thing—at the center of the tent stood a bizarre creature, shaped like a walking mushroom, holding a stone cup aloft.
“May I ask the emissary’s purpose?” Shou’s steady voice drew his focus back.
Looking down on them, Garon spoke with Imperial arrogance. “The chieftain is merciful. Out of kinship, he grants you abandoned ones a chance to enter the Empire’s domain, under its protection. Pack up. You leave with me at once.”
Shou’s answer was solid as stone. “We apologize, emissary. We have long since taken root here. We have no intention to migrate.”
Garon’s face split into a cruel grin.
Recruit them? Escort them? Waste of time!
Slaughter them all, seize their cores—that would be quicker and easier! If they had truly yielded, it would have been boring.
Just as the runes on his body flared, ready to strike—
The Puji in the center suddenly flung down its stone cup!
The crude vessel crashed onto the furs with a muffled crack.
In that instant, Shou and Xinghuo shot backward like arrows, bolting out of the tent—not toward Garon, but away from him.
Their speed left no doubt—they had planned this!
At the same time, distortions rippled, and more than ten Pujis appeared inside the tent.
Boom!
A chain of explosions tore through the air, shockwaves shredding furs and canvas alike.
Garon’s pupils shrank to pinpoints, his grin twisting into rage and shock.
The threat wasn’t these exploding mushroom creatures, nor the two fleeing Demonoids.
It came from farther away.
Trusting his instinct, Garon lunged forward, bursting through the explosions—
And his instincts proved right.
An instant after he left his spot, a blast of condensed magical energy obliterated the tent, carving a smoldering crater in the snow.
He steadied himself, gaze grim.
That strike… even with his defenses, taking several would be disastrous.
He quickly found the source.
On a distant slope, strange constructs stood—four meters tall, alien in form—hauling a massive, many-handled cannon.
From its muzzle, destructive mana gathered once more.
Again!
The frozen earth cracked beneath his feet as he launched sideways like a cannonball, dodging tens of meters in a blink.
Boom!
The second beam seared past his afterimage, gouging a deep trench in the snow behind him.
Relief washed over him.
Whatever that weapon was, it was clearly unwieldy. Too slow to turn, too slow to aim.
Only the first surprise shot had been dangerous. Now, he would never be caught again.
“A pack of ignorant peasants!” His fury flared anew. “To dare strike at me first? Who gave you the courage?!”
“Maybe I did.”
The voice oozed at his feet—sickly, distorted, layered with a thousand echoes.
So close—and he hadn’t sensed a thing. A shiver lanced down his spine.
Instinct drove his body—he whirled, stamping down with a kick that howled through the air.
Smash!
Mycelium burst apart, ice shards scattering. Only a pit remained.
“What?!” Alarmed, Garon scanned the area. Nothing.
Then that nauseating voice whispered again—this time behind him.
“Ohhh, tenth-level physical defense. Excellent… Garon, shall we be friends?”
It knows my name?
Thoughts flashed lightning-fast, and he understood.
“Grey! You set me up!”
He was livid. Grey must have allied with outsiders, conspiring to kill him!
If Grey knew his strength, then every trap laid here would be deadly serious.
As he leapt back, he finally saw it—
A warped, twisted form slithering in the snow, like a ragged scrap of cloth mangled and discarded, writhing as it whispered:
“Don’t stay so far away… friend~”