Although spring had already arrived in the Northern Border Province, the cold showed no intention of retreating. The wind howled endlessly across the wasteland, sharp as knives, biting into flesh and bone alike. Snow still lingered in patches, stubborn remnants of winter clinging to the earth as if unwilling to surrender.
Sif gripped the reins tightly with trembling hands. Her fingers had long since lost all sensation, numb and stiff from the cold. Each breath she exhaled turned instantly into white mist, dispersing into the night air before vanishing.
The warhorse beneath her was nearing its limit.
Its chest heaved violently, breath ragged and uneven. Steam rose from its sweat-soaked body, only to freeze moments later into a thin layer of frost. Its hooves struck the frozen ground erratically, no longer steady, each step more labored than the last.
Faster… just a little faster…
Sif leaned forward instinctively, urging the exhausted horse onward, though she knew it had nothing left to give.
Behind her, faint but unmistakable, flickering lights burned against the horizon. Fire. Torches. The lights of the Navajo Tribe.
Those flames marked the distance her brother had bought with his life.
She could not look back. She did not dare look back.
She could still hear his voice.
"Run south! Don't stop! And never come back!"
Siegel's roar echoed endlessly in her mind, as though his final words had been carved into her soul with a blade. Every heartbeat felt like another strike of that blade, driving the memory deeper.
Siegel was dead.
Her father was dead.
Her mother was dead.
Her brothers, her sisters—every one of them had fallen.
Only she remained.
She lived on like a stray spirit abandoned by the world, wandering without a home, without a tribe, without a future. She no longer knew where she was going. She only knew that she had to keep moving south, farther and farther away from the place soaked in her people's blood.
Her food supplies had run out days ago.
At first, she rationed carefully, telling herself help would come. When that hope faded, she chewed tree bark until her gums bled, swallowed bitter wild fruits whose names she did not know, and drank frigid river water to stave off hunger and thirst. Each swallow felt like swallowing ice.
Her body weakened with every passing hour.
Then, finally, the warhorse collapsed.
It let out a long, sorrowful neigh—half pain, half apology—before its legs gave out completely. Its massive body slammed into the frozen ground.
Sif was thrown forward, tumbling from the saddle. Her body struck the earth heavily, knocking the breath from her lungs. Pain shot through her limbs, but she barely registered it.
She tried to move.
She tried to stand.
But her fingers would not respond. Her arms refused to lift. Even drawing a breath became an effort.
Her vision blurred. The night sky spun slowly above her.
Siegel's face appeared in her fading consciousness—smiling as he always did when pretending to be fearless.
I'm sorry… brother…
I can't go on anymore…
Her eyelids grew heavier. The cold no longer felt painful; instead, it wrapped around her like a deceptive blanket.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Far to the south, a completely different scene unfolded.
A mighty contingent of the Red Tide Territory advanced steadily northward across the wilderness. Banners fluttered in the wind, horses snorted, and armor clinked softly with each movement.
This was a hunt—but not an ordinary one.
Hunters moved cautiously at the front, scanning the terrain for signs of prey. Knights followed closely behind, alert and disciplined, their eyes constantly sweeping the surroundings for danger. Every man present knew the importance of this expedition.
After all, it was personally led by their Lord.
Louis rode at the center of the formation, draped in a thick wolf-fur cloak that shielded him from the cold. Compared to the tense focus of the others, he appeared almost leisurely, swaying gently atop his warhorse as though this were nothing more than a casual outing.
Suddenly, a cluster of messy animal tracks appeared in the snow-covered ground.
An experienced hunter immediately dismounted and crouched down to examine them closely. After a brief inspection, he stood and lowered his voice respectfully.
"My Lord, there are traces of wild rabbits ahead. More than one."
Louis nodded slightly. Without a word, he reached for the short bow hanging at his side. His movements were smooth and unhurried, practiced through countless repetitions. He nocked an arrow, raised the bow, and narrowed his eyes.
His gaze locked onto the distance.
Sure enough, near a clump of withered grass ahead, a grayish-white wild rabbit cautiously poked its head out. Its nose twitched as it sniffed the air, completely unaware of the danger bearing down upon it.
Whoosh—
The arrow tore through the air.
So fast was its flight that its trajectory was nearly invisible. In the next instant, it pierced cleanly through the rabbit's neck.
The animal tumbled once, twitched twice, and then lay still.
Dead.
Cheers erupted instantly.
"Excellent shot!"
"As expected of the Lord!"
The hunters and knights burst into enthusiastic praise, their admiration genuine and loud.
"The Lord truly excels in both scholarship and warfare!"
"Such archery… even the royal hunters of the kingdom would be ashamed!"
"If our Northern Border Province had a hundred men like you, what barbarian invasion would we ever fear?"
One particularly eager knight rushed forward, presenting the wild rabbit with both hands, his face full of awe.
"My Lord, could this rabbit be a descendant of the King of Beasts? Otherwise, how could it be so difficult to shoot?"
Louis's lips twitched slightly.
These people really knew how to flatter.
Still, he did not correct them. A lord's prestige was often built on such small "legendary deeds," and there was no harm in allowing the myth to grow.
After all, this hunt was only a pretense.
The true purpose of this expedition was something far more dangerous—and far more important.
According to his daily intelligence, a "little princess" from the northern tribes was fated to be devoured by a Frost White Bear if left alone. Using a hunt as an excuse to travel north allowed Louis to intervene without drawing unnecessary attention.
More importantly, it prevented others from realizing that he possessed a prophetic ability.
Of course, Louis was not naïve.
He knew that some of the smarter individuals around him had already begun to notice something strange.
From the moment he left the south until his rise in the Northern Border Province, he had consistently avoided disasters and seized opportunities with uncanny precision. Coincidence could only explain so much.
But even if Louis were to openly tell them that he possessed a "Daily Intelligence System," no one would understand. This world had no concept of such things—no web novels, no game-like mechanics.
Thus, they attributed everything to divine favor.
To the blessing of the Dragon Ancestor.
"Today's harvest is truly remarkable!"
"Yes! Even the Dragon Ancestor smiles upon us!"
"Haha! We must celebrate properly when we return!"
Laughter echoed through the group as they pressed onward. Along the way, they brought down several plump wild deer and even caught rare cold-water fish from a half-frozen river.
Watching their joyful expressions, Louis felt his own mood lighten.
"Occasionally relaxing like this…" he murmured, "isn't so bad."
At that moment, a scouting hunter suddenly galloped back toward the group, his expression strange—half shock, half disbelief.
"My Lord!" he shouted. "We found someone ahead!"
The entire hunting party fell silent.
"Someone?" Lambert frowned. "Out here?"
"A maiden," the scout clarified breathlessly. "Near the icy river. She's lying in the snow… unconscious."
Louis's eyes flickered.
Found her.
His expression remained calm as he gave a simple command.
"Lead the way."
They passed through a sparse forest and soon reached the riverbank. There, lying motionless on the snow, was a young woman.
Sif lay curled slightly on her side, white short hair scattered messily and dusted with frost. Her animal-skin coat was torn and worn, exposing shoulders and arms that had turned a frightening shade of purple from the cold.
Several half-healed wounds marked her body—silent testimony to the hardships she had endured.
Yet despite everything, her face remained delicate and resolute. Even in unconsciousness, there was no trace of weakness.
An experienced hunter knelt beside her, examining her carefully. His expression changed.
"My Lord… she's from a northern tribe."
Another hunter inspected the decoration hanging from her belt and spoke in a low voice.
"The Navajo Tribe."
Silence descended upon the group.
The Navajo Tribe was a long-standing enemy of the Northern Border Province.
Several knights exchanged uneasy glances.
Louis, however, did not hesitate.
"Take her back," he said calmly. "Treat her injuries."
Without question, the knights obeyed. They carefully lifted Sif onto a warhorse and began the journey home.
Back at Red Tide Territory, she was placed in an empty room and entrusted to a local healer with basic medical knowledge.
Louis stood quietly, watching the unconscious girl.
Her lips were cracked, her brows tightly furrowed as though she were struggling against death itself.
After a brief pause, Louis took out a small bottle.
"Give her this," he said.
The healer froze in surprise.
"A life potion…?"
But he did not question the order. Slowly, carefully, he poured the precious liquid between Sif's lips.
Minutes passed.
Color gradually returned to her face. Her breathing steadied.
Though she did not wake, life had returned.
Louis exhaled softly.
"A bottle of life potion isn't cheap," he said. "Let's hope she wakes up."
And somewhere between life and death, Sif took another breath.