Northern Territory, the snow forest outside Horton Fort.

A heavy snowfall had just passed through here. In the deepest drifts the snow reached a full meter, completely burying the hooves of the thick-furred snow horses and leaving only deep snow pits.

A scouting cavalry unit of about ten men was struggling to follow the silent figure of the knight sitting on horseback ahead, trudging through snow up to their knees, but none dared utter a complaint.

Lide Valentián, once the commander of the Fifth Legion stationed at the border, after fleeing the Storm Territory, had his real military authority stripped by the demon lord who rules the Forge Region, left only with an empty title, and was then sent to do this thankless task of tracking orc movements in the frozen wasteland.

He himself showed no obvious resentment, but to these veterans born in the north, hardened by cold and military life, the taciturn commander was clearly brooding with a deep, smoldering anger.

That calmness made their hearts pound even more than outright anger would have.

If anyone foolishly provoked him now, it wouldn’t just be the hardship of trudging through snow they’d suffer; whether they could make it back to Horton Fort alive would be an entirely different matter.

The rider ahead, Lide, slowly moving on horseback, had no idea of the soldiers’ anxious thoughts and guesses behind him.

He simply closed the book in his hand, his gray-blue eyes flicked toward a low, unremarkable depression in the snow, then he pulled the reins and halted.

“Com... commander, those are orc footprints.” A rider wrapped in furs moved closer, breathing out warm puffs as he warmed his hands, “Judging by the size and depth, they should be adult male orcs, quite heavy.”

“These savage bastards always raid south when they go hungry. In previous years we only found their tracks during the harshest part of winter; this year... they’re almost a month early.”

Lide nodded faintly, his gaze following the direction of the prints into the depths of the forest.

“Only scouts, I think. Judging by the timing, their main force would have already moved south across the Frost-Speaking Plain.”

The old rider froze, “Then should we go back and notify those... demon lords?”

In past years, when orcs moved south the first place to be pillaged would be the relatively warm Forge Region in the Northern Territory, so orc tracks were a terrible omen.

Lide neither agreed nor objected. He only turned his head, giving old Bart a look that was calm and profound, a gaze that made the veteran tighten.

“They’re not that stupid, and from now on you answer only to me.”

He looked the old rider in the eye once more, then tugged the reins and let his horse slowly move deeper into the snow forest, leaving old Bart frozen in place, a cold sweat instantly beading down his back.

Several riders who knew Bart well hurried over to support his weakening legs and murmured, “Old Bart, better keep your mouth shut. Besides, those occupying Horton Fort now are monsters; they don’t need our loyalty.”

Bart nodded repeatedly, exhaling a long breath. White mist lingered in the air.

Lucky he had escaped that one.

......

Winter darkness came quickly.

Even though it was still afternoon, the sky had already begun to dim rapidly.

Because they were deep in a dense snow forest, night fell sooner; the woods sank into a pitch-black depth where one could not see a hand, with only the snow reflecting faint daylight into a ghostly blue.

Fortunately, the scout unit’s “snow traveler camps” along the patrol route were not far apart. These camps were usually set against wind-sheltered rock faces and roughly piled with small logs and stones, storing a large supply of dry wood, charcoal, salted meat, hard bread, and medicine—critical supplies that kept patrols alive through winter.

To avoid detection by orcs, the camps’ locations were chosen to be well concealed.

The cavalry followed a trail through the forest and soon found one of those camps nestled in a natural hollow formed by a group of large rocks.

Bart’s camp had reinforced the top and part of the walls with smooth planks, leaving a low doorway only tall enough for a bent person to squeeze through.

The interior was small but enough to cram over ten people together for warmth. The ground was layered with pine needles and old blankets. In the center was a stone-ringed fire pit, beside which white charcoal blocks wrapped in oilcloth and some kindling were stacked.

The riders took out small iron pots, set them on the fire to melt snowwater, added tough chunks of salted meat, torn black rye bread, a little salt and dried herbs, and boiled a steaming pot of meat soup.

After drinking the warm soup and gnawing on crisp oatcakes, the riders’ nerves, taut all day, finally began to relax.

Post-meal chatter was one of the few entertainments in their monotonous patrol life.

During the first days following Lide, they had deliberately kept their voices low, their glances cautious; aside from the crackle of fire, the slurps of soup, and the howl of the wind, little conversation could be heard.

But after several camps, they discovered that as long as they avoided sensitive topics and mission details, Captain Lide seemed to be wrapped in his own world and wouldn’t mind their hushed talk.

So they grew bolder; voices and suppressed laughter got louder, and topics widened from weather and horses to hometown gossip, patrol anecdotes, and even soft complaints about the damn cold and heavy gear.

Not all riders spent their last bit of energy on conversation. Old Bart, an experienced reconnaissance rider, preferred to sit by the fire at night reviewing the day, summarizing lessons, and recording them in a small book.

He thought carefully and then, by the firelight, began to write.

“Third day out from Horton Fort, after leaving the Forge Region, temperatures kept dropping. By nightfall it was unbearable; exposed skin turns blackish-purple quickly and limbs become numb. Must keep moving and ensure all exposed parts are covered.”

“This year seems colder than usual, but in my judgment, a colder early winter may mean the Winter Year won’t come... During summer the riders built three more snow traveler camps at patrol points; this one deep in the forest proves useful.”

“With the charcoal stored here we could stay three days without trouble, but it’s unclear how long the commander plans to remain in the forest; our reserves may not be optimistic, so conserve usage.”

Writing this, Bart revealed his concern, but he dared not say much about Captain Lide, only a few cursory lines.

“Also, the orc tracks in the forest deserve attention, but the demon lord at Horton Fort probably couldn’t care less. The southern cities are in for disaster this year...”

Halfway through writing, Bart sensed something off. The riders’ conversations nearby had suddenly stopped, only the fire still crackled.

He looked up and saw Lide, who had been reading that hardback book by the firelight, had at some point lifted his gaze from the pages and was quietly watching him.

Those gray-blue eyes, flickering in the flames, looked especially deep, betraying no emotion but pressing on Bart like a hidden blade.

“Com... commander, any orders?” Bart’s voice was dry; he hurried to close his pen and notebook, holding them with both hands in a respectful manner.

“Let me see your notes.” Lide said.

Bart could not guess Lide’s intent and dared not misread it. He rose shakily, stepping on the dry hay, walked to Lide, and handed over the small sheepskin notebook with both hands.

He stood there waiting, feeling time stretch, the fire’s warmth unable to ease the tightness in his chest. Only after Lide flipped through to the last entry did Bart receive a single “Not bad.”

Bart felt flattered, thanked him hurriedly, returned to his wooden stump to warm himself, then stared eagerly at the little book in Lide’s hands, but it was clear Lide had no intention of returning it then.

Even now Bart could not figure out this peculiar temperament of Captain Lide.

Lide offered no explanation, simply set the notebook casually by his side, then leaned against the cold rock and closed his eyes to rest.

The riders by the fire deliberately lowered their voices or left the pit to sort their gear and check horses, preparing for tomorrow’s march so as not to disturb him.

However, calm never lasted long.

The firelight danced across the snow, weaving shifting shadows of light and dark. From the night outside a black silhouette drifted quietly in, merging into Lide’s shadow cast on the rock, without drawing any rider’s attention.

Even the most alert old Bart only felt the firelight flicker and assumed it was the wind.

As if having anticipated its arrival, Lide spoke in a low voice barely audible to anyone nearby the moment the shadow merged: “You’re a minute late.”

Lide’s shadow distorted into the graceful shape of a woman, wrapped around him on the rock as if whispering into his ear: “Dear Lide, don’t be so harsh on a lady. I tidied myself up nicely to meet you.”

Lide replied flatly, “Speak. What is it about?”

“Sigh, you are so boring.” The woman sighed, “I only received some unexpected news, which I thought might interest you.”

Lide did not respond and waited quietly for more. The firelight illuminated half of his face while the other half remained hidden in shadow, blending almost together with the twisted silhouette.

The woman’s voice continued inside his mind, as if sharing a secret, with a touch of schadenfreude: “Remember when we broke Storm Fortress a few months ago and drove our poor Lide to the north with the Magical Creature Legion?”

“Those slimes have been up to something big at the Misty Bay Harbor Merchant Alliance; not only did they open the neighboring country’s borders, they brazenly wrecked the New Xirik Society’s base in Misty Bay Harbor. It even distorted my brother’s shadow.”

Lide sipped his hot soup and said calmly, “Morrigan antagonized those magical creatures?”

The woman sighed with a hint of regret, “I wish he were that stupid so I could swallow him whole, but alas my brother is far shrewder than those demons. He gained the sponsorship of that Greater Demon by promising help to seize the crown through an empty Trial of Kingship, founded the New Xirik Society, and now he may seek to usurp belief itself.”

“Not like me; I can’t even persuade a disillusioned knight to become a follower.” Her voice carried a trace of grievance.

Lide shook his head slightly, “I have no interest in meddling in your Shadow Scion conflicts, and besides, the Greater Demon working with Morrigan—Casaric—holds my soul.”

Morgana laughed softly; the sound was like a hook, filled with seduction: “What if I could help you reclaim your soul?”

Lide was silent; the flames danced in his eyes, showing deep thought.

After a long moment he spoke, “With my strength alone, I cannot oppose Morrigan for you.”

“I have my ways to deal with them.” Morgana’s voice turned serious. “Now I only lack a fulcrum to pry reality— a sword that can cut through the boundary between reality and the Shadow Realm.”

“Then, Lide Valentián.” Her shadow’s outline seemed to draw closer, her voice striking at the core of his soul, “Will you... become my knight-guardian?”

“Why me?” Lide asked, his tone calm, betraying no emotion.

“Have you not noticed how special you are?” Morgana asked back with a laugh.

“Especially stupid?”

“No, especially adorable.”

....

Lide fell silent again, this time even longer. Morgana did not press; her shadow simply nestled against his.

After a long while, when Morgana thought he might refuse with his usual silence as before, Lide finally spoke.

“Help me reclaim my soul, and afterwards I will fight for you. Miss Morgana, do not dishonor a knight’s vow.”

The shadow’s outline seemed to “acknowledge” and then light, joyful laughter sounded in Lide’s mind.

“Of course, Sir Knight, this is a princess’s promise.”

Lide was silent again for a while, then after a long pause said, “Anna is doing well in the Slime Kingdom. I don’t want anyone to disturb their life there.”

“Anna, that child?” Morgana seemed to fall into a brief memory; her voice softened, “It’s nice there, but you know, even if the war doesn’t reach the swamp, southbound orcs will level everything.”

Lide shook his head, “Those slimes are not as weak as you think.”

“Maybe.” Morgana was noncommittal. “I should go now, dear. Stay too long and those demons with their keen noses will sniff you out.”

Lide did not immediately respond. He picked up old Bart’s notebook and flipped through the pages, revealing messy scribbles.

As if affected by some hidden power, when Bart’s charcoal stroked the page the clear entries had been turned into meaningless symbols, and he himself had been none the wiser.

Lide said calmly, “Your magic should be used for more useful things.”

Morgana laughed with a hint of innocence, “I only taught a disobedient dog a lesson so he’d know who his master is. Those demons aren’t it. If you don’t like it, fine.”

Lide only said, “They are people, people like me. Humans are not as cold-blooded as Shadow creatures.”

“All right, all right, I admit my fault.” Morgana’s voice sounded perfunctory. “Seriously, I must go now.”

Whether she really repented or not, she gave Lide no further chance to speak; her silhouette dissolved until it was gone.

At the camp, nothing seemed to have happened; only the bonfire quietly burned, driving off the biting northern night.

Lide tore out the ruined pages from the notebook and threw them into the fire, then closed his eyes and finally rested.