As far as the eye could see lay endless snowfields. The wind howled fiercely, and snowflakes danced wildly through the air like torn cotton wool.
Heilang ran desperately across the snow, but the snow was far too deep. Every step sank deeply into it, costing him several times the strength it would have on level ground.
A pack of Icefield Snow Wolves followed him from afar at an unhurried pace. Their eyes glowed a ghostly green, filled with a cold, ravenous cruelty as piercing as the snowfield itself. They had been hungry for a long time.
They were patient. They would not waste an ounce of strength or take needless risks, quietly waiting for their prey to gradually lose its stamina. Then, they could obtain food without effort.
But if anyone thought that made them weak in battle, their sharp teeth and coordinated pack attacks would teach every arrogant person the meaning of reverence.
They stood unquestionably at the top of this snowfield's food chain.
At last, Heilang could no longer hold on and collapsed into the snow. He had no strength left, and his clothing could no longer stop his body heat from slipping away. Lying there in the snow, he felt his life nearing its end.
He did not seem willing to accept it. Clawing desperately at the snow, he trembled as he tried to rise again, but his body felt as heavy as if it had been bound with iron blocks. He could not get up at all.
In the end, he was only human. He could not fight the power of nature.
The wolves surrounding him also quickened their pace, preparing to close in. The hunger in their eyes was practically overflowing, their scattered footsteps like those of the grim reaper.
Thump~ thump~
At that moment, tremors in the earth gradually traveled from afar into his body. Heilang struggled to lift his head, forcing open his heavy eyelids as he looked toward the source of the vibrations.
The wolves that had been closing in around him were clearly growing uneasy. They paced back and forth restlessly.
Something even more terrifying than them was approaching...
Finally, with a long howl from the Wolf King, they abandoned the prey they had followed for so long and fled into the distance.
Heilang's pupils widened slightly.
With plumes of steam billowing forth, a colossal beast shrouded by the blizzard gradually revealed itself before him. It looked like something forcibly pieced together from wood and iron, utterly devoid of aesthetic appeal.
Never mind whether it could move—even maintaining its shape with such a structure was already astonishing.
At its front was an enormous smiling steel face, with a red tongue made of machinery inside it.
Below it, four mechanical legs somewhat resembling chicken claws moved forward in alternation. Compared to the thing they supported, those legs were exceedingly slender, making one instinctively worry whether they could bear the massive behemoth above.
The entire castle gave the impression that it was about to collapse, yet somehow remained remarkably stable.
At that moment, Heilang remembered the true purpose of his journey.
A legend had circulated in the town where he lived.
In the northern Polar Snowfield lived a mysterious Sorcerer. He was handsome and possessed powerful magic. He lived in a strange castle and fed on the hearts of beautiful young girls.
Yet no one had ever seen the subject of that legend, because he lived in the northern polar region—a hopeless, frigid snowfield, a land of death that had swallowed the lives of countless adventurers.
The castle came to a stop beside him and opened its doors, as if waiting for him to enter.
Beyond the stairs was an open doorway. Heilang could see a warm fireplace inside, as well as food.
Strength from nowhere allowed him to climb up from the snow. He entered that room, and as he did, the door behind him closed automatically.
Compared to the cold outside, this room was warm and comfortable.
He entered through the door, climbed a short flight of stairs, and stepped onto a wooden floor. The room was thick with the smell of decay.
The first thing that met his eyes was the fireplace in the room, where orange-red flames blazed fiercely in the hearth.
Judging from the structure of the hearth, it was probably also used as a cooking stove.
However, the most eye-catching sight was the man sitting before the flames.
He wore a heavy coat and had thick, short hair as he quietly warmed himself by the fire.
The firelight reflected off his high nose bridge, as though it had been coated in a thin layer of glaze.
"Hello," Heilang called out tentatively. "My name is Heilang. Thank you for saving me."
The man did not turn around. After a brief silence, he said,
"No need to thank me. I was only passing by."
He raised a hand and pointed toward a red sofa at one side.
"Sit down and warm yourself. Your body is very stiff."
Heilang came back to himself and sat down on the sofa with some nervousness. It looked as though it had been there for a long time; its color was dull and dark, mottled with black spots.
The man, meanwhile, added another log to the fire.
Outside the window, the falling snow gradually became a blizzard. The gale howled and battered the window like it was consumed by rage. A few ice crystals formed outside, but inside remained as warm as spring.
The burning wood crackled in the flames, driving away the chill from his body and the terror in his heart.
The man continued, "Are you here to explore this snowfield?"
Only then did Heilang remember why he had come.
He hurriedly rose from the sofa, dropped to his knees before the man, and cried excitedly,
"Respected Sorcerer! I-I want to ask you for a favor."
The man turned his head, looking somewhat puzzled by Heilang's current state, but he still said,
"I am just an ordinary person, not a Sorcerer."
But how could Heilang believe that? He lowered his head again and said,
"I know what price I must pay. I may not be a beautiful woman, but you can take my heart!"
The man's expression became even more bewildered. Fortunately, Heilang did not raise his head, so he did not see it.
Soon enough, the man recovered and accepted the premise.
After a pause, he continued,
"So, you risked your life to cross the snowfield alone just to ask me for help?"
"Yes!" Heilang pressed his head to the floor, his whole body trembling with fear. "This was the only way I could think of. That person is a noble, and his influence is far too great."
"That sounds like a familiar story."
The man thought for a moment, then continued, "I have some questions for you. If you can answer them, I may consider it."
Heilang raised his head, hope shining in his eyes.
"Alright. Ask me. I will answer anything you want to know."
"What country does this snowfield belong to? Does it have a king? If not, what kind of political system does it use?
What about the other countries in this world?"
The string of questions left Heilang somewhat confused.
It was not because they were difficult, but because they were too basic.
Even people from remote northern towns knew at least the name of their own country and some basic history.
But according to the legends, most Sorcerers were highly learned people. The temperament and mannerisms of the man before him were certainly not those of some uneducated illiterate.
Or perhaps...
Heilang seemed to think of something and could not help asking,
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long. I only just arrived here myself," the man said.
Not long.
Heilang confirmed his suspicion. The legend of the snowfield mage had circulated in his town for at least three to five years.
And for three to five years to be "not long" to the person before him, that could only mean his sense of time differed from that of humans.
He must have lived in seclusion somewhere for a very long time. Perhaps he had even lived for centuries, Heilang guessed.
After a pause, he began to explain.
"This snowfield is unsuitable for human habitation. It is almost entirely uninhabited and belongs to no country.
"But farther south lies the town where I live, Romir, which belongs to the Britannia Empire."
"Britannia?" the man murmured softly. He really did know that name—or rather, most people should have been familiar with its other pronunciation: 'Britannia.'
"I remember that name. It was the Roman Empire's Italian name for the island of Britain."
Heilang looked at the man, thinking, Just as I thought.
The Roman Empire.
He had to be someone from the Roman Empire era.
If that was the case, then he should be more than a thousand years old.
A chill ran through Heilang's heart as he continued explaining,
"It is now the Ancient Roman Empire. The Roman Empire fell long ago, though that name did indeed come from there.
"Besides, the Britannia Empire and the island of Britannia are not even the same place anymore."