Northernmost Land, an Unexpected Old Friend

Moriel's room, like her, was a mess.

Precious and rare gems and ritual implements, easily recognizable at a glance, were carelessly discarded on the ground or at the foot of the bed.

However, a clay pony missing its tail was placed in the center of the dressing table, as if it had been played with frequently. Ronan walked over and saw that it was just an ordinary clay toy. The horse, with its visible cracks, had been carefully covered with seven or eight layers of fireproof charms.

Ronan picked up the toy, then put it down, and then saw a small leather trunk sewn from red dragon skin in the space under the dressing table.

Ronan's eyes flickered slightly as he picked up the suitcase, which, unsurprisingly, was secured with a rune lock.

However, since it was created by Moriel, it's not too difficult to crack.

Ronan looked around. The room wasn't large; he could completely encompass it with a slight expansion of his spiritual power. Apart from the red dragon leather suitcase in front of him, the entire room held almost no secrets from him.

He thought for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the rune-engraved clasp on the suitcase, slowly channeling his spiritual energy into it.

After a few breaths, with a soft "click," the suitcase opened in front of him.

——

A pair of clean but badly worn suede boots.

A few withered, yellowed Wild Wheat.

A silver necklace strung with gemstones.

An ordinary black stone.

Ronan calmly took the items out of the boxes one by one, but a silent storm was churning within him.

It felt as if ten thousand hammers were relentlessly pounding his heart, and ten thousand people were shouting at the top of their lungs in his ear.

Scenes of memories surged from the depths of his mind, flashing rapidly before Ronan's eyes.

Those suede boots were bought by Ronan for Moriel on their journey to find the Evaqu tribe after they formed a "symbiotic" contract. The boots didn't fit properly; they were men's size, and Moriel suffered a lot while wearing them.

Wild Wheat comes from the Demili Plateau on the East Coast, the territory of the Ronan family.

The gemstone necklace is engraved with the Damien family name, and it was probably given to Moriel secretly by Ronan's mother.

The black stone came from the room in the Minotaur's Maze the Abyss Bull Demon Babu Li's Room was imprisoned; it smelled of sulfur and iron saltpeter, which Ronan was familiar with.

Everything in the suitcase was related to Ronan.

Ronan didn't know when Moriel had collected these things. He ran his hand over everything in the box, and finally found a light pink notebook at the very bottom of the box, with a gold quill pen stuck inside.

Is this Moriel's diary?

Ronan picked up the notebook, stared at the cover for a long time, but ultimately couldn't muster the courage to open it.

He sighed softly, put away the entire red dragon suitcase and the terracotta horse placed on the dressing table, and slowly walked to the full-length dressing mirror on the side of the room.

The mirror reflected shimmering silver ripples in front of him.

Ronan glanced back the way he came, dismissing the idea of going back to O'Brien's Laboratory, and began to mutter "Ryan's Curse" to himself in front of the mirror.

Soon, a space exit, taller than a person, appeared before Ronan.

He thought for a moment, then separated a small piece of Itai and casually tossed it onto the carpet in the room before stepping into the vortex created by the mirror.

A chilly breeze swept over us.

Ronan instinctively took to the air.

The robes made of Itai once again drank in the long wind, and the breath he exhaled condensed into frost in the cold air.

Ronan saw the vast, boundless Snow Field.

He didn't know where he had arrived, but he had finally escaped the dark and gloomy Fire Leaving Purgatory where he had spent more than nine years. The Undying Bird within him naturally went into hibernation, and the blood of the Frost Whale murmured and sang.

Snow-white hair and eyebrows grew rapidly from under Ronan's skin, like a bird that had been crawling in mud and pain for a long time, finally getting another chance to spread its wings and fly.

Only at this moment did Ronan truly escape the shadow cast by the prophecy of death.

All of this was achieved through the blood, flesh, and bones of those who sacrificed themselves.

"Moriel"

Ronan murmured, his eyes sparkling, his thoughts drifting with the cold wind to an unknown distance.

On the vast ice plain, a small figure stands alone on the snow, struggling to swing a bone hammer in his hand.

He looked thin and small, wearing an oversized and bulky bearskin sweater that was completely soaked with sweat. His soft, long brown hair clung to his forehead, and with each breath he exhaled large puffs of white vapor.

He used a rock sitting on the snow as an imaginary enemy, charging at the indifferent boulder again and again, accompanied by roars full of childish innocence. He looked to be only thirteen or fourteen years old, and his two hands could not even fully grip the bone hammer that was more than half a meter long.

After countless "charges," the boy practicing combat tactics finally ran out of strength and collapsed onto the snow, panting as he counted the marks he had left on the boulder where he had charged.

Suddenly, a chilling wolf howl rang in my ears.

The boy's fingers trembled as he touched the rock. He shuddered and suddenly jumped up from the snow.

Several giant wolves, each over a meter tall and with gray fur, silently approached from the left and right, their deep blue eyes fixed on him, bringing a chill deeper than the icy winds of the frozen plains.

Icefield Wolf.

The boy's heart skipped a beat and sank rapidly to the bottom.

These ghosts that roam the ice plains possess intelligence and strength far exceeding that of ordinary beasts. Under normal circumstances, it takes three to five brave and strong members of the tribe to dare to confront them head-on.

But now, there are three heads in front of him.

The boy suppressed his fear and apprehension and reached for the bone hammer that lay at his feet.

But because he had trained so hard, he couldn't even lift the weapon that wasn't originally his.

The three-headed giant wolves of the ice plains were perhaps too hungry for long, as they did not even intend to spare a weak prey like a boy.

They attacked the boy simultaneously without warning, their powerful wolf bodies tracing a deadly path through the air.

The boy closed his eyes in despair and swung the bone hammer in his hand horizontally in front of him with all his might.

The expected pain never came. The boy seemed to hear the sound of the wind falling, followed by several sudden, startled howls.

When he mustered up the courage to slowly open his eyes, he was immediately stunned by the sight before him.

A tall and imposing figure appeared on the snow about ten meters away from him.

The three giant wolves of the ice field that had brought him endless cold and despair were now like incredibly docile dogs, lying prostrate at the figure's feet, licking the frozen, hardened earth with their tongues in a fawning manner.

The boy swore he had never seen such a majestic and handsome man in his life.

He wore a black robe with dark gold patterns that reflected a mysterious metallic sheen in the sunlight.

He had long hair that was whiter than snow, deep blue eyes, and youthful, handsome features.

As he gazed at himself in silence, the boy felt an irresistible urge to kneel down and join the ranks of the Icefield Wolf, kissing his feet.

"Who... who are you?!"

The boy stood there stunned for a long time before finally remembering to ask a question.

The young man in the black robe raised his hand, and the several Icefield Wolves at his feet scattered and fled as if granted a pardon. The boy felt his mouth open involuntarily, and something he didn't know flew out from under the young man's robe, quickly entered his mouth, and he swallowed it without thinking.

Immediately afterwards, an invisible chill flowed into his brow from the air, as if taking something away from his mind.

Only then did he hear the young man speak.

"Let me ask you first."

"What's your name? Where is this place?"

Ronan quickly processed the small portion of language-related memories he had extracted from the boy's mind, while waiting for the boy's reply.

He dared not take too much; the boy in front of him was so weak that he could not even be considered an ordinary knight, and there was no trace of wizard meditation on his body.

Intercepting someone's memories is like flipping through a book made of withered leaves; no matter how careful you are, you can easily turn them into an idiot.

They only dared to obtain information related to language after giving the other party a mental protective drug in advance.

"Gal. Bonecrusher, my name is Bonecrusher, Gal. Bonecrusher."

The boy stared blankly and blurted out his name without thinking.

Ronan couldn't help but chuckle. "Did you add the suffix yourself?"

"Of course not!"

The boy blushed, then remembered Ronan's second question and quickly replied, "This is the Hanglas, Snow Field, Frozen Earth, a icy highland."

He rattled off a long list of place names in one breath.

A thoughtful look appeared in Ronan's eyes as he spoke, "The Northernmost Land?"

The boy paused, then scratched his head. "It seems like someone does call me that."

Ronan felt a little relieved.

The Northernmost Land.

It seems he's still in the Upper Ring Continent.

This was good news for him. The Fire Leaving Realm, O'Brien's Laboratory, had a secret spatial teleportation exit leading to the perpetually frost-covered far Frozen Earth.

It has to be said that this is truly unexpected.

"The Northernmost Land... seems to be the territory ruled by the Frost Leader."

Ronan thought to himself, his gaze sweeping over the boy in front of him, lingering briefly on his messy, dirty yet unusually handsome young face.

"Are you a girl?"

"Put"

The boy's face flushed red instantly, and he was about to utter a curse, but he forced himself to swallow it back and retorted in a low voice, "Of course I'm a man."

"You're not up to the standard of a man yet."

Ronan released a little spiritual energy, causing a breeze to stir the boy's sideburns, revealing a pair of unusually long and pointed ears.

The boy quickly covered his ears as if his clothes had been suddenly stripped off, glaring at Ronan with a face full of shame and indignation.

"Are you an elf?"

Ronan was somewhat surprised, "A hybrid elf?"

The boy gritted his teeth, his body trembling, and remained silent.

At that moment, a distant shout came from the Snow Field.

The boy turned around abruptly, his face beaming with joy, and responded loudly, waving vigorously in the direction the sound came from.

Ronan squinted and saw several small black dots on the boundless white ice field, rapidly approaching them.

They were several exceptionally strong men, unfazed by the bitter cold, their bodies covered in unusually thick fur beneath simple animal skin clothing.

"Barbarian"

Ronan's eyes flickered slightly, but his gaze became even more peculiar.

"A barbarian who associates with elves?"

A disheveled, muscular savage, leading the charge, shouted the name "Gal" and came running like the wind.

As he ran, he skillfully took down a huge stone axe from his back.

With a sudden flick of his wrist, the enormous stone axe spun rapidly, hurtling towards Ronan like a meteor.

"Don't want!"

Young Gal jumped up in a panic and shouted.

But the next second, the boy and the group of barbarians who rushed to his rescue were both stunned.

Because the spinning stone axe that had been tearing through the air suddenly stopped a few meters in front of Ronan without warning when it was nearing him.

It was as if an invisible yet powerful hand was in the air, gripping the stone axe tightly.

The ice field was quiet for a few seconds, then the silence was broken by a slightly trembling voice.

"Witchcraft Master"

Young Gal's face turned ashen, and he frantically retreated away from Ronan. At this moment, Ronan seemed even more terrifying to him than the hungry Icefield Wolf that had tried to devour him alive.

"Roar--"

The barbarians roared in unison, advancing instead of retreating. Their hair and beards stood on end, and their eyes were bloodshot as they charged toward Ronan, each radiating a frenzied and resolute killing intent.

The air around Ronan rippled slightly, like water.

The person vanished in an instant.

When they reappeared, they were standing in front of the leader of the barbarians without any warning.

Ronan was only a few steps away from the ferocious barbarian with a hideous face and bulging veins.

The latter then produced a huge stone hammer from somewhere, imbued with terrifying strength, and swung it down fiercely towards Ronan's head.

Ronan, however, seemed oblivious to all of this.

He simply stared at the barbarian before him, his eyes gleaming with a strange light, and spoke softly:

"Do you remember me, Nicole?"

Hoddam Wizard Land, Treehouse

As Ronan uttered each word, the whistling stone hammer suddenly lost all its power, hovering lightly in mid-air less than a meter from Ronan's face.

The madness and bloodlust in the strong barbarian's eyes faded, and he stood there dumbfounded, staring at Ronan.

A moment later, he—no, it should be her—uttered a slightly awkward wizard's common language.

"You... you are Ronan?"

Ronan Damien!

Upon hearing this, Ronan's gaze softened completely.

He nodded slightly, looked at the person in front of him, and slowly smiled.

"Yes.

It's me.

In a tent made of animal hides, beside a burning campfire, in the orange glow of the fire, a tall, muscular, and handsome middle-aged man stared intently at Ronan.

After a long while, he tentatively uttered the words from his trembling lips.

"Damien, are you really Damien?!"

Ronan stood up and stretched out his arms to the man in front of him. "Andre."

The latter stood up somewhat flustered and awkwardly, but soon all her emotions turned into intense excitement and joy.

He strode up and hugged Ronan tightly.

"Gods above, I never knew I would meet you again in this lifetime, especially not here, in the far Northernmost Land, countless miles from Hoddam..."

Andre spoke incoherently, his two pointed ears, unique to elves, trembling slightly with his voice.

"Me too, I didn't expect it."

Ronan patted Andre on the back, separated from him, and sat down again by the campfire, finally having a chance to properly examine him.

Nicole sat beside the two of them, equally unable to hide her joy and excitement.

Andre and his Half-Elf brother were Ronan's first reunion with his former apprentice companions from their days struggling to survive in the Treehouse Area since Ronan left Hoddam.

Not only were the two of them so excited, but Ronan was too.

The memories of the Hoddam Treehouse Area are precious and filled with fond recollections for Ronan.

Of course, the most important reason why the two left such a deep impression on Ronan was that the Saint Blood Tree Seed were given to him by Andre and his sister.

Compared to the image in his memory, Andre's appearance has changed quite a bit.

In Ronan's memory, Andre had delicate features and, when dressed in his robes and not speaking, looked exactly like a witch.

Andre now looks much more mature. He has deliberately cut his long hair short, and his handsome face now bears some scars from battles, making him appear much more masculine and cold.

Nicole, on the other hand

Not much has changed, except that he's become stronger and more masculine.