Frost Oath

Several witch hunters stood still.

The older witch hunter's brow was knotted tight as he muttered, "Just put on a show."

"The Holy Court's people aren't blind." Hewen turned his head, his gaze fixing directly on Colin. "You do it."

Colin jerked his head up. "Me?"

Hewen said, "Of everyone here, you probably want to hit me most. Kid, chances like this don't come often."

As soon as those words fell, something long suppressed in Colin's eyes finally cracked open.

He stepped forward and swung a vicious punch into Hewen's cheek.

The impact landed with a dull thud. Hewen's head snapped aside, and the corner of his lips immediately split.

Colin's hand froze in midair, trembling slightly.

Hewen tilted his head, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, raised a brow, and even sounded faintly mocking.

"Are you scratching an itch for me?"

Colin clenched his teeth, and his second punch was heavier than the first.

The witch hunters nearby wanted to stop him, but Hewen's gaze forced them all back.

Fists landed on his abdomen, beneath his ribs, and across his shoulders and back, avoiding fatal spots but leaving wounds gruesome enough to frighten anyone.

The veins at Hewen's temples bulged taut.

In the end, Colin slammed a fist into his cheekbone and began gasping for breath before Hewen did, as if he were about to collapse.

Hewen knelt on one knee in the snow, his face mottled with bruises, one side swollen high. Blood seeped from his temple, slid down his cheek, and dripped into the snow.

Isolde watched for a while, feeling that if this continued, Hewen would be left with barely any health. She spoke.

"Enough."

Colin stopped, though his hand was still shaking.

Hewen looked up at him, his voice low and hoarse. "Now that you're done, wipe away those tears and act like a man."

Colin abruptly turned his face away and sniffed hard.

Isolde walked over, looped the Holy Court monk's thin chain around Hewen's wrists, then pressed a Judgment Clasp taken from one of the corpses over the knot.

She had ruined the clasp's inner mechanism with a Soul Thread. As long as Hewen exerted himself, he could break free at any time.

Hewen lowered his eyes to watch her work, breathing heavily.

"You're very practiced."

"If the weak want to live, they have to learn a few odd jobs." Isolde did not even raise her head.

"You don't look very old."

Isolde looked up, her hands still moving. "Captain Hewen, you can't judge people by their faces alone."

Hewen looked at her thin, youthful face. The split at the corner of his lips pulled as he revealed a complicated expression.

"True enough."

Once everything was ready, Isolde took hold of the chain and dragged Hewen toward the monastery's side gate.

Colin suddenly shouted from behind them, "Captain! Bring my brother back alive!"

Hewen fell silent for a moment. Without turning back, he continued forward.

"Silver Frost bears witness. What I swear, fate cannot defy, gods cannot take. I fear not the long night, I kneel not to Holy Radiance, and I shall never betray."

Colin instinctively murmured the latter half along with him. His eyes filled with a resolve called pride as he watched the two disappear from sight.

Isolde remembered that the god worshipped by the people of the Northlands was the God of Silver Frost.

They valued loyalty and oaths. Once they swore in the God of Silver Frost's name, they would spend their entire lives fulfilling that oath, sometimes even passing it down to their descendants.

It was said that whoever became enemies with someone bearing a Frost Oath became enemies with the entire Frostspine Northern Alliance.

That was why people often compared gaining a Frost Oath to becoming a Demigod, arguing over which was harder.

But such arguments usually ended without a conclusion.

And because the Frostspine Northern Alliance and Holy White City had held territorial grudges since ancient times, conflicts of every scale constantly broke out along the borders. Both sides wanted to swallow the other, and neither thought highly of the other.

Hewen walked slowly.

He was injured. Though none of his bones were hurt, he had taken several punches to the abdomen, and every breath clearly pressed against the pain.

Partway there, he staggered and let out a muffled groan.

"That little brat really didn't hold back."

Isolde kept her eyes forward. "The fact that he didn't kick your leg bones means he was being filial."

Hewen looked at her while panting. "You really are... good at comforting people."

"I usually only comfort people who are about to die."

"So I don't qualify yet?"

"I figured you wouldn't want to hear it anyway."

Hewen gave a derisive snort, tugging at his wounds. His face immediately darkened further.

The two walked one before the other through the snow, drawing closer and closer to the monastery's side gate.

The protective magic array flickered in and out of sight ahead, its light reflecting off the Holy Lamp in Isolde's hand.

The wick swayed gently, as though responding to the array. Then the formation opened a gap and allowed them through.

She lowered her eyes, adjusted her breathing, and actively strengthened her disguise ability so that anyone less intelligent than her would lower their guard.

Hewen noticed the subtle change and asked in a low voice.

"Are you using a spell?"

Isolde was somewhat surprised. She had not expected Hewen to notice. Combined with his earlier vigilance and scrutiny, his intelligence was probably not low.

"A little trick for staying alive."

"Does it work on me too?"

"If you want to start screaming for help right now, you can try."

Hewen gave a cold laugh and said nothing more.

He only felt that the woman ahead of him looked young, yet was astonishingly composed.

Before long, the two Holy Court knights guarding the gate noticed the movement. They crossed their spears before the entrance and shouted angrily.

"Stop!"

Isolde halted. The lamplight illuminated her pale face as she spoke between breaths, her voice hoarse from fleeing all the way here.

"This is bad! After the outer patrol captured this intruder, they were attacked again by unknown assailants... Many people died."

The two knights' expressions changed. One of them immediately looked toward Hewen.

"He's the intruder?"

Isolde tightened her grip on the chain, forcing Hewen to stagger half a step.

"Yes. A Northern Witch Hunter."

The other knight stepped closer and examined Hewen's old scars under the dim yellow light. He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.

"He looks like Hewin Hartmann!"

At those words, Hewen slowly raised his head. Even with half his face bruised and swollen, his eyes remained like steel blades soaked in ice.

The two knights were forced by that powerful Suppression to instinctively take half a step back.

One of them looked at Isolde and asked, "Where is your patrol badge?"

Isolde's heart tightened. She did not have a patrol badge.

There had been a Holy Lamp and robes on the corpse, but no patrol badge.

The people from the Black Tower had probably taken it, or perhaps it had fallen into the snow and been overlooked by them.

She lowered her head, her shoulders shrinking ever so slightly. Seeing her shadow sway beneath the light, she blurted out.

"The shadow swallowed it."

The knight frowned. "What?"

Isolde raised her injured palm.

Under the Holy Lamp, the scorched marks showed faint Holy Radiance burns around their edges.

"My badge, along with the shadows of two monks, were swallowed by that Black Tower sorcerer. I only managed to seize the Holy Lamp and this captive."

The knight looked at her hand. Their fear of the Black Tower's shadow magic clearly captured their attention more easily than suspicion toward a low-ranking monk.

Hewen suddenly gave a hoarse laugh. "If those Black Tower bastards hadn't ambushed me and seriously wounded me, how would a bunch of trash like you ever get credit for capturing me?"

"Shut up!" the knight shouted.

Hewen's smile grew colder as he stared at them with a sinister gaze.

"Want to kill me? Come on. The moment you lay a hand on me, my vengeful soul will burrow into your throats, rot you clean from the inside out, and turn you into walking corpses oozing pus."

The threat was extremely effective.

The knights' faces turned livid. None of them dared deal with Hewin Hartmann on their own, since he was the witch hunter leader's son.

Moreover, it was rumored that the souls of witch hunters did not easily disperse after death because of their oaths, and would continue fighting for their faith.

Mishandling someone this important could even trigger a war.

His ultimate fate had to be decided by the judgment of the Lord in Silver Robes.

One of them turned and called to the people inside.

"Hand the captive over to the Discipline Office. I'll report this to the Lord in Silver Robes."

The two knights seized Hewen from either side.

Hewen did not resist. As he passed Isolde, his shoulder discreetly bumped into her, as though venting a captive's dissatisfaction.

In that instant, a small vial of recovery potion slipped from Isolde's sleeve and landed precisely in his bound palm.

Hewen's fingers curled almost imperceptibly, concealing the vial in his hand.

"Nicely done."

As the knight passed Isolde, he casually tossed out a remark. "The Holy Court will remember your contribution."

Isolde obediently lowered her head, her tone devout.

"May Holy Radiance behold."

She had seen that short prayer in a booklet taken from the corpse.

The knight looked at Isolde and pointed in the opposite direction.

"You've just returned from death's doorstep and have been tainted by filth. Now, go receive baptism."