Florian looked at Snow White, wanting to see what she thought.
They were companions now, and approaching a band of mercenaries of unknown origins in this godforsaken wilderness of ice and snow was hardly wise. But leaving outright would make them seem overly wary and might arouse suspicion instead. They needed to discuss how to handle it.
Snow White's gaze swept over the bearded man, then moved to the burly men behind him, who were still gnawing on their meat.
They looked rough, but their eyes were clear, without the malice and greed so often found in those who had spent years living on a knife's edge.
Sensing no ill intent from them, Snow White nodded to Florian.
"Let's take a look. We've been in the icefield for so long. It's time we asked what's been happening outside."
They walked toward the camp. At the sight, the bearded man immediately grinned and turned to shout behind him, "Come on, make room for our two friends! Heat that pot of meat soup up again!"
The burly men briskly shifted aside, giving up the two warmest stones beside the campfire. Snow White and Florian did not stand on ceremony. They thanked them and sat down.
The bearded man introduced himself as the leader of this mercenary squad. His surname was Tie, and everyone called him Old Iron.
He handed them two steaming bowls of meat soup. Snow White took a sip, while Florian held his bowl to warm his hands. Neither hurried to speak.
Old Iron was quick to treat strangers like old friends. Unbothered by their silence, he launched into an introduction.
His squad spent most of the year around the outskirts of the icefield, making a living from commissions to hunt low-level soul beasts and gather medicinal herbs from the