Several months earlier, Archmage Jurgen Loken had suddenly gone silent.
The Supreme Mage had then issued an order.
The twelve Silver-Masked Mages under his direct command were to head to the Northern Frontier and uncover the truth.
Their destinations were the border of the Northern Frontier and the tribal ruins farther north.
With so much ground to cover, the twelve split into four teams and searched separately.
It was hardly a difficult mission. They just had to find someone...
At least, that was what everyone had thought at first.
Reality soon taught those resolute Silver-Masked Mages what it meant to have absolutely no leads.
The winds of that frozen land were cold. The trail was colder still.
Weeks flew by. They found no ruins, no corpse, not even a trace of lingering magic.
"This place feels more and more like we're walking in circles." Leichir frowned at the map and casually lit a ball of demon flame beside his feet.
The three sat around the campfire by a stream, took out their dry rations, and began chewing, their faces expressionless.
"I've always said getting into management is the way to go." Modi crunched on bread hard enough to kill someone.
"Silver-Masked Mage sounds impressive, but we're really just workhorses. One word from the mage, and we have to come searching the forests of the Northern Frontier for someone we can't find even after a month."
"If you want to become a Gold-Masked Mage, you'd better learn to kiss ass first." Leichir glanced at him, his tone flat.
"Forget it, then." Modi gave him a sidelong look.
Flavia said nothing. She merely lowered her head and tore at her rations, apparently lost in thought.
Her gaze occasionally drifted toward the shadows in the forest. Something about the wind there felt wrong.