Chapter Two: Profaning the Night

Carlos pondered for a moment, then suddenly raised his head to gaze at the sky. Through the swirling snowflakes, he searched the endless gray gloom above. Moments later, Carlos's expression revealed that his suspicions were confirmed. Deep in the distance, through a gap in the clouds, he caught a faint glimpse of a colossal creature flying through the snow, heading toward the Droni Mountains.

The night patrol led Carlos to the small town square, and there, just as he expected, he saw several shabby figures huddled beside a wooden frame on the snowy ground, guarded and shivering. Carlos immediately recognized the swordsman Anderson. It had been six months since they last met, and Anderson’s face was covered in thick stubble. As Carlos stepped across the creaking snow, the black cat perched on Anderson’s shoulder raised its head, opening its large, watchful eyes and let out a wary meow.

Standing before them, taking in their ragged state, Carlos frowned and tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his cotton coat. “How did you end up like this?”

The short Murray struggled to lift his head, his expression tinged with dejection. “I’m sorry, Master Carlos. We botched your mission.”

The tall Solion, his cheeks flushed from cold or embarrassment, said, “It was all my fault. The herbs were left behind in a deep ravine when we made camp at night. The snowstorm came suddenly, and by morning they were buried under waist-high snow. I apologize.”

Carlos felt a pang of disappointment but quickly let it go. Surviving the icy weather and returning alive was itself a miracle, and he turned to more pressing matters.

“It’s all right, Solion. Don’t blame yourself. Did my guests reach their mountain home?”

Anderson’s throat moved, his lips quivering as he gave a helpless look. “In fact, we owe our survival to them.”

Carlos glanced at Conrad, who seemed deeply affected, and felt a moment of unease.

“Oh? What happened?”

The stout hunter Conrad cleared his throat. “Master Carlos, when we reached the depths of the mountains, something odd was going on. Following your instructions, we entered the valley and found it swarming with magical beasts—so many we couldn’t count. They had taken over the entire valley, blocking our path. When we tried to consult your guests, we discovered the carriage was empty, its occupants gone without a trace. We didn’t know what to do, so we continued searching for the alchemical herbs. Then the snow sealed the mountains, and we got lost in the deep drifts.”

“How did you make it back?”

Conrad stammered, his face reddening. “Actually, we don’t know. Last night, we hid in a tree hollow to sleep, and when we woke up, we were at the town’s entrance. And… well, you know the rest…”

Anderson shot the hunter a disgruntled look. “You were supposed to be on night watch yesterday, yet you noticed nothing.”

Carlos tightened the collar around his neck against the cold wind, thinking for a moment. He more or less understood what had happened. With the awakened twin-headed dragon nearby, nothing grave could have occurred. He sighed inwardly and reassured them, “It seems there’s more to this story. Let’s head back, have something warm to drink, and talk further.”

Anderson, burdened with his sword, looked heavy-hearted as he slowly stood and shrugged. “Master Carlos, you don’t need to entertain us. A bit of ridicule for failing the mission might help us feel better.”

Watching Anderson brush the snow from his clothes and rise, Carlos’s thin lips curved into a smile. “Cheer up. I don’t want a gloomy swordsman at my side when we head south.”

“You’re still willing to take me to the Central Province?” Anderson asked in surprise.

Having glimpsed the twin-headed dragon earlier, Carlos felt certain that Cook and Vivian, the half-orcs, were safe. Otherwise, the dragon would not have kindly escorted Anderson back to Saltwell Town. He drew his hand from the warm sleeve and held it out. “Why not? You completed your escort mission. I must keep my promise.”

The swordsman Anderson hesitated, then gathered the black cat from his shoulder into his arms, stroking its forehead gently. “Completed? It seems you kept plenty from us regarding this mission.”

Carlos shook his head and turned to walk onward with the night patrol beside him, offering no reply. “Go warm yourselves by the fire and clean up. We’ll talk later.”

Anderson pursed his lips, nudging the tall, dazed Solion. “Stop playing the victim. This guy won’t fall for that!”

Murray replied with a blank expression, “No need for your reminder. You finished your mission, but the three of us didn’t. Enjoy your fine wine. We plan to gather our gear and keep searching for those herbs buried in the snow.”

Anderson rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No wonder you’re fools. I’m lucky I survived this trip with you.”

Night fell.

Inside Blackstone Castle, the lights blazed brightly.

It was as if two worlds stood in stark contrast: one in darkness beneath the castle, belonging to West Cyprus, and the other atop the mountain pass of Loa Avenue, where Blackstone Fortress shone with lively brilliance.

Winter’s End Festival—the grandest celebration of the northwest, marking the farewell to winter. Even in the borderlands, people could not help but wear expressions of peace and joy.

Yet brilliance was, in a sense, a desecration of the night.

On the castle’s periphery, beyond the cliffs at the far end of the mountainous ramparts, a massive swarm of sinister bats swept toward the fortress like a whirlwind, blotting out the sky.

Suddenly, the swarm halted with a rush, spinning fiercely in place, then transformed into hundreds of human figures. Each face was pale, utterly devoid of color, cloaked in voluminous black capes. Their chilling aura was as if they had just clawed their way out of the grave, crouched on the jutting rocks of the cliffs. They needed no fire for illumination, kept their presence low, and within their cloaks, cold iron swords gleamed.

The Iron Dwarves were preparing to launch a surprise attack on the first—and most vital—line of defense in East Cyprus, Blackstone Fortress, on the day of the Winter’s End Festival.

For this, the Iron Dwarf King had forged an alliance with the Bat Knights, a temporary pact. If East Cyprus could be conquered outright, not only would it deal a heavy blow to the Empire of Light’s morale, but it would also allow Cyprus to fall into their grasp, with the Westernling Strait forming a boundary between them and the Empire.

As for the ancient race of bat people joining the fray, the newly promoted Duke Mori knew nothing. He was inside the castle, troubled by the arrival of four mercenary legions—nearly twenty thousand men—needing supplies at the tail end of winter.

He anticipated the coming snows, knowing that the Iron Dwarves would soon attempt to attack Loa Avenue, and he needed to make ample preparations for the war of Spring Festival.