-Rustle.
In the dense coniferous forest, men cloaked in white moved silently through the snow-covered mountains, their steps muffled. They were on edge, wary of any noise that might give them away, advancing cautiously.
-Caw, caw.
A crow cawed. Since ancient times, crows were considered sacred messengers of Botan, a good omen for warriors. The lead warrior nodded, looking straight ahead.
He wiped the snow off his axe to dull its reflection, then slowly raised it. Beyond the bushes, a few cabins came into view.
“Count to three, then charge.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Around the cabins, the stumps of felled trees were visible. The cabins were neatly maintained, showing no signs of age except for the snow covering them. They hadn’t been built long ago.
“One.”
This pursuit had been meticulously planned. They had backtracked every possible escape route the survivors of Hazart Devan could have taken, finally arriving here.
The warriors of Hazart Kazal were certain that today would bring glorious slaughter.
“Two, three. Charge!”
“For Sadarkelisa!!”
“For Botan! Die, you losers!!”
The men hidden in the bushes surged forward, weapons raised. They expected the enemy to panic, scatter, and be torn apart in a bloody mess.
“…?”
But there was no response. Thrown axes and daggers shattered the cabin windows, and flaming arrows pierced the roof, yet the area remained eerily silent.
“Break down the door!!”
The warrior gritted his teeth and shouted. This couldn’t be happening! There was no other place for them to hide. Any other suitable hiding spots were uninhabitable.
It was simple logic. A place easy to hide in, easy to escape from, with abundant resources to survive for months. The warrior was known for his sharp mind within the clan, and this mission should have been a straightforward task.
-Thud, crash!
The warriors hacked at the door with their axes, and finally, the interior was revealed. Broken furniture and scattered throwing axes filled the space… but no one was there. Absolutely no one.
“Damn it!”
-Crash!
The warrior angrily struck a nearby tree stump. Snow cascaded down, covering his head.
“Damn it, again! Again! These damn rats!!”
He should have calmly searched for traces of life inside the cabin or tracked nearby signs, but the warrior had lost his composure. Days of exhausting pursuit had led to nothing but failure.
Seven raids, seven failures. The warrior brushed the snow off his face and sighed.
“I’m going to die of frustration.”
Above the warrior’s head, on a massive coniferous tree branch, a small bud peeked out, ready to bloom.
-Pop!
A red rose burst forth among the white mist flowers. Freya sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and spoke softly across the flower-covered table.
“Hazart Devan, total 342. Combat-ready personnel: 127. Expected to join in three days.”
The fact that over half of the 350 refugees could be mobilized for war was a testament to the northerners’ warlike nature. Kirhas felt a mix of confusion and amusement at this unexpected calculation.
For over a thousand years, perhaps nearly two thousand, the Asir clan had exerted vast influence over the north. They instilled a culture of paranoia, bordering on madness, beyond mere martial spirit.
Every individual was a potential soldier. A culture that revered strength. A religion that worshipped warriors. Though it began as a defense against demons, now, even farmers or women drawing water could become elite soldiers if handed a weapon.
She quickly glanced at other parts of the map. Yellow dots, like blooming forsythia, represented potential allies. Scattered across the southern region were remnants and refugees fleeing Hazart Kazal’s war of extermination.
-Pop!
A blue iris joined the forsythia. Soon, both flowers faded, replaced by mist flowers. It signaled that allies were attempting to contact and merge with other refugees.
-Creak.
On the massive table, the blooming flowers constantly shifted. Irises, snowdrops, chrysanthemums, yellow roses, sunflowers, dandelions. Cosmos, lilies, foxgloves, snowdrops… A riot of colors bloomed, wilted, and bloomed again, their fragrances dizzying.
Amidst the tangled leaves and branches, withered flowers served as the foundation for new buds. This map, viewed by the gods, depicted the entire northern region…
‘Your Excellency…’
A gloomy blue claw moved slowly across the table. Its movement on the map indicated an impossibly fast maneuver, considering the scale.
Among the blue flowers representing allies, a deep indigo claw stood out, almost black. It symbolized Fernandez.
‘Stay safe.’
Kirhas closed her eyes briefly, praying for her master, who was relentlessly advancing northward beyond the red flower graves at the map’s center.
When she opened her eyes again, simply checking Fernandez’s location was enough rest for her.
“Arne. Take twelve warriors and head east for two days, ignoring all obstacles. Search the valley along the northern ridge of the seventh hill you encounter, rescue the refugees, and rejoin the main force. You must follow the southern ridge for a day before turning toward the main force.”
“Yes, Commander.”
A warrior waiting behind her for orders bowed and left after hearing the interpreter’s words. Kirhas didn’t bother to turn and watch them go.
Next, next, and next. As long as Fernandez didn’t stop, neither would she. She would eat and sleep right here, in front of the map.
