The next day.
In the darkest moment before dawn, the wind and snow finally ceased for a moment.
The hideous wound on Shen Luolin’s neck was only given the simplest of bandages. The seeping blood soaked through the gauze, leaving a startling red mark against his pale skin.
He walked thus, under the “escort” of two Imperial Guards who followed him step by step, toward the brightly lit Emperor’s main tent in the center of the camp.
Outside the tent, all weapons were confiscated.
An effeminate old eunuch held a strange Alchemy Disk, scanning him meticulously. Only after confirming there were no fluctuations of magic power did he bow and step aside to clear the way.
Every step felt like treading on the edge of a blade.
The silhouette of the tent continued to grow in the dim snowy light. The raised door curtain was pitch black, like the bloody maw of a giant beast opened wide, waiting to devour him.
Inside the tent, it was as warm as spring. The thick animal-skin carpets absorbed all sound, and the air was filled with a strange scent of incense mixed with herbs.
The Emperor, nearly seventy years old, did not possess the dragon-like power and tiger-like ferocity Shen Luolin had imagined.
He leaned halfway against a soft couch covered in snow-white fur, his fingertips casually rubbing an ancient Alchemy Ring. Faint glimmers of runes flowed across the ring, emitting subtle fluctuations of magic power.
Around the couch, several seemingly ordinary furnishings also faintly exuded the aura of protective barriers.
Shen Luolin quietly scanned the depths of the tent, where at least six fully armed guards stood in the shadows, each one a powerhouse who had survived countless battles.
Shen Luolin instantly realized that even if he could reach this place silently, attempting an assassination under such strict security would be a nearly impossible task.
Forcing it would only result in a pointless sacrifice, leaving Moyin completely without hope for a comeback.
The Emperor coughed suppressedly every now and then, his entire being exuding a frailty as if he were at death’s door.
Yet, the moment those cloudy eyes saw Shen Luolin, they burst with the sharpness of a hawk, locking onto the wound on his neck.
“Boy of the Frost Wolf family, it seems you experienced a fierce battle last night.”
His voice was hoarse, yet it carried a kind of unquestionable authority inherent to those who have long held high positions.
Before Shen Luolin could speak, a blue figure took a step ahead and knelt on one knee beside him.
It was Ella.
“Your Majesty, the camp was attacked last night because Major Luolin keenly detected the tracks of the ‘Key’.”
Her voice was as calm as ever, using a nearly perfect, business-like tone to begin a meticulously choreographed report.
“Disregarding his own safety amidst the chaos, the Major used thunderous means to personally disable the Dragonblood’s ability to resist, thoroughly eliminating this great hidden danger for the Empire.”
Her narrative was watertight. Every word precisely twisted a failed assassination into a heroic act of protection.
And every word she spoke was the truth.
A selective truth is still a truth.
Shen Luolin stood there, listening to Ella pile all the credit onto him, a ridiculous chill rising from the bottom of his heart.
The Emperor finished listening and smiled noncommittally. His cloudy eyes moved back and forth between Ella and Shen Luolin.
He did not comment on Ella’s report. Instead, he shifted the topic and threw out a completely unrelated question.
“Major Frost Wolf, I remember your savior, Duke Reinside, was once the Empire’s sharpest sword.”
“But a sword can sometimes wound the hand that holds it,” the Emperor’s tone was slow. “Do you think a sword that is too sharp is a good thing or a bad thing?”
A deadly trap.
The air in the tent seemed to freeze. Everyone’s breathing hitched.
This question was not only testing his attitude toward the Dragonblood but also testing his hidden ambitions.
An incorrect answer would mean total destruction.
Shen Luolin leaned down and lowered his head deeply, his posture respectful to the extreme.
“To answer Your Majesty, no matter how sharp a sword is, without the restraint of a scabbard, it is merely a piece of scrap metal that wounds people.”
“The laws of the Empire and Your Majesty’s imperial power are the only scabbard for us soldiers.”
This answer was perfect.
A truly satisfied smile finally appeared on the Emperor’s wrinkled face.
He even sat up straight on the couch, personally walked down the steps, and heavily patted Shen Luolin’s shoulder.
“Good! Well said!”
“Since you are a sharp sword of the Empire, you should be equipped with the best scabbard!”
The Emperor’s gaze turned toward Ella. There was not a trace of paternal warmth in it, not a sliver of heat—only pure evaluation of value.
It was as if he were not looking at his own daughter, but at a handy tool.
In a declarative tone, he spoke a sentence that instantly froze the air in the entire tent.
“I have decided to betroth my daughter, Princess Ella, to you, Major Luolin Frost Wolf.”
“When the matter at the Dragon Temple is concluded and we return to the Imperial Capital, your grand wedding shall be held.”
Boom!
Shen Luolin’s mind buzzed. In an instant, he began hundreds of millions of frantic simulations.
Accept, or refuse?
Refusal would be defying an imperial decree, confirming his rebellious heart. He and Moyin would die here immediately, with no value remaining.
Acceptance would be using this “glory” to thoroughly nail himself down, using Ella’s affection as shackles and Moyin’s despair as a sacrifice in exchange for a chance to linger on and continue his schemes.
Every path to survival led to hell.
And the Emperor was looking at him with a smile, wanting him to personally choose one.
He subconsciously looked at Ella beside him.
On Ella’s face, which was always covered in frost, she lost control of her expression for the first time.
Her shock was written all over her face, followed immediately by wild joy.
Her eyes reddened almost instantly, brimming with tears. She looked at Shen Luolin without blinking, her gaze filled with undisguised love and expectation.
The Emperor noticed Ella’s undignified joy. A flash of cold indifference, bordering on annoyance, passed through his cloudy eyes.
“Ella, put away your unnecessary emotions.”
“You are a princess of the Empire. Your marriage is a cornerstone of the Empire, not a fairy tale to satisfy your personal joys and sorrows.”
Ella’s hand, which was always tightly gripping her sword, trembled imperceptibly at her side. Only then did she shift into a perfectly standard kneeling posture.
“…Understood, Your Majesty.”
Ella had already expressed her stance. It was Shen Luolin’s turn.
At this moment, Shen Luolin became the focus of everyone’s gaze.
Ella’s undisguised love was like a fire scorching the side of his face, leaving him nowhere to run.
And another gaze—a cold, dead gaze—seemed to pierce through the layers of tents and snow, coming from the confinement room he had personally created, nailing itself to his soul.
He could almost clearly see how those silver eyes, which he had just pierced, would shatter into powder inch by inch when this news reached Moyin’s ears.
This reward was the future Ella dreamed of.
This reward was the golden shackles the Emperor used to bind him.
And this reward was a poison-tipped blade thrust into Moyin’s heart.
Ella’s tearful, burning gaze almost pierced through him.
In that gaze was all the love and expectation belonging to a woman.
Yet, in Shen Luolin’s mind, a blinding white light exploded.
In that white light, there was only a blurry shadow—
A silver-haired girl who, in front of the hearth of the Snow-Returning Hut, held an ugly piece of wood and awkwardly stuffed it into his hand, murmuring softly, “You’re not allowed to think it’s ugly.”
Warm memories were like a red-hot blade gouging deeply into his heart.
Shen Luolin’s knees felt as if they were filled with a thousand pounds of lead.
In his mind, Duke Reinside’s serene face before death suddenly overlapped with Moyin’s shattered face after being pierced by the halberd.
—”Take care of her.” That was Duke Reinside’s heavy entrustment before his end, now weighing a thousand tons, pressing down so hard he could not breathe.
—”So it was you.” That was the silent accusation in those dead silver eyes after Moyin was pierced by the halberd, now like a knife, cutting his soul apart.
The promise and the accusation were like two great mountains crashing down.
Shen Luolin slowly, slowly, knelt down on one knee.
The cold armor rubbed together, letting out an overwhelmed, muffled groan.
That was not the sound of metal, but his broken spine letting out a final wail to this world.
His lowered head hid all expressions on his face in the shadows, leaving only a chill more bone-deep than the northern snow.
His voice was steady and clear, echoing within the warm tent and also ringing like a funeral bell, shattering another girl’s world.
“Thank you, Your Majesty… for your profound grace.”
“Your servant accepts the decree.”
The moment he spoke the last word, his hand pressed against his chest. His knuckles suddenly tightened, and through layers of cold armor, he death-gripped that Birch Wood Carving warmed by his body heat.
That was his only anchor in this cold world.
And now, he personally sank it, along with his own heart, into the dark, sunless depths of the sea.
The tent was very quiet.
But that guilt and heartache carved out a voice in his ears of its own accord.
A voice coming from the distant, dark confinement room, so faint it almost didn’t exist, a thoroughly crushed… sob.
That sound was clearer than the Emperor’s imperial decree and more bone-chilling than the wind and snow outside.
He had accepted it.
He accepted this supreme “glory” exchanged for Moyin’s blood and tears.
Outside the tent, a messenger hurried over and reported loudly outside, his voice filled with excitement.
“Your Majesty! Everything is ready! The Dragon Temple shall open in three days!”
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.