Chapter 133: Winterhold

Freya did not answer. She just looked at him.

“The person behind you, it’s not the head of the Rylar family. Who is it?”

Vincent’s pupils contracted slightly.

That instant of abnormality was caught by Freya.

“The Remnant of the Evil God isn’t just that wisp on Irina.”

Freya’s voice was very light, as light as a petal falling on snow, yet every word was clear enough to cut bone.

“You have it on you too. It’s faint, but you have it.”

Serar’s expression changed.

He looked at Vincent, at the dark red eyes of his uncle, eyes that were identical to those of the alpha wolf from last night.

Eyes that had been contaminated.

Vincent was silent.

He stood there, black-violet light swirling around him, his face like a wall without a single crack.

Then he smiled—a very light, very faint smile, carrying a weariness that saw through everything.

“You think you know everything, Cecilia’s daughter.”

He pressed his hand to his chest, where a dark red light was pulsing faintly.

He looked at her, his dark red eyes surging with complex emotions.

“But you don’t know why your mother went to Severe Winter back then.”

Freya’s lashes trembled slightly.

Vincent didn’t continue.

He turned and walked into the woods, the black-violet light slowly dissipating behind him.

His footsteps grew softer and softer, farther and farther, until they were swallowed by the wind.

Only the six corpses and the bloodstains were left on the snow.

Serar stood there, his shortsword still in his hand, the tip drooping low.

His body was trembling slightly—whether from exhaustion or from the things Vincent had said.

“Are you okay?”

Lyra walked over to Serar, for once not using that disdainful tone.

Serar shook his head and sheathed the shortsword.

“The carriage is destroyed. We might have to walk the rest of the way.”

Lyra looked at the battered carriage, then at Freya.

She stood there, pressing her chest, her face paler than before.

But her eyes were very bright, so bright it was hard to look directly at her.

“Boss, what you said just now—that man also has the Remnant of the Evil God on him?”

Lyra’s voice was very soft.

“Then that wisp on Irina isn’t the only one?”

“It’s not.”

Freya’s voice was calm.

“The Evil God was sealed for a thousand years, and his remnants are scattered all over the continent. The wisp on Irina is the strongest, but it’s not the only one. Those wolves—the alpha wolf was also contaminated. Vincent too. And more that we haven’t seen.”

Lyra was silent.

She looked at Freya, at those still calm, utterly unruffled light purple eyes.

“Boss, are you scared?”

Freya lowered her head and looked at her own hands.

Those hands were still trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the black fragment beating inside her heart.

It was responding. Responding to the same contaminated power in Vincent.

It was longing. Longing to meet its own kind.

“I am.”

Freya’s voice was very soft, almost inaudible.

“But I have to keep going even though I’m scared.”

She lifted her head and looked at the distant snowy mountain.

Severe Winter City was on the other side of that mountain, and the answers were there too.

And more things she didn’t know—about her mother, about that Mana Heart Crystal, about the secrets of this black fragment.

She had to find them.

“Let’s go.”

She took the first step, leaving a shallow footprint on the snow.

Lyra quickly caught up and supported her arm.

Serar walked at the rear, his deep blue eyes fixed on the direction Vincent had disappeared, his thin lips pressed into a straight line.

He remembered his uncle’s last words— “Your mother misses you very much.”

No, Vincent had said, “Your father misses you very much.”

His father—the head of the Rylar family, that man who would do anything for power.

He remembered the cold look in his father’s eyes when he threw him into the training ground as a child.

He had said, “You are a child of the Rylar family. You must be strong, or you don’t deserve to bear this surname.”

Later, he ran away. Ran to the Winter Magic Academy, ran to the Central Magic Academy, ran to the place farthest from Severe Winter.

He thought if he ran far enough, he wouldn’t be found.

He was wrong.

The snow grew deeper, the footprints shallower.

In the distance, the outline of Severe Winter City appeared dimly in the twilight, like a giant beast crouching in the snow, its mouth open.

When dusk fell, they finally saw the outline of Severe Winter City.

The city sat at the foot of the snowy mountain, its gray walls looking especially heavy in the twilight.

Magic lamps on the walls lit up one by one, like a string of pearls being kindled, enveloping the entire city in a warm glow.

The city gate was large enough for three carriages to pass side by side.

The gate was still open, with a steady stream of people coming and going.

Serar stopped.

“We’re here.”

His voice was a little hoarse.

Lyra stood beside him, looking at the unfamiliar city, her red eyes filled with exhaustion.

Her legs were trembling, blisters had formed on the soles of her feet, and every step felt like walking on knife blades.

But her back remained straight, and her hand supporting Freya’s arm did not let go.

“Let’s go.”

Freya took the first step.

Lyra supported Freya’s arm and followed.

Serar walked more slowly, as if burdened by thoughts, his steps heavy.

“Halt. Inspection.”

A guard in iron armor stopped them, his gaze sweeping over three unfamiliar faces and pausing briefly on Freya’s light purple hair.

Serar pulled a token from his pocket and handed it over.

“An exchange student from Winter Magic Academy, Serar Rylar. These two are my guests.”

Seeing the token, the guard’s expression immediately became more respectful.

“So you’re from the Rylar family. Please, come in.”

He stepped aside, taking another look at Freya as she passed.

The three entered the city gate.

The streets were wide, lined with stone buildings much taller than the wooden houses in the border town.

People were everywhere—some wrapped in thick fur coats, some in light magic robes, and a few dwarves squatting by the roadside hawking ironware.

Various languages mingled in the air, like a bubbling stew.

Lyra didn’t know where to look; she had never seen a city like this.

Serar led them through several streets and stopped in front of a gray-white building.

The building wasn’t large, but it was delicate, with a carved ice crystal flower pattern on the lintel.

He pushed open the door, and a wave of warmth washed over them.

“This is the guesthouse of Winter Magic Academy. It’s close to the library and safe. You can stay here first. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the library.”

Lyra helped Freya inside. The hall wasn’t large, and a fire blazed in the fireplace.

An old woman with white hair sat behind the counter. Seeing Serar, she stood up and smiled.

“Serar, you’re back.”

“Grandma Lillian. These two are my friends. We need two rooms.”

The old woman looked at Freya, then at Lyra, a flicker of surprise in her cloudy eyes.

“Light purple hair, light purple eyes… House Dale?”

Freya paused for a moment.

“Cecilia is my mother.”

The old woman’s expression changed.

She looked at Freya for a long time, and a complex mix of emotions appeared on her wrinkled face—nostalgia, sadness, and a faint, inexplicable guilt.

“You look just like your mother.”

“When she came here back then, she was the same age as you. Same light purple hair, same light purple eyes. She stayed in the room you’ll be staying in tonight.”

Freya’s lashes trembled slightly.

She didn’t say thank you. She just nodded slightly.

The old woman took two keys from the wall and handed them to her.

“Second floor, end of the hallway.”

The room was at the end of the second-floor corridor. Not large, but very clean.

A wooden bed, a desk, a chair, and thick cotton curtains hanging on the window.

Freya stood by the window, pushed it open, and cold wind rushed in.

The distant snowy mountain glowed faintly blue in the twilight.

Lyra stood behind her, looking at her silhouette.

That light purple figure looked a little thin in the dusk, like a poplar standing alone in a snowstorm.

“Boss, your mom once stayed here.”

“Mm.”

“When you were little, did she ever tell you about Severe Winter?”

Freya was silent for a long time.

“No. She never told me about the places she’d been. She only told me about the customs, the geography, the distribution of magical beasts.”

She paused.

“Like she was teaching from a textbook.”

Lyra didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t ask further.

She walked over and closed the window.

“It’s cold outside. Don’t let the wind get to you.”

Freya turned and looked at Lyra.

Looked at her red, swollen palms, her worn-out shoes, her messy hair, the dark circles under her eyes.

“Do your feet hurt?”

Lyra was startled.

“They don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

Freya crouched down and took hold of her ankle.

“Take off your shoes.”

Lyra blushed and took off her shoes. Her soles were covered in blisters, some already broken, exposing pink, tender flesh.

Freya looked for a long time, then fished out some ointment from her pack, crouched down, and gently applied it to the wounds.

The ointment was cool, and Lyra couldn’t help flinching.

“Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt! It’s just cold!”

Freya kept her head down and continued applying the ointment.

Lyra watched her lowered lashes, her focused profile, the hand holding her ankle. Her heart started beating faster again.

After a long while, Freya stood up.

“Buy a new pair of shoes tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Now, sleep.”

“And you, Boss?”

“I’ll sleep too.”

Lyra grinned. She climbed onto the bed, curled up under the covers, and left half her face exposed.

Freya lay down on the other side and pulled the blanket over herself.

They were separated by the space of one person, but Lyra felt that distance was just right—

Close enough to hear her breathing, far enough not to make her uncomfortable.

“Boss.”

“Mm.”

“Tomorrow we go to the library. Will we find the answers?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if we don’t?”

“Then we’ll look somewhere else.”

Lyra nodded, rolled over, and faced Freya’s direction.

Twilight seeped through the gap in the curtains, falling on Freya’s face, outlining her features in a soft glow.

“Boss.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll always be with you.”

Freya didn’t say anything.

But Lyra knew she heard.

Outside the window, the silhouette of the distant snowy mountain appeared faintly in the moonlight.

The first night in Severe Winter City—she could finally get a good night’s sleep.