Chapter 127: The Hungry Wolf

Her eyelashes drooped slightly, lips lightly pressed, face still a bit pale, but much better than yesterday.

Serar took out a thick coat from his Space Ring, dark gray, looking very warm.

He stood up gently, walked around Lyra, and draped the coat over Freya.

His movements were very light, as if afraid to disturb something.

Lyra watched his actions without stopping him.

The coat was thick, wrapping Freya entirely, only revealing a quiet face.

Serar sat back down, took out another thick garment from the ring, and handed it to Lyra.

“Put it on.”

Lyra didn’t take it.

“I’m not cold.”

“Severe Winter is cold. You’ll know when we get there.”

Serar placed the garment beside her.

“You have Mana protecting you now, so you might not feel it. But once we reach Severe Winter, Mana alone won’t be enough. The cold there is damp; it seeps into your bones. If you don’t wear thick clothes, you’ll freeze into an ice sculpture.”

Lyra looked at him, at his unusually serious expression, was silent for a few seconds, then picked up the garment.

“Thanks.”

Serar was taken aback, then smiled.

That smile was different from usual—not that annoying grin, but a gentler smile with a hint of relief.

“You’re welcome.”

Lyra put on the garment. It was large, with sleeves too long. She flicked her hands, looking like a child wearing adult clothes.

She huddled in the clothes, turned her head, and looked at Freya leaning against her shoulder.

Her breathing was steady, and she was sleeping deeply.

The scarf was still around her neck—pale blue, with frayed edges.

“She hasn’t slept this deeply in a while.”

Lyra said softly.

Serar didn’t speak.

He looked at Freya, complex emotions churning in his deep blue eyes.

“She’s too tired.”

The carriage continued northward, the sound of wheels rolling monotonous and dull.

Lyra leaned against the carriage wall, watching the scenery whiz by outside the window.

Serar sat opposite, eyes closed, as if resting.

Sunlight streamed through the carriage window, falling on the three of them, warm and cozy.

After an unknown amount of time, Freya stirred and slowly opened her eyes.

She saw herself leaning against Lyra’s shoulder, covered by an unfamiliar dark gray coat.

She sat up straight and rubbed her eyes.

“Where did this come from?”

Serar opened his eyes. “Mine.”

Freya looked at the coat, then at Serar, but neither said thank you nor returned it.

She simply folded the coat and set it aside.

“How much longer until we arrive?”

“At this speed, we’ll reach the border by tomorrow evening. And Severe Winter City by noon the day after.”

Freya nodded and leaned back against the carriage wall. Lyra looked at her—at her pale face, at the slightly reddened corners of her eyes.

“Boss, get some more sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

“Then lean on me.”

Freya glanced at her, then leaned over, resting on her shoulder, but didn’t close her eyes.

She gazed out the window at the gradually desolate landscape, at the faint outlines of distant mountain ranges.

“Lyra.”

“Hmm?”

“When we get to Severe Winter, what do you want to eat?”

Lyra was taken aback, then grinned.

“Grilled meat! And Honey Cake!”

“All you think about is eating.”

“You asked me!”

Freya didn’t answer. But Lyra saw the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

Very faint, but she was indeed smiling.

Serar sat opposite, watching them, a complex light flashing in his deep blue eyes.

He lowered his head, opened a book he had with him, and didn’t speak again.

The carriage continued northward.

In the distance, the silhouettes of snow-capped mountains appeared faintly on the horizon.

Severe Winter was approaching.

The carriage jerked to a halt, wheels screeching on the snow as the entire cabin lurched forward violently.

Lyra grabbed the window frame to steady herself, instinctively shielding Freya with her other hand.

Serar reached up to brace against the carriage ceiling, his brows furrowing.

“What’s going on?”

The coachman’s trembling voice came from outside.

“Wolves… there are wolves…”

Serar threw aside the carriage curtain and jumped down.

Cold wind rushed into the carriage, carrying the scent of ice and snow along with a wild, rank odor.

Lyra jumped down right after him, her red eyes scanning ahead as her pupils contracted sharply.

In the snowfield, countless pairs of eyes glowing with eerie green light were staring at them.

Those eyes were dense, emerging from the woods on both sides of the road like ghostly flames lit in the darkness.

Ice Plain Wolves—

Their fur was gray-white, blending almost perfectly with the snow, only their eyes and the fangs revealed in their slightly open mouths gave away their positions.

The nearest one was only a few steps from the horse’s head, back arched, teeth bared, emitting a low, continuous growl from its throat.

The coachman was already paralyzed in his seat, trembling all over.

Serar stood in front of the carriage facing the wolf pack, ice-blue hair blown by the wind, his deep blue eyes showing no fear, only grave alertness.

“How can there be so many Ice Plain Wolves…”

He lowered his voice, as if talking to himself.

Freya descended from the carriage, her movements slower than usual, her face still pale but those pale purple eyes unusually clear.

She swept her gaze over the wolf pack, her brows slightly furrowed.

“Ice Plain Wolves don’t attack humans unprovoked. Unless they’ve caught the scent of blood, or…”

She stopped, her gaze landing on the leading wolf.

It was a massive wolf far larger than its kin, its shoulder height nearly reaching an adult’s waist.

Its fur was not gray-white but almost pure silver-white, with only a single black stripe along its spine.

Its eyes were not eerie green but dark red, like two clots of congealed blood.

“That alpha wolf is off.”

Serar noticed too.

“Its eyes… they’re contaminated.”

Freya didn’t answer. She watched the alpha wolf, watched the madness and hunger churning in its dark red eyes, when suddenly a sharp pain shot through her heart—

Not the previous dull ache, but a strong, pulling twitch as if something was tugging at it.

That Black Crystal Shard deep in her Heart Meridian pulsed at the same frequency as the dark red light in the alpha wolf’s eyes.

It sensed something; it was responding.

Lyra stood beside Freya, hands already condensing golden Light Magic, her red eyes warily fixed on the alpha wolf.

“Boss, they’re about to attack.”

As soon as the words fell, the alpha wolf let out a short, piercing howl.

The sound was unlike a normal wolf howl—more like the screech of tearing metal. The pack moved, countless gray-white figures leaping up from the snow and charging at the carriage from all sides.

Serar struck first.

Ice-blue Mana burst from his palm, transforming into countless sharp Ice Spikes that shot forward in a fan shape.

The foremost wolves were struck by the Ice Spikes, yelping in pain and falling onto the snow, their blood splattering starkly against the white ground.

But more wolves trampled over their comrades’ corpses and continued charging.

Serar gritted his teeth, Mana surging again as a wall of ice rose up in front of the carriage, temporarily blocking the wolves’ frontal assault.

Lyra guarded the other side of the carriage, golden Light Magic condensing into a whip of light in her hand.

She lashed out, the light whip striking the lunging wolves with precision.

The wolves hit let out shrill shrieks, smoke rising from their bodies as they fell onto the snow.

Light Magic was effective against contaminated creatures, but there were too many wolves—beat one back and two more pounced.

Lyra’s breathing grew rapid; her Mana wasn’t enough to sustain a prolonged battle of attrition.

Freya stood by the carriage, holding her Magic Wand but never striking.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to—the stabbing pain in her heart was growing more intense, as if something was tearing inside her.

She could feel Mana surging through her veins, but couldn’t shape it. Every time she tried to channel it, the pain worsened, like a dull blade sawing back and forth on her Heart Meridian.

“Boss, get inside!”

Lyra shouted while swinging her whip.

Freya didn’t move. She stared at the alpha wolf—

It wasn’t joining the attack, just standing in the distance, its dark red eyes locked onto her.

‘What was it waiting for?’

Freya didn’t know, but she understood that as long as that alpha wolf remained, the pack wouldn’t retreat.

“Serar.”

She spoke, her voice soft but clear.

“Cover me.”

Serar glanced back at her, seeing her pale face, furrowed brows, and her hand gripping the Magic Wand but trembling slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Lyra, come here! We’ll clear a path for her!”

Lyra gritted her teeth, lashed out with her light whip to sweep away the wolves in front of her, then retreated to Freya’s side.

She saw Freya’s complexion—even paler, her lips almost bloodless.

“Boss—”

“I’m fine.”

Freya cut her off.

She took a deep breath, pressed her chest to forcibly suppress the stabbing pain, then raised her Magic Wand.

Silver-white Mana surged from the tip of the wand, not forming Ice Crystals but transforming into a soft glow.

That glow wasn’t as blazing as Lyra’s Light Magic; it was a colder, calmer silver-white, like Moonlight condensed into solid form.

It enveloped Freya, then slowly spread outward.

Wherever the light reached, the contaminated wolves began to retreat—not out of fear, but as if suppressed by something, a primal dread rising from instinct.

The alpha wolf let out a low howl, a flicker of disturbance passing through its dark red eyes.

It stared at Freya for a few seconds, then turned and walked into the depths of the forest.

The wolf pack receded like a tide, gray-white figures disappearing between the snow and trees, leaving behind patches of blood and the bodies of a few of their own.

Serar lowered his hand; the ice wall shattered into countless ice shards, glinting in the sunlight.

He was panting heavily, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

Lyra’s light whip dissipated as well. She crouched down, hands on her knees, heart pounding like a drum.

Freya lowered her Magic Wand, the silver-white glow fading slowly.

Her face was as white as paper, and she swayed. Lyra quickly caught her.

“Boss!”

“I’m fine.”

Freya’s voice was weak but steady.

“Just a little tired.”

Lyra supported her, her eyes red-rimmed.

Serar walked over, checked Freya’s complexion, then looked in the direction the alpha wolf had disappeared, his expression grave.

“Those wolves are off. Ice Plain Wolves don’t attack humans like this, unless something is controlling them.”