Freya didn’t answer.
She knew what was controlling them—or rather, she sensed it—
That black crystal shard. It was resonating with the corrupted power in the alpha wolf’s eyes, and also pulling at her heart.
She didn’t know what had corrupted the wolf, or whether that corrupting force was connected to the Remnant of Evil God, but she knew that this journey to Winter was more dangerous than she had imagined.
“Get in the cart.”
Serar turned and walked toward the carriage.
“The forest isn’t safe. Let’s get through this area as quickly as possible and rest at the town ahead.”
Lyra helped Freya into the carriage, draped the coat back over her, took off her own scarf and wrapped it around Freya’s neck, then held her cold hands.
“Boss, get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
Freya shook her head.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Then lean on me.”
Freya didn’t refuse. She leaned against Lyra’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The carriage started moving again, the wheels crunching over the snow with a dull, slow sound.
Serar sat across from them, staring out the window at the snow-covered forest, his brows furrowed.
That alpha wolf. Its dark red eyes. The corrupted power.
He remembered what the Winter God Priest had said: “The Remnant of Evil God isn’t the only thing to worry about. There is other darkness awakening on this continent.”
He didn’t know what the corruption on that wolf was. Maybe it was related to the Evil God, maybe it came from another source.
But he knew that the silvery-white light Freya had released earlier was not ordinary mana.
That was Cecilia’s power—the power of that Mana Heart Crystal.
She was driving it with her own life.
Serar closed his eyes. The carriage continued forward, passing through the snow-covered forest.
In the distance, the smoke from the town’s chimneys flickered faintly in the twilight.
It was almost dark.
By the time the carriage passed through the snow-covered forest, the twilight had grown too thick to dissolve.
The wheels crunched over the snow, the sound especially harsh in the silent forest.
Lyra leaned by the carriage window, her red eyes warily watching the darkness outside.
Those eerie green eyes had retreated, but who knew if they would come back?
Serar sat across from them, eyes closed as if dozing, but Lyra noticed his fingers were constantly twitching slightly, his mana ready to be unleashed.
Freya leaned on Lyra’s shoulder, breathing evenly, seemingly asleep.
But her hand kept pressing against her chest, her brows slightly furrowed, as if she was enduring something even in her dreams.
“How much longer until we arrive?”
Lyra asked in a low voice.
Serar opened his eyes.
“Almost. Once we cross the slope ahead, we’ll see the town’s lights.”
“Is that town safe?”
Serar was silent for a moment.
“A border town—full of all kinds. But it’s much safer than spending the night in these woods.”
Lyra nodded and didn’t ask further. She turned her head to look at Freya leaning against her shoulder.
A pale face. Furrowed brows. A hand pressed to her chest.
She remembered those wolves—
Not the tame magical beasts she had seen in the Academy’s Training Ground, but real beasts that would tear apart their prey.
If not for Serar’s Ice Wall and her Light Whip, if not for Freya forcibly activating that power, they might have already…
She didn’t dare think further.
The carriage crested the slope, and the view suddenly opened up. Low buildings flickered faintly in the twilight, with orange-yellow lights shining through windows like stars scattered on the snow.
Lyra gently nudged Freya.
“Boss, we’re here.”
Freya opened her eyes. Her light purple eyes were a bit hazy, and it took a few seconds for them to clear.
She sat up straight, smoothed the wrinkled collar of her coat, and looked out the window at the town outlined by the lights.
“A border town called Snowfall Town.”
“It’s small, but it has everything you need. An inn, a tavern, stables, and a small market for supplies.”
He paused.
“But the people here aren’t too friendly toward outsiders. Stick close to me and don’t wander off.”
The carriage entered the town.
The cobblestone road was covered in snow, only revealing blurry outlines on either side.
The streets were sparsely populated. Occasionally one or two locals wrapped in thick fur coats passed by, eyeing the unfamiliar carriage with wary looks.
Serar lifted the carriage curtain and pointed in a certain direction.
“Turn left ahead, there’s an inn. I know the boss.”
The carriage stopped in front of a three-story wooden building.
A wooden sign hung by the entrance, with two scripts written on it: “Traveler’s Home.”
Serar jumped off the carriage, exchanged a few words with the driver, then turned and gestured for Lyra and Freya to come down.
Lyra jumped down first. Her red eyes swept the surroundings, and only after confirming nothing was amiss did she turn back to help Freya.
When Freya stepped down, her feet landed on the snow with a faint crunch.
She stood there, gazing at this unfamiliar wooden building, at the warm yellow light spilling from the windows, and suddenly felt a bit dazed.
Not long ago, she had been in the Academy’s dormitory, with Grandfather’s soup, Lyra’s scarf, and the noise of Anke and Sophie.
Now, she was in a strange, remote border town sealed off by heavy snow.
And buried in her heart was a shard that could act up at any time.
“Boss, let’s go.”
Lyra tugged at her sleeve.
Freya snapped back to reality and followed her into the inn.
The inn wasn’t big. The first floor was a tavern, with a few wooden tables scattered around a fireplace.
The fire in the fireplace was burning vigorously, warming the entire room.
A few locals sat in a corner drinking. When they saw the group enter, their gazes turned in unison.
Those eyes held no hostility, but no welcome either—only a kind of exclusive, cold scrutiny.
Serar walked to the counter and exchanged a few words with a sturdy middle-aged woman.
The woman glanced at Freya and Lyra, nodded, and took two keys from the wall behind her.
“Two rooms.”
Serar walked back and handed one key to Freya.
“You and Lyra take one room. I’ll be next door.”
Lyra took the key, watching his back, her red eyes narrowing slightly.
“He’s pretty self-aware.”
“He’s smart.”
Freya said, heading for the stairs.
Lyra quickly followed.
The room was on the second floor, small but very clean.
A wooden bed, a table, two chairs, and thick cotton curtains on the window.
As soon as Lyra entered, she checked the window, then the door lock, then crouched down to look under the bed.
After confirming nothing was amiss, she stood up, dusting off her skirt.
“Boss, rest for now. I’ll get some hot water.”
“No need.” Freya sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You go eat first. I’m not hungry yet.”
“I’m not hungry either.”
“You barely ate at noon.”
Lyra lowered her head.
She really hadn’t eaten much—
Not because she wasn’t hungry, but because she wasn’t in the mood.
Those wolves, Freya’s pale face, and that shard that could act up at any time.
She couldn’t eat anything. But she didn’t say that, just shook her head.
“Really, I’m not hungry. Boss, don’t worry about me.”
Freya looked at her for a few seconds, then stood up.
“Come on, let’s go eat downstairs.”
“Boss—”
“Keep me company.”
Lyra opened her mouth, unable to refuse, and could only follow her downstairs.
In the tavern on the first floor, Serar had already taken a table near the corner. On it were three bowls of steaming soup and a large plate of black bread.
When he saw them come down, he waved.
“Come over, eat while it’s hot.”
Lyra frowned slightly, but still helped Freya walk over and sit down.
Freya picked up the soup bowl and drank slowly.
The soup was very hot, with a rich meaty aroma and a spice flavor she couldn’t name.
Lyra sat beside her, also picked up the bowl and took a sip. Her eyes brightened a little.
“It’s good.”
Serar laughed.
“The boss lady’s cooking is famous for a hundred miles around.”
Lyra ignored him and took another sip.
Freya put down the bowl and looked at the remaining half bowl of soup.
“Do you come here often?”
“A few times.”
Serar tore off a piece of black bread and dipped it in the soup.
“A friend from Severe Winter City introduced me. The boss lady is very nice, even if she looks gruff.”
He said, jerking his chin toward the counter.
Freya followed his gaze. The sturdy middle-aged woman was bent over doing accounts. Sensing Freya’s look, she raised her head and gave a slight nod.
Freya nodded back and looked away.
After eating, the three returned to their rooms.
Serar was in the next room. Before leaving, he said, “Don’t go out at night. This town is fine during the day, but it’s not safe at night.”
Lyra ignored him, closed the door, slid the bolt, and propped a chair against the door.
Freya sat on the bed, watching her actions.
“You don’t need to be so tense.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
Lyra said, then spread a blanket she found from the cabinet on the floor, sat on it to test the firmness.
“Not bad. Boss, you sleep on the bed.”
“You sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No!”
“You still have to drive the carriage tomorrow—”
“I don’t have to drive! The driver does!”
Lyra’s voice rose.
“Boss, you’re still not recovered! You sleep on the bed! If you sleep on the floor, you’ll feel even worse tomorrow!”
Freya looked at her, at those red eyes full of stubbornness, was silent for a moment, then lay down on the bed.
“Come up.”
Lyra froze.
“What?”
“The bed is big enough for two.”
Lyra’s face flushed again.
She lowered her head, staring at her own toes.
“I’m fine on the floor—”
“Lyra.”
Freya’s voice was very soft, but carried a calm that brooked no refusal.
“Come up. The floor is cold.”
Lyra stood there, her heart pounding like a drum.
She didn’t know what to say, or how to refuse—
Or rather, she didn’t want to refuse at all.
She lowered her head, walked over slowly, lay down on the other side of the bed, curling herself into a small ball, trying not to touch Freya.
The bed was indeed big—there was still room for another person between them.
But Lyra still felt the space was too small—so small that she could smell the soap scent in Freya’s hair, hear her steady breathing, and feel the slight warmth radiating from her body.