The snowfield that had once been silent now burned red with fire and blood.
The earth shook beneath the march of soldiers and beasts alike. The sky itself seemed to groan under the weight of clashing wills—steel against claw, man against monster.
The Ravarn tribe descended like a storm. Their roars split the frozen air, echoing across the white plains. The heat of their breath melted the frost where it fell, and their tails carved trenches into the snow.
And at the front of it all, Duke Draken was a blur of motion—his greatsword cleaving through demons as if the laws of flesh and bone no longer applied to them.
"Is he even human...?" I muttered, watching as another Ravarn fell in two clean pieces under his blade.
Alice’s gaze followed her father’s movements with a mixture of awe and fierce pride. "He’s the strongest man in the North. And my father."
Her words carried no arrogance—just the cold certainty of fact.
I couldn’t even argue. Every swing of the Duke’s sword tore through the blizzard itself. Aura flared around him like a wildfire, blue-white and blinding, cutting through the shadows of the demon horde.
The soldiers behind the duke roared his name, voices thundering through the battlefield.
"Draken! Draken! For the Duke!"
Their cries carried like a battle hymn, each shout swelling their morale higher as another demon fell beneath their blades.
And yet... somehow, we were part of this blood-soaked chorus.
Even as I moved among them, their hatred for demons burned so fiercely it felt tangible—like molten lava, bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest spark.
No—perhaps it had already erupted the moment this war began.
"Everyone’s quite spirited," I murmured under my breath.
Every moment on this battlefield astonished me.
It was one thing for the Duke—his deep-rooted hatred for demons was practically carved into his bloodline—but the knights, too... They didn’t hesitate for a second. Not even when facing death head-on.
"Spirited?" Alice’s cold voice cut through the chaos beside me. "They’re not spirited. They’re desperate. The people here have been holding back their resentment ever since their homes were destroyed and their families slaughtered."
Her gaze lingered on the soldiers, her tone sharp, yet tinged with something that almost resembled pity.
"The blood spilled, the lives lost... you can’t count them with both hands. For them, only the demons’ complete annihilation will bring peace."
I glanced around. The knights and soldiers who had once guarded the fortress wore expressions carved from stone.
Their armor bore deep scars—proof of countless battles survived. Their faces were grim, hard, yet their eyes... their eyes burned with unyielding fire.
That kind of hatred didn’t need rousing speeches or banners to ignite. It was personal. It was raw.
’So this is what centuries of war look like,’ I thought.
And now, with the Duke’s reinforcements behind them, it was as if someone had lifted the weight that had kept them restrained.
No one here intended to hold back anymore.
The real war—one fueled by vengeance, not orders—had finally begun.
Crrrrrrrrrrrrk!!!!
A shrill cry tore through the wind. A Ravarn lunged from the fog, its claws gleaming like blades. Before I could react, an arrow whistled past my ear and buried itself in the creature’s skull.
The body crumpled soundlessly into the snow.
Alice lowered her bow with the same detached grace one might show after swatting an insect. The wind tossed her silver hair into her face, but her eyes—those glacial blue eyes—never left the horizon.
"See?" she said softly. "They don’t stop coming. They never do."
"Then why keep fighting like this?" I asked. "Even if you win here, there’ll be another war. Another wave. Doesn’t it ever... tire you?"
Her expression didn’t waver, but I caught the faintest flicker of emotion beneath it. Sadness, maybe. Or exhaustion disguised as resolve.
"Tired?" she repeated, as if tasting the word. "Of course. Every person here is tired. But what choice do we have? The north doesn’t get peace handed to it—we carve it out of the corpses that threaten it."
Her words fell heavy, grounding themselves in the snow like lead.
I wanted to say something back, but before I could, the Duke’s voice thundered across the battlefield—deep, commanding, unstoppable.
"Advance! Push them back to the canyon!"
The soldiers responded instantly, their roars shaking the frozen air.
I watched the Duke’s figure cut forward again, the light of his aura flaring against the darkness like a beacon.
"...He’s terrifying," I murmured.
"He’s necessary," Alice replied. "If he faltered even once, everything here would collapse. Every home in the north would burn."
Her eyes softened for a fleeting moment as she watched her father fight, then hardened again just as quickly.
"People call him the Shield of the North," she continued quietly. "But shields crack eventually. And when that happens, someone else will have to bear the weight."
There was something in her tone that made me glance at her.
"Someone else?"
Her fingers tightened around her sword. "Me."
For a brief moment, the roar of battle seemed to fade beneath the sound of the wind. I could almost hear her heart beating beneath that calm façade—a quiet, steady rhythm beneath the storm.
"...You really think you can live up to that?" I asked.
She turned to me then, her eyes like frozen flame. "I have to. Because if I don’t—no one will."
A gust of wind swept between us, carrying the stench of blood and burning fur.
And for the first time, I realized that beneath her pride, her vengeance, and that untouchable composure...
Alice Draken was afraid.
Not of death—but of what might happen if she ever stopped fighting. If she ever stopped moving forward, she feared that all the pain, all the memories, would finally catch up and devour her whole.
...And before I could say anything, someone interrupted us.
It was General Bardik.
"What is it?"
His voice carried the same frigid tone as the northern wind, honed by decades of battle. He always spoke as if testing whether those before him were strong enough to survive another day.
"The Duke has requested that you infiltrate the rear."
"Rear infiltration?" Alice asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Some of the scouts who reported the demon invasion have been captured. The Duke wants you to rescue them before they’re executed."
At his words, everything began to make sense—the reckless frontal assault, the unusually aggressive push.
’So that’s it... the main force is a distraction.’
They weren’t trying to win the battle outright—they were buying time. Time for us to sneak in, strike fast, and get the scouts out before the demons realized what was happening.
No one in their right mind would’ve guessed that the War Hawk himself would volunteer to act as bait.
"...Understood," Alice replied, tightening her grip on the reins. "We can’t afford to lose the ones protecting the North. We’ll execute the order immediately."
She pulled her horse around sharply, the silver crest of the Draken family gleaming faintly under the gray light. I followed close behind.
The raiding party consisted of just the two of us—Alice and me.
Ahead, the War Hawk’s aura flared like a blazing banner, cutting through the ranks of demons and commanding every eye on the battlefield.
’Perfect. All attention’s on him.’
Taking advantage of the chaos, we slipped through the smoke and into the demon rear. But when we got close, I realized how bad the situation was.
The encampment sat in the middle of a barren clearing, maybe ten meters of open ground all around—no trees, no cover, no shadows deep enough to hide in.
After a brief exchange of glances, Alice gave a sharp nod.
I understood immediately.
We leapt off our horses at the same time.
Slap!
Hiii! Heeheehee!
I smacked both horses hard on their flanks, sending them galloping off in the opposite direction.
The sound of their hooves echoed across the clearing. Predictably, the nearby guards turned, shouting in confusion as they chased after the noise.
Perfect.
That was all the time we needed.
Thwoong—!
Bang!
Alice drew her ancestral sword in one smooth motion, her aura bursting to life. With each swing, she carved through pillars and tents like paper, scattering flames and chaos in her wake.
Meanwhile, I darted through the shadows, smashing oil barrels and tossing lit torches onto the wagons.
Whoosh—!
The fire spread fast, illuminating the camp in a sudden inferno.
And those who came too close to me... well, they didn’t last long. A quick flick of my wrist, a dagger through the neck, and silence followed.
"What—what’s happening?!"
"It’s an ambush! All forces, to arms!"
The once orderly demon camp erupted into pure chaos. Screams, smoke, and fire filled the air.
And through it all, Alice moved like a storm—cold, unrelenting, her blade glinting with the resolve of someone who refused to lose again.
’That’s her... the Wolf of the North.’
Even in the heart of hell, she never once looked afraid.
Only determined.