As the legends told by countless bards go—there is always someone who, in their era, creates a legend that belongs solely to them.

  Lanza Augustus was such a name.

  His story might not have echoed in every corner of the Empire, but in the North, in every tavern and around every campfire where mercenaries gathered, his name was recited alongside tales of blood, snow, and sword light.

  Years ago, Lanza was just an ordinary mercenary, stumbling blindly and recklessly into this wilderness that had yet to be called the Frostlands. Like all pioneers with a dream, he buried the seeds of fate beneath this permafrost. And then, a miracle sprouted.

  On the ground where Dragonwood Village now stands, Lanza and his companions used swords as plows and blood as boundaries, carving out a living space from monsters and blizzards. The home was newly established, and hearts were unsettled—and true trials always come without warning.

  It was a winter similar to this night. The beast tide came.

  A crushing shadow surged from the depths of the snow mountains, its roars shaking the earth. The newly rooted town was like withered grass in a storm. Many mercenaries chose to retreat, turning to flee with bitterness and fear.

  But Lanza did not leave.

  Some say it was for a promise. Some say it was for a woman he loved. Others say he simply didn't want to see the first flicker of light swallowed by the night. He silently picked up his sword and walked alone to the town entrance.

  One man, one sword—standing for a town.

  That night, the snow was red. His blade tore through claws and fangs; blood soaked the frozen earth. There were no fortresses here; he was the immovable wall standing between the swarm and his home. The roars, the crashes, and the sound of breaking bones were all swept away by the gale—only he remained standing.

  When dawn broke, the tide retreated. He stood leaning on his sword before a mountain of carcasses, the town behind him unscathed. Overnight, Lanza the Mercenary became Lanza the Hero. The town took his name: Augustus.

  Yet the legend didn't stop at one battle. Skepticism followed: it was just luck, just a fluke of the times... Countless challengers traveled north to pluck this suddenly rising star.

  Lanza remained—one man, one sword. With the rise and fall of his blade, name after name returned in defeat. Until no one questioned him, until the title of "Sword Saint" echoed throughout the North.

  Since then, he rooted his family here. Though the Empire never granted him a fief, and the law never recognized his authority—the Empire had no right to crown him! This was a town he forged with blood! There would only ever be one lord here: the Sword Saint, Lanza Augustus.

  The town was not large, totaling perhaps a few hundred people, mostly mercenaries and miners living in clusters. For this reason, even a winter night that should have been silent was always boisterous.

  A black castle stood on the hillside beside the town, known as Augustus Burg. The town fanned out around the castle’s perimeter—dwellings, taverns, and smithies growing crowded together. Because most travelers were mercenaries, there were actually more inns in town than permanent residences.

  The camp wagons drew many gazes as they entered. Such sophisticated and expensive equipment was far too eye-catching for mercenaries who lived on the edge of a blade just to earn a drink.

  Wolf understood the wisdom of not flaunting wealth, but they weren't staying long. Moreover, he had many old friends here. Having people you know acted as both a safeguard and an opportunity to show off.

  The two wagons stopped in front of a place called Aien’s Inn. Wolf led the group out, pushing the door open with practiced familiarity. A wave of heat mixed with the smell of ale and rowdy voices hit them. The common room was wide open, with seven or eight long tables packed with people. A bard plucked at strings for coin, while drunks played finger-games, downed ale, and tore at meat in a brightly lit din.

  "Greller!" Wolf shouted into the noise, his voice booming. "Got rooms? I need five! Greller? Is Greller here?"

  He was clearly shouting on purpose so everyone would look.

  "Alright, alright! I saw you showing off on that carriage from a mile away!"

  A man’s voice, similar in age to Wolf, came from a corner. He was carrying a large iron tray piled with steaming dishes and several mugs of beer. "So you picked up a big commission, look at you acting all high and mighty! Five rooms? Wait—Nina, take them to the second floor. Give them the south row."

  The speaker was Greller. He rolled his eyes at Wolf and went back to his work.

  Just then, a young woman in plain hemp clothes ran up with a bright smile. "Oh, Mr. Wolf! It’s been a while!"

  She opened her arms, and Wolf laughed heartily, giving her a frank hug. "Long time no see, Nina! You’re getting prettier every day."

  "Stop teasing me." After the hug, Nina stepped back and looked behind him. "So many people this time?"

  "Public recruitment mission. Just staying one night; we move out for Dragonwood Village at dawn."

  "So rushed? Not staying a few days?"

  "Mission's on, and you know the situation here," Wolf lowered his voice but kept a smile. "If we delay, the employer won't be happy."

  "Understood!" Nina laughed and waved to the others. "Follow me, I’ll show you the rooms."

  Wolf turned to the team. "This inn is run by an old friend. It’s not as fancy as the Crimson Moon in Glory City, but it’s comfortable, safe, and the food is clean. You’ve been busy all day, go rest."

  Nina took over, her tone cheerful. "Meals can be sent to your rooms, but if you like the crowd, you’re welcome to eat down here!"

  Ethan frowned slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the noise, but remained polite. "We shall check the rooms first, Mr. Wolf." The shy Mary followed closely behind him, nodding hurriedly to Wolf—the chaos here clearly made her uneasy, even giving her goosebumps.

  The others followed Nina up the stairs.

  "Ronen, come here." Wolf threw an arm around his young companion’s shoulder. "Let’s introduce you to some seniors."

  Without waiting for a reply, he led Ronen toward Greller’s table. Greller had just delivered his last tray. Seeing Wolf approaching, he yelled from afar, "Find somewhere else to sit! Can't you see I'm busy? Don't make trouble!"

  Wolf wasn't having it. "Other people's business is business, but mine isn't? I’m paying! Quick, get us drinks!"

  He walked to a long table where four men were already sitting. Three of them, as if expecting him, slid over to make room. Facing Wolf, however, was a large man slumped over, motionless, seemingly passed out drunk.

  "Old Mai, stop playing dead," Wolf shoved him. "Greller’s watered-down ale knocked you flat? Who are you kidding?"

  The man didn't react. Wolf raised an eyebrow at the other three. They suppressed grins, shrugging with a "we know nothing" look. Wolf, amused and annoyed, slapped the man’s back hard. "Fine, stay there then!" He pulled Ronen into a seat.

  "Is he really dead?"

  "Hard to say. Maybe he died of annoyance thinking about how much you were going to brag today," one of them joked, prompting a roar of laughter.

  Ronen peeked at the speaker—a man wearing only a beast-hide vest, exposing a solid chest painted with strange runes Ronen didn't recognize.

  "Then he deserves it!" Wolf laughed, pinning a hand on Ronen’s shoulder. "Let me introduce everyone—"

  "This is a little brother from our legion, Ronen! Once this mission is over, he’s coming back to Glory City with me to work." He winked at Ronen and pointed to the man in the hide vest. "This is Fraser from the Iron Horse Legion."

  He continued around the table. "Nonan and Grant from Snow Crow." He kicked the slumped man. "And this 'corpse' is Myron, also from Iron Horse."

  "So you’re Ronen!" Fraser grinned, pushing a mug over. "Wolf’s talked about you plenty. Finally get to see you in the flesh! Drink up, kid, and we’re brothers. Iron Horse is always active around here, and we hit Glory City occasionally. If anyone gives you trouble—" he slapped his chest, "come find your big brother!"

  Ronen smiled and drained the mug in one go. The table erupted in cheers.

  "Don't listen to his big talk; he runs faster than anyone when there's real trouble!" Greller arrived with several large platters of food. He didn't bother clearing the table, simply stacking the new dishes on top of the old ones. He cursed at Wolf, "If you've got time to brag about your 'big contract,' why don't you settle your old tab? But today, for Ronen’s sake, the drinks are on the house—consider it a welcome gift for the kid!"

  He slammed four or five more mugs of ale onto the table, the liquid splashing onto the food. Greller gave Ronen a friendly fist-pump. "Work hard! Next time you eat here, I’ll give you a discount." He winked and turned away. "Enjoy, I’ve got other customers to serve."

  The table laughed again. The inn was a cacophony of voices and warm, boozy air mixed with singing. After a few rounds of jokes, Fraser tugged on Wolf’s sleeve, his expression turning serious.

  "I heard you telling Nina... you’re heading for Dragonwood Village next?"

  "Yeah. There's a mage tower called the 'Eye of the Blizzard' outside the village. All the mages vanished; we're here to investigate," Wolf lowered his voice. "Heard something?"

  Fraser shook his head. "I know that tower. It’s past the border, in the Great Snowfields. We never go that far. All the mages gone? ...That doesn't sound good."

  "Not good?" Wolf’s expression hardened. "What else do you know? Did something happen at Dragonwood?"

  "That village was always isolated, and the people weren't the most welcoming. No one really goes there, so news is scarce," Fraser continued to shake his head.

  "Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? You’ve turned into a real old nag since I last saw you."

  "Mainly because there’s no hard evidence, and I don't want you saying I give you false leads." Fraser looked him in the eye. "I was just thinking... I haven't seen a soul from Dragonwood Village in quite a long time."

  A quick word from the author: I wanted to say a sincere thank you to everyone reading. Knowing you’re following Ronen’s journey makes the writing process so much more rewarding.