A clear female voice echoed in the silent forest. Before the words had even faded, Coppelia raised her left hand high, palm facing up.
"Whoosh—"
A blazing, stable ball of fire instantly formed above her palm, like a miniature sun. The sudden burst of intense light instantly dispelled the darkness within a dozen-meter radius!
The texture of the trees, the snow on the ground, the astonished expressions on the knights' faces—everything was rendered clearly visible by the sudden radiance.
Coppelia carefully controlled the output of Pyro energy, ensuring this 'little sun' only provided illumination and wouldn't ignite the surrounding pine needles and tree trunks.
With such a dazzling light source appearing suddenly in the dark forest, Abel and the Lawrence knights were forced to instinctively shut their eyes or raise their arms to shield them from the glare.
Their usual oil lamps or torches were like fireflies before the full moon compared to this miraculous light.
Only after their eyes had slightly adjusted did they look back, uncertain and suspicious, at the two young women beneath the light source.
Abel's voice was hoarse, laced with disbelief and deep apprehension, as he asked the question for a second time:
"Who... who in the world are you?"
Coppelia kept a straight face, maintaining the air of a 'divine messenger,' and continued in that same tone, "The god also said..."
However, before she could finish, Columbina, who had been standing silently behind her, finally seemed unable to hold it in any longer.
Looking at Coppelia's deliberately prim and proper act, she suddenly let out a very faint snicker, which was exceptionally clear in the quiet surroundings.
This sudden laughter was like a needle, puncturing the mysterious atmosphere Coppelia had worked so hard to create.
How could you lose it at a time like this!
Coppelia herself almost broke character. She quickly raised her right hand to cover her mouth, feigning a cough to cover it up, and swiftly composed her expression.
She abandoned the charlatan's spiel, a slightly stiff but well-intentioned friendly smile appearing on her face as she said:
"It's too cold out here. There's fragrant meat soup in the camp. Why don't you come in, warm up by the fire, and have some? Playing some games and telling stories wouldn't be bad either."
The Lawrence knights looked at each other, their expressions shifting from lingering terror to bewilderment and wry amusement.
The turn of events was so unexpected that for a moment, they didn't know how to react.
Someone couldn't help but mutter in a low voice, "What... what are they trying to do?"
Abel's first instinct was to refuse sternly. This was absurd! They were here to apply pressure and harass, not to be guests!
But as the words reached his lips, he forced them back down.
He looked at the two 'oddballs' before him, whose behavior completely defied common sense. One could make people float, the other could conjure a 'sun' at will. And then there was the feeling of ice being stuffed down the back of his neck from before...
They undoubtedly possessed unimaginable power.
Moreover, their... mental state seemed a bit unstable? One moment they were so serious, the next they were bursting into laughter...
Abel shuddered, feeling as if he could still sense that deeply unsettling, cold illusion on his back. His mind raced, considering his next move.
He thought of the men who had followed him out here. During the day, they had eaten dust and suffered humiliation; tonight, they had been scared half to death and then had 'ice' shoved down their necks...
Right now, the other party didn't seem inclined to attack. Instead, they had extended... an invitation?
Even if the invitation sounded utterly bizarre.
But if he refused, heaven knew what other strange things these two peculiar individuals would do to his men.
Weighing the pros and cons, Abel gritted his teeth, forced a smile onto his face that was more pained than a grimace, and squeezed a few words through his teeth:
"...Alright. Then... we'll impose."
...
In the center of the refugee camp, a bonfire burned brightly. The dancing flames dispelled the chill and illuminated two faces with starkly different moods.
Abel, his face grim, led his twenty knights to sit cross-legged on mats laid out by the refugees.
They deliberately sat in three tight rows, their backs straight and hands on their knees, as if attending a solemn military briefing, completely out of sync with the relaxed atmosphere around them.
They said nothing, their gazes sweeping around warily, as if ready to fend off an attack at any moment.
Not far across from them, several large pots were set over the fire, bubbling with thick meat soup. The steam carried a rich, appetizing aroma that wafted through the air.
The knights and people of the refugee camp went about their business, some tending to the cooking pots, others conversing in low voices, seemingly unthreatened by this group of uninvited guests.
Gunnhildr personally ladled a large, steaming bowl of meat soup, walked over to Abel, and placed the rough wooden bowl on the tree stump in front of him.
She then sat down opposite Abel, a smile of ambiguous sincerity on her face.
"Lord Abel," Gunnhildr began, her voice crisp, "this meat soup was stewed with freshly hunted meat from today, along with some stored plant roots, specially prepared for our distinguished guests who have come so far. You've been running around for half the night, won't you have a sip to warm yourselves up?"
Let's see what tricks you're playing at! Abel snorted coldly. Without even glancing at the bowl, he stuck his neck out and said, "I would sooner starve to death, or jump into that pot myself, than drink a single drop of anything from you!"
As he spoke, he glanced at Coppelia, who was standing quietly beside Gunnhildr. The young woman's face was devoid of expression; she just stood there silently.
He remembered the 'little sun' that had appeared out of thin air and the strange winds, and forcefully suppressed the urge to shove Gunnhildr's head into the soup bowl.
He changed the subject, his tone accusatory, "And what about... what about the one in white? Don't tell me she's hiding somewhere, plotting some new trick?"
He really didn't want to experience the sensation of floating or having ice shoved down his back again.
Coppelia answered flatly, "Her name is Columbina. She was tired, so she went to sleep."
The corner of Abel's mouth twitched. Went to sleep? How nonchalant.
He said irritably, "Then you should all go to sleep too! Aren't you tired, having this whole crowd stare at us?"
Gunnhildr's smile didn't waver. "We are, of course, staying to properly 'entertain' our distinguished guests. We can't be neglectful."
"We need to sleep too!" Abel stressed. "If there's nothing else, we're leaving now!" He made a move to stand up.
Gunnhildr gently raised a hand in a 'calm down' gesture. "Leave? If you leave, won't you all be busy fiddling with those... hmm, 'musical instruments'? That would be far too tiring. One must learn to relax, you know."
Abel shut his mouth and said no more. He turned, sat with his arms crossed, and presented the back of his head to Gunnhildr.
___
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