The northern wind and snow treat all living things in the world with impartial cruelty.
But, there are always exceptions.
Just as Hask was leading his remaining troops, struggling desperately to survive in the desolate snowfields, in the center of a demi-human tribe's ruins—recently baptized by fire and blood—a magnificent white tent stood proudly. It was completely out of place among the simple, crude tents surrounding it, like a strange, poisonous flower quietly blooming in the vast snow.
This tent was meticulously woven from top-tier gold-threaded silk produced in the human kingdom's south. Not only did it possess excellent waterproof and windproof properties, but it also symbolized a luxurious civilization that stood in stark contrast to this barren, bitter, and cold land.
Inside the tent, it was as warm as spring. In each of the four corners stood an exquisite brass charcoal brazier, the surfaces engraved with intricate iris patterns. The fuel burning within was not ordinary charcoal, but the highest quality smokeless silver frost charcoal. The floor was covered with a thick, long-haired snow-maned bear fur rug, white and soft to the touch, exuding luxury.
Two swordsmen, over two meters tall, were incased in Gothic full-plate armor so heavy that an ordinary person would find it impossible to move. Their aura was ferocious, like two towering steel demons, and they stood firmly on either side of the tent entrance like statues. Their hands were constantly pressed against the hilts of the massive two-handed cruciform greatswords at their waists. Beneath their faceplates, only pairs of eyes as sharp and cold as falcons were visible, constantly vigilant of their surroundings.
Under their tight guard, a knight with a figure that appeared exceptionally "petite" compared to the two sat on a relatively intact wooden chair found temporarily in the ruins. This knight also wore a set of meticulously forged full-plate armor, with smooth and beautiful lines, as if custom-made for a woman. Unlike the two guards, her armor was a deep, profound black, and the breastplate was meticulously inlaid with mithril in the shape of a lifelike Nite Kite, wings spread as if ready to take flight, making it highly recognizable.
She was not wearing a helmet, and a cascade of silver hair, as dazzling as Moonlight, spilled down freely, creating a sharp and striking visual contrast with her jet-black armor.
She looked very young, perhaps not even twenty years old. Her face was as exquisite as an artwork meticulously carved from flawless marble by a master artist, her skin so fair it was nearly translucent. A pair of ice-blue eyes, like the deepest lake beneath the extreme northern glaciers, were listening calmly and without ripple to the report given by the officer kneeling on one knee before her.
The officer was also wearing heavy knight's armor, but his face was covered in a fine layer of sweat the size of beans, and he gripped his helmet tightly in his hands. While reporting those glorious battle results, his voice was still relatively steady: "Reporting to you, Countess, since the slave-hunting operation officially began until this morning, our army, in coordination with thirteen slave-hunting squads including 'Iron Hook' and 'Bloody Hand', has cleared twenty-seven Sinner tribes and successfully destroyed forty-nine Sinner nests. It has been confirmed that a total of 1,972 Sinners were wiped out, and 4,856 able-bodied Sinners capable of labor in the mines were captured. These captives have now been escorted in batches to the mines in the west."
"Regarding the cooperating slave-hunting squads, the total casualties this time are 629."
"And as for us, the most loyal direct 'Night Kite Knights' under the command of the great Grand Duke of Ice Peak..." At this point, the officer's voice began to tremble uncontrollably, and his head hung lower and lower, as if he dared not look directly into the eyes of the Countess before him. "...There are twenty-seven brothers who gloriously sacrificed themselves for the great Grand Duke, and thirty-one brothers injured, nine of whom are seriously wounded. In this campaign, we captured over 700 pieces of inferior leather armor and over 3,000 bone spears..."
His voice gradually faded to a whisper—he knew in his heart that these so-called "captured" supplies were laughable and insignificant in the face of the shocking number of twenty-seven knights who had heroically fallen in battle.
The entire tent fell into a dead, oppressive silence, with only the slight "crackle" of the burning charcoal audible, exceptionally clear in the stillness.
"Disgrace!"
Finally, a crisp yet bone-chilling female voice suddenly rang out, like the sharpest ice pick, ruthlessly shattering the suffocating silence!
The reporting officer's body jolted violently, as if an invisible giant hand had tightly gripped his throat, making even breathing difficult.
The silver-haired Counteone-deep, chilling coldness.
"Things are starting to get interesting..."