Chapter 183

Three massive carriages thundered down the frost-hardened road, each pulled by a single crimson-scaled lizard the size of a wagon itself. Their claws struck the packed snow with rhythmic force, kicking up powder in streaks behind them. The beasts moved with startling speed—faster than horses, by far—and with a strength that made the northern merchants along the roadside stare. No ordinary animal could drag a carriage that size, let alone with such ease.

It had taken them over two months to reach the capital of the Northern Kingdom. Two months of shifting mountain winds, and the endless plains that stretched to the horizon like a second sky. A typical merchant caravan would have needed three months or more to cross such a distance. But these were not typical travelers, and their scaled mounts were bred for speed and endurance born of the Empire’s sprawling deserts.

As their carriages approached the massive stone gates of the northern capital, the lizards slowed, rumbling low in their throats. Guards and citizens alike turned—not at the beasts but at the banners mounted on each carriage roof. Red sun on white cloth.

The symbol of the Empire.

“It’s real!” Zarates exclaimed, pushing the carriage window open with both hands.

Cold air rushed in, biting and sharp. But she didn’t care. Her dark eyes widened as flakes drifted toward her—fragile, glimmering crystals.

“This little cold thing… called snow… it’s really falling from the sky.” She lifted her hand, letting a flake melt on her palm. Sixteen, the youngest who joined them, with a short jaw-length haircut that Northern kingdom people would consider scandalously bold. Black hair framed her face, her bangs brushing just over her brows.

“It’s simply a cold rain,” Moldembo muttered. His voice was deep enough to make the window frame vibrate. He sat with arms crossed, his enormous frame filling half the carriage bench alone. Bald head, cleanly shaven jaw, and a square face that could make a wolf reconsider its appetite.

“Moldembo is right,” Sheen added, though his tone carried none of the older man’s irritation. His voice was raspy but calm, steady like a whetstone. Seventeen, lean and sharp-featured, hair tied in a short ponytail. His brown eyes didn’t leave the gate ahead.

He reached out and tapped the window lightly.

“Close it. You’ll make us look like country bumpkins.”

Zarates grinned, saluting as she shut the window. “Aye aye, Captain.”

There was one common feature shared among them—all their skin was copper like color resulted from their long exposure to the sun.

The carriage jolted over a patch of uneven cobblestone as they entered through the capital’s gates—snowflakes swirling like pale spirits outside. And for a brief moment, even Moldembo’s stern expression softened as he glanced at the falling white.

“…Cold rain,” he muttered again, but quieter this time.

Sheen pressed a hand against the cool window glass, his breath fogging faintly as he stared out at the northern kingdom capital. Strange houses stretched along the main avenue—low, stout structures reinforced with thick timber, roofs curved in wide slopes heavy with snow. Nearly every surface was coated in white, as if the entire city had been dusted with powdered bone.

Fascinating… but the coldness.. How can people live here?

It was unlike anything in the Empire’s sun-baked lands.

He leaned back slowly, his posture straightening with the quiet pride branded into him since birth. Sheen of House Espada—second only to the House of Saud in terms of influence, the all-seeing prophets of the Empire. And in terms of strength? Espada stood unmatched, their lineage famous for producing warriors whose mastery of the blade bordered on sorcery.

That pride was why he had opposed this journey from the very beginning.

Travel very far… cross borders, rivers, mountain barriers… suffered frozen winds that made his knuckles crack… simply to duel someone his age?

Nonsense.

There were no merits to be gained here. The Empire’s academy was unrivaled—every continent knew that. Thousands applied each year from foreign nations, and only handfuls passed. Even the Adventurer Guild’s rank exam was considered lenient compared to the entrance trials of the Empire’s academy.

And the Northern Kingdom? They had tried to imitate the Empire. Built an academy modeled after its structure, even hired adventurers as instructors, attempted—poorly—to replicate the Empire’s training methods.

It had ended in embarrassment.

He still remembered the rumors. A handful of northern kingdom students had visited their academies years ago, and the Empire’s bottom-ranked trainees defeated them in everything—skill, strength, endurance, theory, skill control. All of it.

So why… why come here?

The carriage wheels hit a patch of uneven ice, jolting him from his thoughts. Sheen’s jaw clenched as he remembered the true reason.

My damn brother…

His older brother stood at the top of their academy. If not for him, Sheen would have already taken that position. Their duels were legendary among the students. Sheen had come close—so close—to victory many times. Yet his brother always found a way to win, even when Sheen believed he had cornered him completely.

He got me again.

Sheen gritted his teeth, the memory felt like a sharp blade pointing at his neck.

And that was why he had been chosen as representative instead of his brother.

Normally, that would have fueled his pride. But something else lingered in his mind—an annoyance he couldn’t shake.

His friend from the House of Saud.

The one with the [Oracle] class.

Before Sheen departed, his friend had looked at him with a strangely solemn expression and made a prediction.

“Your duel in the northern kingdom will end in a loss.”

Sheen had scoffed at the time. He still did.

A prank, obviously. A provocation meant to push him, motivate him, trick him into taking this journey seriously. His friend liked to toy with him that way.

Because Sheen of the house Espada had never lost a duel.

Well—except to his father. And his brother. But those didn’t count. At least not for him. He would catch up once he became a fully fledged adult.

Outside the window, more snow fell—quiet, soft, almost peaceful.

“Sheen,” Moldembo grunted from the opposite seat, “you’re scowling so hard the ice might crack.”

Sheen didn’t respond at first.

Then, softly—almost too softly—

“…No one else will defeat me.”

The falling snow gave no answer. But Sheen felt the stir of something unfamiliar.

A tremor.

A possibility.

A whisper of an unknown opponent waiting somewhere in this damn cold kingdom.

And for the first time since leaving the Empire…

He wondered his friend’s prediction might not be a jest after all.

…..

Clint let out another heavy sigh as he hoisted a fresh bundle of Zaly wood—a special type of wood perfect to enchant onto his shoulder. The bark scraped against his calloused skin, and a few flakes of frost fell from the logs, catching the morning light like tiny shattered diamonds. The mountain’s bite clung to everything these days—even work felt colder.

[Guardian]

One of the oldest, proudest known tank classes. Reliable. Enduring. A wall that stood while all others fell. That was what Clint grew up hearing—what his father had told him when he first awakened the class.

But that idea had started to die the moment Ryle Greece and Mica rose to the top of the academy like twin storms. Offense had become king. Defense had become… boring. Outdated. The crowds no longer cheered for shields—they cheered for explosions, speed, and spectacle.

Clint set the logs down with a dull thud, breath fogging. It felt just like him.

He had been so happy when he passed the initial academy exam, even more when he qualified for Silver Class. His parents cried. His village celebrated. He had imagined stepping into the annual tournament with his shield raised high, hearing the crowd chant his name.

Now?

Those dreams felt like damp wood tossed into a dead firepit.

“Clint,” a voice snapped behind him. “Work a bit faster, will you? We’re giving you extra allowance for this.”

Clint straightened and forced a nod.

“Yes, professor.”

He trudged back toward the stacks, boots crunching in the frosted dirt—

—and froze.

Two figures walked across the yard, pale sunlight haloing around them: Kana and Suri. Even from a distance, they drew looks. Kana with her calm, cold killer eyes and Suri with her vibrant energy. Clint felt his nose flare involuntarily as they approached, as if some primal part of him expected divine fragrance.

Of course, Elle York was untouchable—the academy’s undisputed muse—but Kana and Suri weren’t far behind. Clint’s heart thudded once, hard enough that he nearly dropped the wood.

He tried to look casual. Failed.

Then Kana’s hand tapped his shoulder.

“Are you Clint?”

His throat closed. Air went in but no words came out. He nodded, stiff and probably stupid-looking.

Kana stepped closer, her expression thoughtful. She inspected him—actually inspected him—fingers pressing his shoulder, tracing the shape of his upper arm, lightly tapping his shins as if testing the strength of a tower’s foundation.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Clint managed, though his usually deep voice came out embarrassingly thin.

“Seeing if you’re capable,” Kana said simply with her cold deep voice. “Your body shows discipline. Hard work.”

Something warm sparked in Clint’s chest. Compliments were rare, but praise from Kana felt like getting blessed from the gods.

“He really did contribute a lot in the last northern dungeon expedition,” Yuri said, stepping forward. Soft-spoken, elegant—one of those refined beauties you see on the streets but you would never dare to approach.

Clint felt his ears burn.

“He’s not a bad person either,” Rin added, adjusting her spectacles with a gentle smile. Cute, scholarly—dangerous combination.

Clint felt himself melting. He had never received this much female attention in his entire life. 

Then—

“For some reason, I kinda hate the way he looks at us,” Suri muttered with a frown.

Clint jerked upright. “W-What? No! I—I don’t—”

A shadow fell over them like a mountain sliding into place.

Boris.

The natural enemy of all male students. A walking tower of muscle and intimidation. Clint swallowed hard. Even as a tank, Clint knew Boris could probably uproot a tree if he felt like it, and Boris’s class wasn’t even tank-related, which made it worse.

Kana stepped forward and clapped her hands lightly.

“I will give you a gold coin,” she said. “Listen carefully—I have an offer for you.”

The world seemed to still. Clint felt his heart thump like a war drum.

Kana Saltrain—strongest first-year, terrifying prodigy.

But more than that…

She was offering him a chance.

A chance to step into the tournament he thought he’d already lost.

Post note:

Entire one chapter for new characters. (Trying to prevent the jumping around per chap)
Let me know your thoughts and feedback.

Hope you enjoy the chap! 🙂