One Year Later in Snowfall
A year had passed in Snowfall, and Rowen had turned sixteen. Kael still hadn't returned from the edge of Winterer. Messengers brought occasional updates, but sometimes he felt a pang of longing. It was only natural, since he got along well with his siblings—all except the youngest, Karin. Rumors of ominous happenings filtered in from that harsh land. Something about the seal on the King of Severe Cold breaking. To verify it, Kael had led the Seri Knight Order to the northern frontier.
He remembered the land of ice stretching endlessly in all directions, the four pillars between which the crimson, blood-like form of the King of Severe Cold had been sealed away. It was a sanctuary sealed by the greatest hero of all time—Rian's father. The northern barbarians had been entrusted with its upkeep, or so he'd heard. Rowen didn't believe the rumors of the seal breaking. He'd seen it with his own eyes.
'Father's seal is strong.'
As long as no one tampered with it, there was no need to worry about it coming undone.
'But.'
Why was it getting colder and colder? The biting chill from the northern edge battered Snowfall relentlessly.
"It's cold."
Rowen pulled the blanket up over his head and shut the window. Was it because he'd been reminiscing about his father from his past life? The face of Kadan, from whom he'd had no word in two years, kept surfacing in his mind.
'Even with memories of my past life, is a father still a father?'
The silence was worrying. His father had brought him to Snowfall but left his mother behind—a fact that grated on him. Still, Rowen knew Kadan was trying to face him, so he'd held his tongue. The last time Kadan had shown his face was two summers ago. No news since.
He'd asked Biden if he knew anything, but the reply had been negative.
'I wouldn't know, young master.'
'What?'
'Contact with the Empire has been cut off. But don't worry. If anything happens, this old man will protect you.'
Apparently, suspicious movements from Arkanthia had drawn Kadan to the Empire. The world spanned four continents, each governed by a lord. People called Kadan the king of the north. Lords wielded power akin to kings, guardians of their domains. But they couldn't claim the title outright. Each continent could be seen as four nations, yet an overarching authority bound them: the Pentagon Empire. Its master was the emperor. Without the Empire, the lords might be kings—but in truth, all lands belonged to the emperor. They competed nonetheless. Winterer in the north and Kalia Rune in the east maintained neutrality, as always. But Arkanthia had violated neutral borders before. Rian, born in Kalia Rune, had witnessed countless deaths at Arkanthian hands.
So.
"I'm worried."
His intuition was sharpest in moments like this. Useless as it was, it rarely failed—and when it did, nothing good followed.
"It was like this back then, too."
Closing his eyes brought the scene rushing back. Cursing, he opened them, but it lingered in his mind: the Demon King in human guise, leaving behind a box before departing. Young Rian had opened it heedlessly, ignoring the bad feeling. Curiosity won out.
'Ughhh!'
Retches. Revulsion. Grief. But that wasn't all. Rage and terror enveloped him fiercely. It was his first time seeing a severed head.
'...Dad?'
No. It couldn't be. He tried denying reality, but the maggot-ridden, rotting leather stank unmistakably of his father. The feeling was the same as now. The greatest hero's head had filled the house with decay. The premonition had been thick then, too—long after his father had left home. It was the beginning of everything. The point when Rian started killing demons.
Rowen muttered lowly.
"It probably won't happen again."
To shake off the thoughts, he buried himself under the blanket and closed his eyes.
*
Karin Valenos had grown up showered in love. As the family baby and only sister, she claimed every ounce of affection. Sure, compared to other houses, theirs had more men—but that only worked in her favor. Kadan wanted to raise her like a flower in a greenhouse, far from blades, hoping she'd grow into the epitome of beauty.
But Karin was different. She loved swords. Bows. Spears and shields above all.
Kadan refused her a swordmaster, yet her skills improved daily.
"A bit faster."
"Hah!"
"Good. Don't forget your gaze."
"Got it!"
Did her brothers realize how soft they were with her? Karin exploited it masterfully, drawing in Rowen and Kael. Kael usually oversaw her training, but that was two years ago. Hearing he'd gone to the northern fringe, she'd turned to Rowen.
And now, oblivious to her half-brother's past life, she sparred innocently with him. Ignoring her persistent clinginess was impossible—she was too adorable. Just eleven years old. To Rowen, with his past-life memories, a little sister was a novel experience. Honestly, it was a hassle. Magic research and scouting kept him busy enough. Sneaking training behind Father's back? Sighs were his constant companion.
Yet Karin's diligence was admirable. Unlike someone forever lounging on the second-floor terrace.
Ah, he'd never say Cain.
'Bastard.'
His opinion of Cain hadn't budged. Beaten senseless a year ago, and still no change. His brain might as well have reset. Karin's strikes already outshone Cain's pathetic form—it was proven. She had talent. Those with gifts who shirked effort were pitiable. But not Karin. Like the hero Rian from his past life, she had talent and loved the sword.
Rowen shoved idle thoughts aside, aiming his blade's tip at her. Her clear, bright eyes locked on him.
"Karin, you tired?"
"Nope! This is fun."
"Secret from Father?"
"Duh! I'll take it to my grave."
"Where'd you learn that?"
"Big bro!"
Rowen waited as she approached. Wind tousled their hair. Their pure white locks fluttered slowly. Red rose petals from the garden swirled in the breeze, lingering in the air. Slowly. So slowly they danced. Then, as they touched the stone ground, Karin kicked off and drew her blade.
Bam!
The sound—like no mere ten-year-old girl's leap—startled passing servants. Feeling the rushing air, she targeted Rowen's opening. In an instant, her arm folded and extended. The strike perfected, but Rowen twisted aside, blocking effortlessly.
"Tch."
"Hey, no tongue-clicking."
"You're not going easy!"
"I am right now. Stay frozen like that, and you're done."
He stepped back, swinging. Karin bent her knees, ducking low to evade, then charged. Rowen swiftly switched hands, parrying successfully. Seizing the moment, she spun, channeling rotational force into a mighty kick.
"!"
Rowen eyed her with mild surprise. That combo would work in real combat. Weapons lost? Use your body. Her close-quarters sense was phenomenal—self-taught genius, vicious instinct in action before his eyes.
"That was awesome!"
"Hehe."
"What'd I say, Karin?"
"No letting your guard down!"
"Right."
He lightly kicked her away. Her cute face twisted briefly. His heart twinged oddly, but this was what she wanted. She needed to learn defense alongside offense. No one saves you on the battlefield. Unless a saintess appeared—and they were rare now. Rowen hoped Karin could wield both freely. Skill meant survival.
"Urk!"
"Up!"
"Uwaaaah!"
Karin charged, breathing steady. No openings. Perfect attack stance. A shame, though. Time was on her side; she was still young. But.
"Karin, don't forget defense."
"Eek!"
Best learned young. He'd trained like this at her age. Her eyes burned with resolve—like young Rian's. Mana-poor Rian thirsted for the sword, living and moving for it. Inquisitiveness. Driven to explore the unknown. Karin too. Each clash with Rowen sharpened her; her drive swelled.
"Don't forget that look."
"Okay."
"Or the pain."
"Okay."
"Blade's tip always seeks the target."
"Got it."
Their swords clashed again.
*
Time passed enjoyably; the sky darkened. The sun dipped behind distant snowcapped peaks. White snow glowed red in the dying light, still bright and pure.
"Like snow, isn't it."
"You're here?"
"White hair is the Valenos mark, they say."
"Mine's streaked gray—mutt through and through."
"Don't put yourself down. Whatever others say, to me, you're just the young master."
"Thanks. But it's true. Mutt, bastard, beggar. Illegitimate's label sticks anywhere. I didn't ask to be born."
"Ever left Snowfall?"
"...Long time ago."
Arahan, now beside him, stared at his hair. White breath fogged in the chill—summer in the north, yet cold. Dissatisfied with his replies, she shook her head.
"That's what bothers me. You talk like you've seen the whole world, despite your age. It's disconcerting."
"That bad?"
"Yes. You need to act more like a kid. Look at the young miss—wild and free."
"I think I'm pretty free."
"Sure. Plotting to skip lessons daily."
"Not every day."
"Of course."
Arahan stopped gazing at his back, stepping to sit beside him. They watched the sunset over the peaks.
"Young master, as your instructor, am I doing well?"
"Suddenly?"
The question jarred the conversation; Rowen countered. Her delayed reply carried a distant air, halting his breath.
"I had a master too. Muscle-brained piglet, but unmatched with weapons."
Muscle-brained piglet.
Someone flashed by. Past-life Rowen—Rian's comrade, Uba Kaliarun. Muscle pig. Who else fit? Yet Arahan implied otherwise.
"So?"
"As a child, I realized I couldn't grow strong alone."
"Figures. Effort alone won't cut it. Hard to reach that level without help."
"Anyone'd think you'd attained lofty heights."
"...Just words. Read it in books. Even heroes had masters."
His own past father, greatest hero, had been Rian's master.
"Exactly. That bastard—no, Master—taught me to fight. Muscle-head idiot, but qualified as a teacher."
"Doubt it."
"Pardon?"
"They say students resemble masters."
"True."
"Your brute-force style screams weird teaching methods..."
Rowen trailed off. Pressure from her smile.
"Go on. What about my master?"
"...True master."
"I know he wasn't. Better than anyone."
Memories of Arahan's beatings surfaced. He'd wondered who taught like that. Hearing "master" from her made him probe.
'Result? Like digging my own grave.'
"Whatever you say about him, it's no concern of mine anymore."
"Yeah?"
"He's dead."
"What? Uh... sorry."
Arahan coughed lightly, then continued.
"Anyway, he was a true master to me."
"Uh... okay."
"That's why I ask. Like you said, my methods are twisted. I don't get off beating uninitiated boys, either."
"Didn't say that."
"You thought it. No need for that scared face. I won't eat you."
Rowen chuckled at her jest. Her lips curved in a smirk.
"You asked if you're a good master."
"Yes."
"Honestly, I hate your brutal training."
Even clashing with Uba back then. Real combat sim or not, bones snapped too often. Warrior's muscle mass? Recalling his past friend, Rowen eyed her.
"But not that much. Bones don't break."
'Unlike that damn strong Uba.'
Hard, yes—but enduring brought growth. Sense of achievement, progress felt. Pure bliss. He'd tasted it before, but not with magic. Reborn Valenos bastard, overflowing talent. New heights untasted before.
Arahan's expression shifted oddly at his words, then softened into a smile.
"That's enough for now."
"So, who's your master?"
"Curious?"
"Yeah. I know a muscle-head acquaintance. Intriguing."
"You have acquaintances?"
"...I do."
"Whatever. Not my business."
"So, who? Strong like that, I'd know the name."
Arahan pressed a finger to her lips. No more.
"Secret."
She murmured lowly.