Snow Mountain's Hideout
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Owen had finally set off for the dark elf homeland.
Every preparation for the voyage was complete on a single ship.
Arwen was the captain, and every crew member accompanying them was a dark elf.
These days, it feels like I'm spending more time with dark elves than humans.
As he gazed out at the sea from the deck, Owen thought to himself while watching the dark elves bow deeply to him.
In my past life, they were enemies I'd call blood foes, but this life is so different.
Life really was unpredictable.
Owen stared blankly at the North Sea.
The sea was peculiar, split into two distinct colors on either side.
The left was a deep blue, the right a murky yellow-brown.
Arwen had explained it was the boundary where seawater met freshwater, creating this striking divide.
She was steering the ship along that very line.
A few days later, drifting icebergs came into view.
The frozen land was drawing near.
"The captain invites you to dinner."
Owen nodded at the report from one of the dark elves.
"Got it."
Arwen was staying in the captain's quarters at the stern.
When he knocked and entered, a wave of cozy heat welcomed him.
"This place is like another world."
Owen, bundled up against the North Sea winter, marveled as he looked around.
The captain's quarters were lavishly ornate and luxurious—befitting dark elves—hard to believe they were aboard a ship.
A thick carpet covered the floor, and behind the desk for ship business loomed a massive window.
Positioned at the ship's rear, it offered a view of the long trail of spray churned up in their wake.
"You're here."
Arwen set aside the papers she was sorting, stood, and gestured to the dining table.
"Sit."
Silver tableware was neatly arranged on the table.
Soon, an on-duty dark elf brought in various dishes and left.
Mostly fish, but a feast unimaginable at sea.
"Quite the spread. Does the captain always eat like this?"
Arwen snorted at Owen's question.
"As if. Even captains have it better than most, but it's all the same at heart. Salty preserved meat, half-rotten cabbage, biscuits hard as bricks. Hate even thinking about it. Short voyages like this are tolerable, especially in this weather—meat doesn't spoil. But on long ocean runs when it warms up? Pure hell."
"When do you go that far?"
"All sorts of reasons, but if I had to pick one... you humans."
"Ah... to stop smuggling, right."
"Exactly. Humans hauling dragon eggs from afar causes no end of trouble. If we didn't intercept them midway, the Empire would be crawling with those vicious beasts."
"Piracy pays off, then."
"You bet."
Arwen shrugged off Owen's sarcasm.
The North Sea was pure dark elf territory; humans had half-given up sailing it.
The Empire's southern seas were another story.
Humans had plenty of ships there, ripe for dark elf pirates to raid.
Busy bunch.
Living in the frozen north yet venturing to warm southern waters for plunder.
But Owen knew it was a vital pillar of the dark elves' economy.
"The southern seas are the worst. Hot and humid—food spoils fast. That's when you're grateful our kind knows how to brew potent liquor. It's often the only edible thing left."
"Can you survive on booze alone?"
"When really starving, douse rotten food in liquor and boil it. Barely edible, but it works."
"Piracy's tough work."
"Tell me about it. All this suffering just to rob you humans."
"...You lunatics."
From what he gathered later, Arwen had extensive sailing experience.
Young and unmarried by dark elf standards, she had already outlived many humans.
"Now that you get how hard our kind works at sea, let's talk hideout."
Arwen cleared some dishes, then spread a map of the homeland on the table and outlined their approach route.
"The path itself is straightforward. Land on the mainland, resupply in this city."
"So what's the problem?"
"Getting to the hideout. It's riddled with traps inside."
"I hate that part..."
"Everyone does. Heroicus. But there's an expert. The issue is scouting might take time."
"That big?"
"Remodeled from an ancient dungeon—insanely deep. Kalania said even she doesn't know all the areas."
In truth, they'd turned part of an abandoned dungeon into a hideout.
"Hmm, might not finish in time if we're not careful. We have to be back by New Year's—Suffolk's orders."
In the end, they agreed to search as thoroughly as possible within limits.
Kalania Budura.
The witch who betrayed her queen.
She let out a wretched scream.
"Gaaahhh!"
In an unknown underground cavern, the witch's agonized cries echoed endlessly.
[Hmm... this ice is viciously tough. After all that effort, and it's still not half melted.]
The demon torturing Kalania felt a mix of admiration and irritation.
The dark elf queen's power was far greater than expected.
The demon's name was Igdes Ptagun.
Not precisely— an awkward approximation in Empire tongue.
Instead of arms dangling from his sleeves, tentacles writhed. He was the one who'd freed Kalania from her icy tomb.
The moment he'd partially thawed the ice encasing her, the torture began.
He'd long coveted one of the witch's possessions.
He'd stayed civil while she was strong, but weakness revealed his true face.
[Kalania, where is it?]
With the question, the witch screamed again.
"Aaaagh!"
Extreme terror and pain wracked her.
Only her feet protruded from the melted ice; one of the demon's tentacles had pierced a sole.
It tangled into her nerve clusters, flooding her brain with electrical signals.
The demon manipulated her perceptions at will.
Pouring in the utmost horror and agony her mind could fathom.
No need for crude blades or broken limbs.
Such was beneath a high demon's refinement.
"Gaaaaahhh!"
[Kalania. I'll ask again. Where is it? Confess, and I'll grant a second chance. You're still a useful slave.]
The torment dragged on; even iron-willed Kalania eventually broke.
"A-alright... I'll tell you. Stop. Where it is."
[Speak.]
"Hidden in the hideout. I'll give the location..."
Whatever "it" was, she wouldn't yield easily.
She'd endured a month of torture since the ice began melting.
But at last, she spilled about her hideout in the place called Snow Mountain.
[Wise choice.]
The demon withdrew the tentacle from her foot.
Viscous blood and pus oozed out.
[Rest now, until the ice fully melts.]
After over a month of agony, he left her be and retreated to a small chamber, dipping his tentacles into a blood-filled basin.
Brrrr.
The human blood in the basin vibrated.
Communication magic had nearly vanished from the world, but demons could manage it—limitedly.
Bellatel would have gnashed his teeth in envy.
For he was connecting in real-time over 1,000 kilometers away.
Soon, a response.
[I have orders.]
The demon relayed Kalania's hideout location and ordered a search. He specified the special item to retrieve.
[It is of utmost importance. No mistakes.]
[Good.]
Four days later.
As Arwen boasted, they reached the dark elf mainland undetected.
The location: the mountain range in the northeast, near the city of Trollhetan.
"Trollhetan? Troll's home?"
Arwen nodded at Owen's question.
"Dark elf ancient tongue—you know it well? A small river called Yetan winds through the mountains. Legend says a massive troll lived there once, hence the name."
Owen nodded at Arwen's sharp explanation, eyeing the distant city.
They'd already disembarked far from town.
Now heading in disguised as bounty hunters.
Owen's face was hidden behind an iron mask, like a prisoner.
His hands were chained—but rigged to break free anytime.
"We'll resupply in the city, then head to the mountains. Rough road ahead. Need to buy some direwolves to pull sleds."
Owen nodded silently.
In this frozen land, heeding dark elves was wise.
The group totaled seven, including Owen and Arwen.
Typical for bounty hunters, apparently.
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The city buzzed with unexpected life despite the cold.
Exotic sights captivated Owen.
Dark elves were wrapped head to toe in animal furs.
"Whoa... cold weather means no skimpy traditional garb, huh."
"Never worn outside anyway."
No one eyed their group strangely.
Bounty hunters were commonplace in dark elf society.
No dedicated law enforcement here.
So they caught runaway slaves, exterminated monsters—jack-of-all-trades for hire.
Like mercenaries paid by the job.
Heterogeneous slaves—dwarves, gnomes, werewolves—chained and led about were everywhere.
Owen in irons and mask blended right in.
"Hold up!"
Arwen grabbed Owen, ducking into an alley.
The followers hid swiftly too.
"What? What's up?"
Arwen peered long before answering.
"No way..."
"What?"
"Saw the heir. Why's someone so precious in this backwater?"
"Heir to what?"
"Black Briar Clan heir. Bad blood with me."
Arwen scowled.
The Black Briar Clan was the mightiest rebel against the queen.
Sworn enemies of Arwen's Shadow Bat Family.
Heirs naturally loathed each other.
"Why's she here?"
Arwen looked troubled.
Normally she'd pick a fight, but as an exile...
Plenty in this city hungered for the queen's faction; no room for rash clashes.
"Fall back. Carefully."
They took a quiet inn on the outskirts.
Unnoticed, luckily, but Arwen paced anxiously.
"Quit pacing."
Owen was annoyed by her back-and-forth.
"Why come here? To this podunk?"
"How should I know?"
"Ughhh!"
"Our job hasn't changed. Head to Snow Mountain, raid Kalania's hideout. Right?"
"Yeah. Right."
Arwen shook off the Black Briar heir worry and prepped vigorously.
They bought three direwolf-pulled sleds—standard for outskirts monster hunts.
They passed as winter hunters too.
Still cautious of trouble, departure was noon two days later.
"Let's go, Heroicus."
Arwen put Owen on her sled.
She drove point, six massive direwolves hauling it.
Direwolves were wolf-huge, nearly lion-sized—immense pulling power.
"Going fast... scary."
Owen gripped the rail, unused to sleds; Arwen burst into clear laughter.
"Scared, Heroicus?"
"Shut it."
Still, slicing through wind was thrilling.
But the mood didn't last.
Arwen halted the group, face grave.
She ordered subordinates to scout.
"What's wrong?"
Arwen pointed to the ground.
"Sled tracks ahead of us. Looks like half a day old."
"Other bounty hunters? Winter hunting season, right? Tracks aren't weird."
"Normally, no. But this direction heads to Snow Mountain."
"So?"
Arwen called Snow Mountain cursed.
Barren—no plants, no animals.
No monsters to eat them, either.
"Just rock, wind, snow. No hunter goes. Cursed wasteland—why Kalania chose it."
"So a group went to Snow Mountain half a day ahead? Suspicious as hell?"
"Finally catching on, Heroicus. And bigger than us—different sled size. See?"
Owen pondered uninvited guests at the treasure trove.
Retreating might be smart if needed.
Big score mattered, but trouble on the mainland spelled disaster.
"What now?"
Owen decided quickly at Arwen's question.
"Follow stealthily, see who they are. Decide after."
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