Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Translator: Penny
Chapter 1
Agron
The witch had cursed him.
Before your child sees fifteen summers and fifteen winters, he will be surrounded by paulownia trees. Unless he carries the blood and bones of a beast, my words shall not fall to the ground.
The head of House Veilain had no choice but to send his son far north.
Hoping he would survive.
The Snow Spirit Labyrinth, a vast northern snowfield renowned for its perpetual snow.
Also known as the "Frozen Hell," this place was perpetually shrouded in brutal cold and ice, 365 days a year.
A truly harsh and merciless Demonic Realm, ignored by even the most ambitious conquerors.
Yet someone was traversing this snowfield.
Each step sank deep into the snow, leaving a dotted line in his wake.
"Hoo... hoo..."
The razor-sharp wind, saturated with frigid cold, lashed at his face and body with relentless fury.
Though the man wore thick furs, the unfastened front left patches of bare skin exposed, now burning crimson from the cold.
With each exhale, icicles formed on his beard.
"Hmm."
Finally, he reached his destination.
Opening the door to a tiny hut, he was greeted by a warm, humid air that rushed in like the breath of a colossal beast.
"It's too hot. A warrior should endure the cold."
The man brushed the snow piled thickly on his shoulders and head as he approached the fireplace. He spread his palms to bask in the warmth, his face softening with contentment.
"If you're hot, why are you going over there?" the owner asked from the back of the cabin, not even glancing at his guest.
"I-I was just drying my leather. I'm definitely not cold."
"Why bother wearing clothes if you're not going to fasten them properly?"
"Out of respect for the hunt and the pride of a warrior."
The owner chuckled dryly. "What brings you here today?"
"The Chief said there's a letter for you, Agron, and asked me to deliver it."
A chair scraped against the floor, and Agron emerged from the back of the cabin into the living room.
A handsome young man with a muscular build and dark blue hair stood with his abs clearly visible, his blue eyes gleaming.
"A letter? None have arrived recently."
"After all, in our Winter Forest Keepers tribe, only the Chief and you receive letters."
"Anyway, thanks for bringing it, White Bison."
White Bison nodded slightly and continued warming himself by the campfire.
Agron tore open the letter and read it immediately.
In the Winter Forest Keepers tribe, only a handful of people could read, and among them, only the Chief and Agron could write.
"..."
Agron's expression was strange after finishing the letter.
Though his face remained rigid, it seemed even more tense and somber than before.
He carefully tossed the read letter into the fireplace.
The letter burned to ashes in an instant.
"What's wrong, Agron?"
White Bison, usually a man of few words, spoke first.
"My parents are dead."
The flickering flames of the campfire danced in his eyes like molten heat.
"How did it happen?"
"They were attacked."
"Hmm."
White Bison let out a low sigh.
For a warrior, the death of loved ones was an inevitable consequence, a karmic burden. The greater the warrior, the more closely death walked beside him.
But Agron's parents weren't warriors of the tribe, and they didn't even live with him. Knowing his family history well, White Bison could offer nothing but silence.
"I'm leaving the Snowfield now."
Agron, having confirmed the letter was completely burned, grabbed his leather coat from the wall.
The leather was from a massive elk he had hunted two years prior, which he had personally tanned.
When Agron dragged the elk back by its antlers, not a single member of the tribe remained unmoved by the sight.
The elk was so enormous—larger than most bears—that it took an entire day just to gut and butcher the carcass.
"Leaving the Snowfield...? You're abandoning the tribe?"
"Yes. Now that the time seems ripe, I should explain to the Chief and depart."
"...Since you have no family waiting for you, why not just stay here?"
The words might have sounded rude, but Agron understood the speaker's intentions and merely chuckled.
It was the White Bison's way of pleading with him to stay, insisting that they were his true family—the most he could offer in the way of persuasion.
"I'll speak with the Chief first."
Upon arriving at the village, Agron made his way to the Chief's residence.
It was the warmest house in the village, built on a birchwood frame and filled with dried moss.
As he opened the log door and stepped inside, a curtain of animal teeth strung together with leather cords obscured his view.
"Excuse me—"
The moment he reached out to lift the curtain, a sharp blade flashed and lunged at him.
As if anticipating the attack, Agron twisted his head to evade the strike, then hooked his arm over his opponent's right shoulder and pulled him inward, twisting his joint.
But his opponent refused to yield.
Dropping the knife's hilt, he caught it with his left hand and plunged the blade into Agron's side.
Though the angle was awkward, it was still a lethal position for killing a man.
Agron tightened his grip on his opponent's shoulder, pulling with brutal force, ready to slam him to the ground. The searing pain forced the man's sword to slash wildly through the air.
"Ugh!"
The missed blade plunged into the wooden wall.
Seizing the opportunity, Agron drove his knee into the man's face.
The opponent, his free arm bent, swung his elbow at Agron's incoming knee.
A heavy impact reverberated between them, but it was the opponent who absorbed the greater force.
His dislocated shoulder clearly hampered both his defense and offense, leaving him ineffective.
Crack.
A tearing sound echoed from the man's shoulder.
Agron hadn't intended to break it.
His opponent dislocated his own shoulder to break free from Agron's grip, immediately drawing the sword embedded in the wall and swinging it in a wide arc toward Agron.
A crude yet precise sword stroke.
Clang!
Agron grabbed a nearby poker and blocked the attack.
His blue eyes flashed sharply as they rapidly scanned his opponent from head to toe.
Inhale—exhale.
His chest expanded and contracted in rhythm with his breathing.
A bead of sweat clung to the tip of his nose, and faint tremors ran through his muscles.
Every detail was etched into Agron's mind, and his opponent's information rapidly unfolded in his thoughts.
Slightly forward-leaning center of gravity, a twitching and visibly uncomfortable right shoulder, and an unnecessarily bent right leg.
Agron thrust the poker in his right hand forward.
The speed was so great that even those with above-average reflexes would struggle to follow it. Yet his opponent parried the poker with a sweeping arc of his sword, immediately closing the distance to Agron's chest.
The sharp blade grazed the floor as it rose.
Thud.
The opponent's sword, which had surged upward with enough force to split a man in two, was abruptly halted by Agron's foot, pinning it motionless.
In the same instant, Agron twisted his body, seized the opponent's arm and collar, and executed a shoulder throw.
Boom!
"Ugh!"
"Care to continue?" Agron asked, already having retrieved the fallen sword and pressed its tip against his opponent's throat.
"Enough, you damned brat!"
As Agron withdrew his blade, the massive old man rose from his seat, clutching his shoulder.
This was Dumurka, his master and the Chief of the Winter Forest Keepers tribe, also known as the Silent Storm.
"Are you alright, Master?" Agron asked.
"Hmph! You're such a thoughtful disciple, aren't you? If that's the case, why didn't you hold back from the start?!"
"I was holding back."
"...I suppose so."
If Agron had truly attacked with intent, Dumurka wouldn't have lasted three exchanges before his spine snapped in half.
Among the Winter Forest Keepers, Agron was the only one Dumurka couldn't defeat.
That monster.
What made Agron truly terrifying wasn't his exceptional swordsmanship or combat skills.
Overwhelming strength and inexhaustible stamina.
"So you didn't even draw your sword or throw a punch against your master?!"
"That's right."
"But you used your knees?"
"I swung them without putting any force into it."
"How very kind of you!"
"Don't mention it."
Agron's strength had surpassed even the Winter Forest Keepers, and his reputation had spread to neighboring tribes.
After all, even White Bison, the tribe's most renowned warrior, couldn't last more than five exchanges against him.
"By the way, I received your letter."
"Is that so?"
"Did Master read it too?"
"I read the letter that came separately for me."
Dumurka replied, sitting in a chair and massaging his shoulder.
"Agron, have you spoken with White Bison yet?"
"Just for a moment."
The Winter Forest Keepers had two names: a True Name given by nature and a Worldly Name used in the outside world. Those who frequently interacted with the world preferred their Worldly Names, while those who remained within the tribe favored their True Names.
Agron and Dumurka were accustomed to their Worldly Names and were usually addressed by them.
"What does Master wish me to do?"
"What do you mean? Just do whatever you want."
"I see. Then I'll take my leave now."
"Wait... hold on a second!"
Dumurka suddenly sensed something was off and stopped Agron, who was about to step out of the house.
"...When you say 'leave,' do you mean leave my house, or leave the tribe?"
"Both, I suppose?"
"You lunatic!"
Dumurka glared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
This was the problem.
"You possess the instincts of a wild animal, the mind of a scholar, and the body of a monster, yet you lack even a shred of human decency!"
"Human decency...?"
"What will the tribe think if you just vanish like this?!"
"I've already left...?"
"Grrr—!"
Dumurka barely restrained the urge to smack Agron upside the head.
Baek Woon, you really dumped a handful of trouble on me.
As the tribe's chief, Dumurka had wandered the world in his youth, gaining broad perspectives and extensive knowledge.
During his travels, Dumurka befriended many people, including Daoist Baek Woon, who entrusted Agron to his care.
"Agron, you damned disciple! Let me be frank: I want you to become the next Chief."
Among all the members of the tribe, Dumurka acknowledged only one person as being more intelligent than himself—Agron.
Unlike the other tribesmen, who preferred living by instinct and shunned new knowledge, Agron had absorbed knowledge like a sponge since childhood, making it his own.
He was fluent in numerous languages, including the kingdom's tongue, and possessed a deep understanding of mathematics, magic, and shamanic arts.
In short, Agron was a genius.
"Are you talking about the Chief?"
"Yes. As you know, our tribe has no one who enjoys learning. That's why we haven't progressed. But you're different, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am."
"...You unlucky bastard. Anyway, that's why I've been considering you as the next Chief. So why not just... settle down here and live with us?"
Dumurka's words were no different from White Bison's.
A genuine concern for him, a question of whether he would become a true member of their family.
Agron felt deep gratitude toward all the members of the Winter Forest Keepers tribe.
In truth, Dumurka had been more of a father, mentor, and friend to him than his own parents, whose memories were now hazy.
"I think 'White Bison' would be a more fitting Chief than I am."
"...Is that so?"
But even such parents were still his parents.
After all, they hadn't abandoned him; they had entrusted him to Dumurka to break the curse.
"I intend to live as a warrior and heir to my family."
"Are you sure you're ready?"
Dumurka's words carried multiple layers of meaning.
Agron nodded.
Of course he was ready.
He had endured all this time precisely for this moment.
"It won't be an easy path. You've lived here since you were a weaning child. Life outside the tribe will be unfamiliar to you."
"I'll be fine. I've learned about it through books."
Dumurka nodded.
That's the problem, you fool.
Agron gazed out the frosted window and spoke.
"I am a great warrior of the Winter Forest Keepers tribe. I believe ignoring the murder of my family would make me unworthy of being called a warrior."
"That's right. An eye for an eye, blood for blood."
"Yes, that's how it must be. And I've always wanted to manage my own territory."
His father, the head of House Veilain, had been talking about territory since Agron was a baby.
He'd constantly spout incomprehensible nonsense about what made a good lord, how to care for the people of the territory, how to manage its affairs...
Perhaps that was why Agron naturally harbored dreams of becoming a lord.
Dumurka placed both hands on his beloved disciple's shoulders.
"Good. Go forth and show the world your dreams. You will become a great ruler."
"Thank you. Farewell."
"Hey! Say goodbye to your tribe members before you leave, you little bastard!"
📝 Translator’s Note:
You may notice that certain lines or phrases in this novel appear both in their original Korean (or Hanja) form and in English translation.
This is intentional — these phrases are classical idioms, divine titles, or poetic expressions that carry layered meanings.
To preserve their original tone and authenticity, the raw text has been kept for reference, while the English interpretation is provided right before or after it. This helps convey both the literal and cultural nuance of the original work.
but if you guys dont want tha raw for future chapters or my future other novels u can just text me on discord and say so discord name Mr.Penny