The Sea of Senses
Raon barely managed to swallow the laugh that threatened to burst out of him. He looked at Wrath with an expression of nothing more than mild curiosity.
This isn't going to take forever, is it?
For an ordinary human, it wouldn't merely take a long time—it would be impossible. But a brat like you, possessing frost of such high purity, should be able to manage it.
Wrath cleared his throat with a self-important little ahem and pressed on.
This ability is called Glacia. Consider it an honor to receive instruction directly from This King.
Yes, yes, I got it. Just start already.
This King will grant that you possess a sliver of talent, but an enormous amount of time will still be required. Do not grow lazy in your efforts. This is a secret art This King created personally, and as such—
Never mind. I'm not learning it. I'll just stick with the Requiem Sword and do some scouting.
W-wait! Very well! This King shall begin at once!
The moment Raon turned his head away, Wrath scrambled after him in a panic.
First, still your mind. Settle it completely.
Alright.
Raon closed his eyes. He drew in a breath with almost tedious slowness, then let it out. Repeating that simple motion, he painted the inside of his head white, as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.
Now comes the connection.
Connection?
Indeed. You will connect the frost you possess to the frost that blankets this entire land. Open your eyes.
When Raon opened them, Wrath was already kindling a blaze of piercing blue frost.
Watch This King's frost carefully.
The frost that bloomed from Wrath's flame sank into the snow-choked ground. Snow and frost seemed to mingle in perfect, effortless harmony.
Did you see?
It looked like your frost was blending with the snow.
Hmph. That is merely the surface phenomenon. It is not snow and frost you are connecting—it is frost and frost. If you would surrender your body, This King could show you properly—
Not learning it.
A-alright! This King understands, so look again! This King will say no such thing!
Wrath swallowed hard and shuffled backward. For all his bluster, the one who looked truly desperate was Wrath.
Ahem. The core of it is this: you must bring the frost within you into harmony with the frost that saturates this land. Once you do, even events unfolding far away will register as clearly as a touch upon your own skin. In other words, every flake of snow and every shard of ice in this vicinity will become your eyes, your ears, and your flesh.
Ah. I think I get the gist.
Raon nodded. The explanation had been unexpectedly straightforward—direct rather than grandiose—and he grasped it at once.
That said…
This was going to be difficult.
Connecting frost to frost was something he had never even conceived of. Understanding the words was one thing; actually doing it was going to be another matter entirely.
A considerable amount of time will be required. However, if you master it properly, the results will more than repay every hour you invest.
Hmm…
The scouts were rushing about in every direction, too busy drilling Dorian to notice much of anything. A snow-laced wind was blowing besides. If he tried it now, there was little chance of being caught.
I'll give it a shot right now.
Then This King shall teach you the incantation.
Incantation? I can't use magic.
Not every incantation is magic. Think of it as akin to the mnemonic verses you humans mutter when circulating aura.
Got it.
Then This King shall begin.
"The god submerged in a lake of ice where frost flowers bloom…"
Raon spun the Ring of Fire, sharpening his focus and fortifying his mind, and committed every syllable Wrath recited to memory.
You surely failed to memorize it, so This King shall recite it once more—
I memorized it.
Urgh. You monster of a brat…
Wrath muttered something about whether this child was even human and shot him a sideways glare.
Alright. Here I go.
Raon closed his eyes and circulated the bitter frost within him. The cold that unfurled from his body sank to the ground and scattered across the snow.
A low, resonant hum rolled outward.
He poured out frost so frigid it threatened to freeze his hands solid, but the surrounding snowdrifts merely hardened. Nothing else changed.
I don't know how to make the connection.
When This King says connection, it does not mean you are to literally join yourself to the snow. This, too, is a matter of imagery.
I'll try again.
Raon nodded and evened out his breathing. Reciting the incantation, he slowly released his frost.
In harmony.
Frost blending with frost.
He rotated the Ring of Fire and poured out a ceaseless stream of cold.
He said the imagery was what mattered.
He considered what image of mixing would serve him best.
If it's an image of two things blending until they become one…
The moment he pictured harmony and intermingling, the North Sea he had seen not long ago rose in his mind.
An endless ocean where every water in the world gathered.
A sea like that could surely let frost and frost mingle in perfect accord.
But the sea I'm thinking of isn't the North Sea.
The ocean in his mind was a vast, still expanse without a single wave—a sea as gentle as a lake. Holding that image, he wove his frost onward and murmured the incantation.
The bitter cold spreading from his fingertips grew thinner. It unfurled finer than a strand of hair, laying itself across the entire space.
Frost connects to frost.
The Sea of Senses unfolds.
The world slowed.
No—he was the one slowing down.
His arms and legs hung as heavy as if he had been buried in mud. In exchange, his senses sharpened to a degree that raised gooseflesh along his skin.
He heard the sound of a small wave.
The sea. Raon was floating upon it. No—he had become one with it.
A ripple broke across the still water.
To the left.
The scouts and Dorian were moving. Radin was asking Dorian what the traces on the ground were. Those traces were the footprints of an ice troll that had vanished some time ago. Dorian pulled an enormous measuring stick and a rubbing kit from his Belly Pouch and began taking the dimensions of the tracks.
This time a small current flowed from the right. A Beowulf had caught a human scent on the wind and was lurking in wary concealment. Prey that looked like an orc dangled from its claws.
Hah.
A disbelieving laugh slipped out of him.
This ability didn't merely tell him who was there. It told him what they were doing.
"Hoooo…"
Raon let out a long breath and opened his eyes.
That'll do.
The range had been short and he hadn't been able to hold it for long—it was his first attempt, after all—but he had the feel of it. A little more practice and he would surely grasp it for certain.
Do not look so disappointed. Glacia is a sensory trait This King created personally. That it cannot be learned easily is only natural. If you train diligently for the year you will spend in this place, you should be able to acquire it.
Wrath, apparently convinced that Raon hadn't gotten the hang of it at all, helpfully informed him that it was supposed to take a long time.
A year is way too long.
Even that is a short estimate, given that This King is here beside you.
Hmm. Then how about a wager?
A wager?
Whether I master Glacia within six months or not.
Mmm. Six months…
Wrath didn't answer right away. He hemmed and hawed, clearly turning it over. He had lost every wager so far, and the possibility of losing again seemed to give him pause.
Fine. Make it five months.
It's a deal!
The little creature accepted as if he had been waiting for exactly that.
📍 Condition: Master Glacia within 5 months.
🎁 On Success: All stats +4, one trait rank increase.
⚠ On Failure: Generate 10 points of Wrath's emotion.
"I accept."
The wager is sealed.
Raon forced down the corners of his mouth that wanted to climb and gave a nod.
Well, wager aside, Glacia really does seem like an extraordinary ability.
Of course it is. This King created it personally!
The instant he heard praise, Wrath's face blossomed open and he nodded with eager satisfaction. Raon had noticed it before, but the creature truly did love being treated with respect.
So there are other ways of using frost energy, then?
Naturally! Merely expelling frost is the most elementary of elementary techniques. Very well. Today This King shall thoroughly educate you on the methods of employing frost!
Raon looked at Wrath, who was blazing like a flame of frost, and smiled faintly.
He truly was a fish with far too much meat to pick from.
"Recruit!"
Just as Wrath was about to begin his lecture on the use of frost, Radin beckoned Raon forward.
"It's getting late, so we'll camp around here tonight."
Radin pointed a thick finger at a tree that was little more than a skeleton of branches.
"Obviously we can't light a fire. Beasts run from fire, but monsters come running toward it. So how do we endure this cold?"
"You lay down a thick mat, pull a down comforter over yourself, and go to sleep!"
Dorian's hand shot up at once.
"……"
Radin and the scouts lost their words for a moment and stared at Dorian in a daze.
"Where the hell would we get those?!"
"I have them…"
"You! You answer!"
The instant Dorian reached toward his Belly Pouch for the mat, Radin hurriedly pointed at Raon.
"We'd have to dig into the ground."
"That's right. Correct."
Radin muttered something about polar opposites and let out a sigh.
"Then what kind of ground do we dig? This godforsaken cold has frozen the earth around here hard as rock."
"I'll find a spot."
Raon nodded and dropped into a crouch. He swept the snow aside with his hands and examined the soil.
I just need to find that kind of earth.
In a region this cold, most of the ground was as hard as stone—but here and there, gaps remained. Those spots were called hollow ground: the earth beneath was empty in places and the soil was soft, making it easy to dig.
Found it.
To the left of the tree, the soil rose in a slight swell and its color was a shade paler. The ground below would be hollow in patches and the earth soft enough to tunnel through without much trouble.
"Here."
"Tsk…"
Raon tapped the hollow ground, and Radin's lips pushed out in a pout.
"And why should we dig here?"
"The color is pale, and the way it rises like a small hill is typical of hollow groun—"
"You really are a know-it-all."
"Pardon?"
"You're so damn talented, you must want to eat a lot too!"
"Uh…"
"There's just nothing you don't know, is there!"
Radin scrunched up the bridge of his nose and poured out his grievances with an expression too complicated to name.
"If that's the right spot, shall we start digging?"
While the man's hands were still trembling, Dorian approached with two oversized shovels and a sack slung over his shoulder.
"And where did those shovels and that sack come from?"
"I brought them."
The boy patted his own stomach with a cheerful pat-pat.
"What the hell are you two?!"
Radin's face flushed a deep red.
"One of them knows everything, and the other one's a walking general store! What even are you people?!"
"Aww, it's not that big a deal."
Dorian, apparently taking it as a compliment, grinned from ear to ear.
"Urgh, my stomach hurts…"
"Captain. You can scold us later. If we're camping here, we should get settled before it gets any later. As you said, it's getting dark."
Raon took one of the shovels from Dorian.
"Forget it! There's a place we use every time we come out on reconnaissance!"
Calling them a pair of creeps, Radin strode into a forest so white it looked decorated with snow.
"Don't mind him. That was a compliment."
"He's just sulking because there's nothing left to teach."
"He really is like a child."
"Do us a favor and pretend you don't know things once in a while. I feel sorry for the guy."
The scouts snickered as they followed after Radin.
"What an unusual person."
Dorian tucked the shovel back into his Belly Pouch and smacked his lips.
Raon shook his head.
You're the weirdest one of all…
Following the scouts to the forest's edge, they found a patch of ground covered by a tent as white as the snow itself. They pulled the canvas aside and descended into a dugout, and a space wide enough for all twelve of them to sleep opened up before them.
Raon and the scouts stowed their gear, then filled their stomachs with the soft bread Dorian had brought. Thanks to eating bread instead of rock-hard jerky, Dorian's standing among the scouts soared high enough to pierce the sky.
The bread is not bad even by This King's standards, so of course it would be.
Wrath muttered that he had expected nothing but beggar's scraps for a good long while, and that this was a relief.
"Now we need to set the watch…"
Radin popped the last scrap of bread into his mouth and stood.
"I'll take the first shift."
Raon raised his hand.
"A brat who hasn't even earned his seniority wants first watch? You're ten years too early, kid!"
Radin wagged a finger as if he'd been waiting for this.
"First watch and last watch get split by seniority! You're smack in the middle, so sit tight and don't volunteer."
"Understood."
"And don't smile so damn easily! Makes me look like your subordinate."
"Yes, sir."
"Urgh…"
At Raon's light smile, the man ran out of things to say and stepped back.
"From now, we set the watch. First shift is…"
Radin assigned the watches himself. Despite his talk of splitting by seniority, he ended up neither on first watch nor last—he would be waking for the third shift, together with Raon.
He's not a bad person.
Judging by everything the man had said and done so far, he seemed like someone who itched to teach his juniors. He had probably exploded because Raon already knew it all, leaving him with nothing to pass on.
"Young master."
While Raon was thinking what an interesting man Radin was, Dorian sidled up beside him.
"That guy is seriously weird. Let's try not to get on his bad side."
So saying, he began sipping a cup of tea that was still steaming.
You are the weirdest one of all.
This time Wrath answered in Raon's place.
Standing watch outside the dugout, Radin glanced behind him. The strange kid whose name was the only thing anyone knew about him was staring blankly into the dark forest.
Weird brat.
It wasn't just that he had knowledge. He was outstanding at adapting that knowledge to the field. Radin had never seen this type before, and he still couldn't quite figure the boy out.
"Ahem."
Radin came up out of the dugout and approached Raon's side, intending to strike up a conversation—only to find the boy with his eyes closed.
Oh? Caught you, you little—
Even a monster like this one, it seemed, couldn't help dozing off on watch. Thinking he had finally found something to needle the boy over, Radin was about to shake him awake.
Raon's eyes snapped open.
The moment Radin met those crimson irises, burning like a blaze, the words died in his throat.
"Ah…"
"Captain."
The boy rose, his voice as cold as the night around them.
"Y-yeah!"
"Monsters are approaching this position."
"M-monsters?"
"Yes. I'm certain."
There was not a tremor in Raon's voice.
"How would you know that?"
"I have a decent sense for these things. Water-attribute monsters that came up from the North Sea are moving underground."
"Water-attribute monsters moving underground…"
Radin swallowed dryly. That had to be Sharkmoles—North Sea monsters with a shark's head and a mole's claws. They could move beneath the earth, that much was true, but they had never once come as far as this forest, with Sterin Mountain practically next door.
"Hmm…"
Just in case, he pressed his ear to the ground. He heard nothing at all. The boy had probably mixed up a dream with reality.
Figures.
He'd been putting on a composed front, but there was no way a fresh recruit wouldn't be tense. Seeing him slip up like this, the kid finally looked like an actual person.
"You're talking about Sharkmoles, right?"
"Yes."
"This forest is the territory of the monsters that come down from Sterin Mountain, so Sharkmoles don't come here. Wake up, kid."
Radin offered a thin smile and clapped Raon on the shoulder. The boy's expression, however, remained as set as tree bark.
"It's real."
"So am I."
Radin shook his head and pointed at the ground.
"When a Sharkmole moves, the earth shakes. Right now it isn't budging an inch."
"You'll feel it soon enough."
"Hah. It's your first day, so I'm not going to chew you out for nodding off on watch—"
Radin swallowed hard and lurched to his feet. A tremor had begun to run through the frozen earth.
"Wh-what? It was real?"
The vibration and the sound were unmistakably those of an approaching Sharkmole.
"I did tell you."
"Th-that's impossible…"
"Wake the others first. They'll be here any moment."
"Y-you—!"
"I'll buy time here."
"Kh. Y-you…"
"Go. Quickly."
"Alright! Don't you dare overdo it!"
Radin dropped into the dugout.
"Get up! Sharkmoles are coming!"
"What? Who is?"
"Sh-Sharkmoles? Why would Sharkmoles come here?!"
"I don't know either, so just get up!"
The scouts had their questions, but they were on their feet and combat-ready in an instant.
"A-are there really monsters coming?"
The only one fidgeting in open panic was Dorian.
"Get ready and get out here!"
Radin emerged from the dugout with a crossbow and a sword. He was trying to pinpoint Raon and the Sharkmole's positions when the ground ahead split like a spiderweb and a massive beast erupted from below.
"Sh-Sharkmole!"
It was a monster of the North Sea: a shark's head, a mole's claws, and a humanoid body.
"Ghk!"
Radin tried to fall back and fire his crossbow, but his foot caught on the dugout's entrance and he went down.
"Kyaaaaah!"
The Sharkmole loosed a grotesque shriek and brought down a hand bristling with dozens of claws.
Damn it! I'll give it an arm and—wait, what?
He was about to offer one arm as bait and throw himself back when a crimson line was drawn across the Sharkmole's throat.
A wet, bursting hiss.
The Sharkmole's head came off like a fish's, sheared clean away.
Teeth chattering, Radin lifted his gaze. Two red moons hung in the pitch-black sky.
"Ah…"
They were not moons. They were Raon's crimson eyes.
"Don't move from there."
"Y-you, just what are you…"
"You didn't believe my words, so…"
Raon turned his back, a sword still dripping with hot blood in his hand.