English version 9/7/25

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The igloos stretched across the valley like white honeycombs, their sharp silhouettes blending
into a sky the color of molten lead. Thin threads of smoke rose from cooking fires, weaving a
gray net that hung low and heavy above the snowbound land.

Matthias followed Batu all the way to the Snow Tribe.

The ice beneath their boots gleamed like polished glass, worn smooth by countless feet. It
reflected the faint glimmer of snow falcons circling overhead, their cries echoing against the
jagged cliffs.

On both sides, the snowmen stopped to salute, and children peered through windows of solid
ice, their wide amber eyes glittering with curiosity. Necklaces of animal bone hung from their
throats—each unique, some inlaid with turquoise, others wrapped in a resin the color of dried
blood.

“This is Snowfang Valley,” Nikolai murmured in a low voice. “The tribe has 8,300 people, divided
into twelve hunting teams.” He raised a gloved hand toward a colossal ice sculpture looming on
the cliff ahead—a three-eyed figure, its sockets blazing with embedded crystals that pulsed with
an eerie glow. “That’s their sacred image. The highest point is the Ice Temple for sacrifices. The
tribe leader lives near the reindeer pen on the east side.”

Matthias noticed that the igloos were arranged with purpose. They spiraled outward from the
totem in perfect symmetry. The closer to the center, the taller and more intricate the structures
became, their walls carved with coiling spiral patterns.

Batu led them into the largest igloo—a hall of ice warmed by roaring fire pits and lined with pelts
of white bear. The bitter air gave way to the thick, savory aroma of boiling broth. In the center, a
copper cauldron simmered, exhaling clouds of fragrant steam tinged with pine and marrow.

“Please.” Batu pointed to a reindeer-skin bench and personally handed over a wooden bowl of
broth.

Unknown red berries floated on the surface. The first sip was unexpectedly sweet. Heat spread
down Matthias’s throat like liquid fire, driving the chill from his bones.

The curtain lifted with a hiss. An old man stepped inside, draped in a cloak of white bear fur. His
hair was pure snow, his eyes sunk deep in shadow, yet they burned sharp as a blade. Around his
waist swung a belt strung with charms fashioned from human finger bones.
Batu rose at once and saluted. The others followed, their heads bowed.

“This is Chief Monk,” Nikolai said quietly. “Second-in-command of the tribe. But the one who
truly rules is the High Priest of the Ice Palace.”

Monk studied Matthias in silence, then spoke in guttural syllables that cracked like ice splitting
on a lake. Nikolai translated smoothly, “The Chief asks if the Ice Soul Flower given by Linglu was
properly stored.”

Matthias’s hand drifted to the brocade box at his waist. “It’s safe,” he said firmly. “I will never
forget the kindness of this flower in saving my life.”

Monk nodded, signaling Batu to continue the feast, then carried a steaming bowl into the inner
chamber. As he passed, Matthias caught a flicker of the emblem stitched on his robe—the same
three-eyed sigil carved into the cliffside totem—and he memorized it.

Halfway through the banquet, Matthias took the opportunity of a toast to ask casually, “I heard
there is an immortal elixir on Fairyharbor Island. I wonder if Mr. Nikolai has seen it?”

“The elixir is just a legend. Your Majesty, you don’t take it seriously, do you?” Nikolai said with a
half-smile, her tone mysterious.

Matthias knew he was hiding something, so he continued, “Mr. Nikolai, if you can help me find
the elixir, I will reward you handsomely.”

Nikolai’s eyes flickered. She looked around and saw Batu and the others busy drinking. Lowering
her voice, she said, “To be honest, I do know a little about the elixir. But first, you must help me
out of this predicament.”

“Escape? What do you mean?” Matthias frowned.

“I have been placed under house arrest by the tribe’s High Priest. Although I can move freely
inside the tribe, I cannot leave on my own,” Nikolai said seriously.

He had escaped once, but was beaten half to death and bedridden for three months. Since then,
he never dared act rashly. He waited—until Matthias and his men arrived, bringing him hope
again.

“So, if I help Mr. Nikolai escape from the tribe, Mr. Nikolai will tell me the whereabouts of the
elixir?” Matthias narrowed his eyes slightly.

“That’s right!” Nikolai nodded. “If you want to escape, I will tell you the secret of the elixir
immediately!”

After ten years on this island, Nikolai was going mad. Compared to freedom, the temptation of
the elixir meant nothing to him.
“Okay! Then it’s a deal!” Matthias smiled. It was like searching everywhere, only to find it without
effort. He thought the search for the elixir would take a long time—but a clue had come so easily.
God’s blessing!

“If you want to escape, tonight is the best chance,” Nikolai said quickly. “The hunters brought
back the largest ice bear of the year. The High Priest will personally perform the Spiritual Prayer
Dance. At that time, the Ice Palace’s guards will be the least alert. We can sneak out through the
secret passage behind the reindeer pen and rush to the breach in the island’s boundary.”

Matthias looked at the bonfires flickering outside the window. The snowmen danced wildly
around the flames, the roar of the drums making the igloo tremble.

“Okay, tonight!” Matthias agreed without hesitation. Opportunities like this would never come
again. For the elixir, the risk was worth it.

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Matthias’s fingers brushed the brocade box. The cool silk against his skin couldn’t hide the
sweat dampening his palms.

He glanced at Nikolai, who was locked in a drinking contest with Batu. The man tilted his head
back, gulping down a large bowl of amber liquor in one breath. His Adam’s apple moved sharply,
and his eyes drifted—just for a second—toward the copper kettle in the corner of the ice house.

That was where they had hidden the knockout drug. It came from a sweet-scented poisonous
herb found on the ice fields, impossible to distinguish once mixed with strong liquor.

“Chief Batu has a truly impressive tolerance!” Nikolai slammed his empty bowl down on the
table, sending ice chips scattering. “This ‘Ice Burn’ is as fierce as fire. Anyone else would’ve
dropped already, but you don’t even flinch. Truly, you are the Eagle of the Snowfield!”

Batu burst into laughter, his amber eyes narrowing to slits. He slapped Matthias’s shoulder with
a strength that nearly knocked him sideways. “Hello!”

His words were rough, but the raw enthusiasm behind them left no room for refusal. He filled
Matthias’s bowl himself.

Matthias swallowed the burning liquor, smiling as though unfazed. “It is my honor to drink with
Chief Batu.”

He secretly pushed his true energy through his body to force the alcohol into his limbs. Still, his
fingertips trembled from the nerves.

Nikolai had slipped the drug into Batu’s bowl earlier. Now it was only a matter of time.

In the corner, Kyle sat with one arm pressed against his waist, his eyes sharp as he watched the
snowman warriors. The wound on his back throbbed with every breath, tearing at flesh and bone,
but he clenched his jaw and kept silent.

Matthias had told him to stay behind and rest, but Kyle had refused. Now, seeing how neatly
Nikolai played along with Batu, his palms were slick with sweat.

The liquor worked slowly. Batu’s gaze turned hazy, his tall frame beginning to sway. The ice
beads around his neck clattered wildly against each other.

He slammed the table with such force the broth in the copper pot spilled over in sizzling
streams, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Friend… a friend chosen by Linglu…”

“Of course.” Matthias lifted his bowl in return. “When I return to the Dynasty, I’ll be sure to invite
Chief Batu for a drink.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Nikolai’s subtle gesture—the drug was taking hold.

Moments later, Batu groaned, and his massive body collapsed with a thunderous crash,
knocking over a wine jar. The liquor spread across the icy floor, releasing a sharp, stinging smell.

The snowman warriors jumped to their feet, but Nikolai moved quicker. “The leader has had too
much to drink—carry him inside to rest!”

A few drunk tribesmen, unsuspecting, hurried to lift Batu away.

Nikolai flicked Matthias a look. The two slipped out under the pretense of helping with Batu.

The night air cut into their faces like shards of ice. Matthias pulled his cloak tighter and followed
Nikolai through the silent streets. Their shadows stretched long and thin across the polished
ground, glimmering faintly under the dull sky.

Kyle trailed with two elite soldiers close behind. The sound of steel rasping from a sheath rang
sharp and clear in the empty valley.

“The reindeer pen is just ahead.” Nikolai lowered his voice, pointing at a glowing fence. “The
entrance to the secret passage is hidden under the eastern shed. A few loose ice bricks cover
it.”

Matthias’s chest tightened. Each step on the frozen ground felt like it might crack the ice
beneath him. He glanced back. Campfires flickered in Snowfang Valley, yet no voices carried
through. The silence felt wrong. “Are you sure we won’t be discovered?” he asked softly, his
voice betraying the smallest tremor.

“The High Priest’s Spiritual Prayer Dance lasts two full hours. Right now the guards are changing
shifts. Besides, Batu won’t wake before dawn.” Nikolai’s tone was firm, but his pace quickened.

The restless snorts of reindeer carried from the pen, their breath rising in misty clouds.
Nikolai pushed open the curtain of the shed. The smell of grass and musk flooded out. He
crouched, tapping the ice bricks until one gave off a hollow echo.

“Hurry.” He motioned for the soldiers to help lift it. Beneath lay a dark passage. “Down these
stairs, two miles through, and you’ll reach the ice field beyond the valley.”

Matthias descended first. A damp, freezing air rushed up, carrying the scent of soil, ice, and old
snow.

The stairs were narrow and steep, just wide enough for one person at a time. Every step came
with the faint crack of ice shifting overhead.

He gripped his sword tighter, his palm slick on the hilt. A knot of unease twisted in his
chest—this was going too smoothly.

“Mr. Nikolai, are you certain no one knows of this passage?” he asked.

“No one but me and the late clan leader,” Nikolai replied. “If you hesitate and we’re discovered,
don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Matthias fell silent and quickened his pace.

Then, a faint light appeared ahead. Nikolai’s voice broke with excitement. “The exit—we’ve made
it!”

They hurried forward, emerging into the open night. But the sight before them froze them in
place.

Under the pale moonlight, Batu stood tall upon the ice, his shadow stretching wide. Dozens of
snowman warriors lined up behind him, spears glinting coldly like rows of frozen tombstones.

Batu’s eyes were sharp and clear, untouched by drink. The beads around his neck clicked
together, each note ringing like a death knell in the silence.

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Matthias’s pupils narrowed. His right hand slid to the hilt of his sword, true energy surging
through his body as even his breath grew shallow and controlled.

Kyle and the soldiers fell into formation, blades flashing with a cold gleam beneath the
moonlight.

The bitter wind from the secret passage carried sharp snowflakes that stung their faces, but no
one dared flinch.

Batu stood tall, clear-eyed, showing no trace of drunkenness. The warriors behind him wore
solemn expressions, ice crystal spears angled at the ground. It was obvious—they had been
waiting.

“Nikolai, how dare you betray the tribe!” one warrior roared in the tribal tongue.

Nikolai’s face blanched, and he instinctively stepped back.

He knew well the strength of these snowman elites—each one a master-level warrior. If it came
to a fight, the outcome would be disastrous.

Matthias kept his gaze fixed on Batu, his mind already sketching escape routes should things
turn violent.

But then Batu raised his hand, halting the restless warriors behind him.

To their shock, he stepped forward. In his rough palm lay a package wrapped in animal skin,
which he pressed into Nikolai’s arms.

His amber eyes held no anger, only a reluctant warmth. In halting Chinese, he said slowly, “Mr.
Nikolai… you should go home.”

Matthias blinked, momentarily loosening his grip on the sword.

Nikolai froze, disbelief written all over his face. He had expected to be dragged back, not…
released.

When he didn’t take the package, Batu shoved it firmly into his arms, then pointed toward the
depths of the ice field, uttering low syllables in his native tongue.

The words carried weight, heavy with feeling.

Nikolai suddenly understood, answering back quickly in the same language, his voice thick with
gratitude.

Batu patted his shoulder, then removed the string of ice beads strung with animal bones from
around his own neck. With solemn care, he placed it on Nikolai.

The beads clinked softly, each crisp sound cutting through the silence of the ice field.

Nikolai’s eyes trembled as he touched them. Batu had always treasured this necklace—yet now,
he was giving it away.

Batu grinned faintly, gesturing to the package, then pointing into the distance as if to say: What’s
inside will help you survive the road ahead.

That direction was the shortcut off Fairyharbor Island.

Years ago, when Nikolai had been stranded on the island, he had saved Batu from ice beasts
and taught the tribe to craft stronger weapons and brew cold-resisting herbs. Batu had long
regarded him as a mentor.

During the years of enforced captivity, the High Priest had feared losing Nikolai’s guidance, but
Batu had always known the man longed to return to the Central Plains. Quietly, he had kept
watch for the chance.

Nikolai bowed deeply, his voice trembling with thanks in the tribal tongue.

Batu waved it away, pointing toward the sky—urging them to leave before it was too late.

Nikolai hesitated, then turned. “Let’s go!”

Matthias had many questions, but this was not the moment. He followed Nikolai without a word,
leading the soldiers toward the path Batu had shown.

Behind them, Batu and his warriors stood silently beneath the moon, their shadows stretching
long across the ice. Only when Matthias’s group vanished from sight did Batu turn back with his
men.

The wind grew harsher, snowflakes whipping into their faces like shards of glass.

The soldiers pulled their cloaks tighter, trudging step by step through the snow, each footfall
sinking deep and dragging heavy. The crunch of boots echoed faintly in the endless white.

Kyle’s wounds burned with each movement, cold sweat soaking his back, but he pressed on,
teeth clenched. Every so often, he turned to make sure no soldier had fallen behind.

At last, the horizon paled. They had put distance between themselves and the valley.

Matthias raised a hand. “Rest.”

The soldiers sank into the snow, pulling out dry rations to eat.

But the relief didn’t last.

The sky dimmed suddenly. The scattered flakes thickened in an instant, and a roar of wind
swept across the plain, stirring the snow into wild white whirlwinds.

Nikolai’s face changed. “No! A blizzard—find shelter, quickly!”

The soldiers scrambled to their feet, searching desperately, but the storm swallowed the land
too fast. Within moments, the world turned white, visibility shrinking to less than ten feet.

The wind howled like a beast, hurling snowballs through the air, battering them as though to tear
them apart.

One soldier staggered, dragged down by the gale, and hit the ice. Snow piled over him at once,
burying him until only his leg showed—and then even that disappeared.
“Hold on to the person next to you! Don’t get swept away!” Matthias shouted, grabbing the arm
of a soldier beside him. He forced his true energy outward, bracing against the storm.

Kyle anchored himself to two men, pressing his back to a jagged rock of ice, trying to shield
them from the blast.

But the blizzard’s fury was overwhelming. Two more soldiers were wrenched off their feet,
vanishing into the endless white.

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The storm’s wind drove snow like sharp gravel into Matthias’s face. He gripped the arm of the
soldier beside him so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His black battle robe was soaked through, clinging cold against his skin, the chill seeping into
his very bones.

Lifting his head, he could barely make out the vague outlines of the men around him in the white
blur. The soldier who had been swept away earlier hadn’t even managed a cry before vanishing
into the storm, his trace erased within seconds.

“Here!” Matthias shouted against the wind. He pulled the animal-skin package Batu had given
him from inside his robe and clutched it to his chest. With his free hand he felt along the wall of
ice until his palm struck a jagged outcrop. “There’s an ice cave here! We can shelter for a while!”

Hope surged through him as he waved the others forward.

The soldiers struggled toward him, leaning on one another for balance. Each step was a battle.
Snow reached their thighs, and anyone who faltered sank deep, needing the pull of their
companions to get free.

Kyle’s cloak had turned dark red where blood from his back wound seeped through, freezing into
patches of black ice. His face was pale, but he clenched his teeth and pushed forward, never
letting go of the soldier gripping his arm. From time to time, he shouted hoarsely at others to
watch their footing.

At last they reached the cave. It was cramped, barely large enough to hold a dozen men, but it
was shelter.

Matthias entered first, then turned and hauled the soldiers in one by one. As the last man
stumbled inside, a massive clump of snow slammed against the opening, sealing it nearly shut.
Only a narrow gap remained for air.

Inside was dim but mercifully warmer. The men collapsed on the icy floor, gasping.

Matthias untied the animal-skin bundle. Inside lay strips of dried meat, herbs for warmth, and a
map painted directly onto hide.
A red line traced a path from Snowfang Valley to a point marked New Territory. Along the route
were strange symbols and notes.

“This should be the path out of the Ice and Snow Realm,” Matthias said, tapping the endpoint.
His eyes lit with relief. “Batu really didn’t lie to us.”

But as he examined further, his expression darkened. Dangerous zones were marked along the
path—“Ice Crack Zone,” “Snow Fox Lair,” and one black-painted sketch of a massive beast.
Beside it were three ominous words: Ice Dragon Habitat.

He frowned. The road ahead was far from safe.

They rested in the cave for two hours until the blizzard weakened.

Matthias shared out the dried meat and boiled herbs into a bitter broth. The warmth spread
quickly through tired bodies, drawing color back to their faces.

“We move while the storm has stopped. The ice cracks are just ahead,” Matthias said, brushing
snow from his shoulders, determination in his eyes.

The men rose and followed him outside.

Though the wind had eased, the sky remained a dull gray, and snow still swirled faintly. At least
now they could see.

An hour later, the landscape split open before them.

The ice cracked into a jagged web of fissures, bottomless chasms exhaling cold gusts that
moaned through the void like spirits.

The only way forward was a series of thin ice bridges, slick and narrow, where one wrong step
would mean falling forever.

“Careful. One by one. Hold the rope as you go,” Matthias ordered. He fastened one end of a rope
around a sturdy ice boulder and passed the other end down the line.

Taking the lead, he stepped onto the bridge. The width barely held his boots. Each step creaked
underfoot, brittle as glass.

He drew in his breath and advanced slowly, steady as stone. Behind him, the soldiers clutched
the rope, following close. None dared look down.

Midway across, a soldier’s foot slipped. His body pitched sideways toward the abyss.

“Help!” he cried, voice breaking.

Matthias spun, reaching out, but he was too far.

Another soldier beside the man reacted instantly, catching his arm. With a heave, they dragged
him back onto the bridge.

The near fall left the man white-faced, collapsed where he stood, trembling uncontrollably.

Step by agonizing step, they made it across. Relief washed over them when their boots touched
solid ground again.

The rest of the path passed without incident. They skirted the snow fox den and gave wide berth
to the Ice Dragon’s marked territory.

Three days and three nights they marched. They ate Batu’s dried meat, melted snow for water,
trudged through freezing winds by day, and huddled in makeshift shelters by night.

The soldiers were gaunt, their faces hardened and armor rimed with frost, yet no one
complained. They all knew—enduring meant escape.

On the evening of the third day, Matthias stopped suddenly.

He pointed ahead, eyes shining. “Look! Up there—it’s the mysterious passage marked on the
map!”