After Lynch and Zilvra left the serpent camp, they obviously quickened their pace. They traversed through the northern Pine Forest, using the cover of the snowstorm. Thick snow blanketed the branches here, and the sound of the wind in the woods masked all their noises.

During this season, few animals come out in search of food; they choose instead to stay as safe as possible in their hiding places, relying on the food stored during autumn to get them through this seemingly endless storm. Lynch didn't expect to encounter any animals other than Winter Wolves or Snow Bears, but to their surprise—or perhaps luck—they heard horses snorting nearby.

When the two rushed over to take a look, they couldn't help but praise the Goddess of Fortune in their hearts—whether or not such a deity truly exists in the world. Not only were there ridable horses, but even a horse-drawn carriage was right before them. Judging by the blue patterns painted on the thick canopy, this seemed to belong to a merchant caravan, and the people who could ride in this carriage held high status within that organization.

However, Lynch did not find any signs of merchants near the carriage, but there were a few tentacle vines attempting to wrap around the two horses and drag them into their liquid-secreting mouths. These plump horses were a rare nutritious feast for the tentacle vines in winter. The horses struggled hard, vigorously flinging off the yellow tendrils wrapping around them.

Perhaps the horses, like other creatures, were under the blessing of a Goddess of Fortune: Lynch still carried enough provisions and thus had no thought of treating the horses as dinner like the tentacle vines. To a Mage, they were far more valuable as a means of transportation and as a cover rather than as sizzling roasted meat over a fire. Zilvra seemed to have the same thought. She dashed forward, stirring her thin sword fiercely in the digestive tract of the tentacle vine. The steel blade and the exploded inner cavity of the tentacle vine were the last taste this monster had. After that, apart from a few severed tentacles left on the ground as evidence of its existence, only a few witnesses knew what once perched among the pines.

The two horses obediently followed Zilvra, seemingly aware that the newcomers had no intention of eating them and recognizing who was treating them kindly.

"It seems these two fellows escaped from the merchant caravan," Lynch glanced at the back of the carriage and then said to Zilvra, "I think their original owners were ambushed by serpent men. These clever, plump horses managed to escape amidst the chaos. Look at the blankets and fabrics inside. I think their original owners were planning to make a handsome profit during the winter."

"There are blankets?" Zilvra tossed the reins to Lynch, then jumped into the carriage, wrapping the thickest blanket around herself. Lynch watched her, his gaze clearly saying, "With the Elf Clan's cloak, are you really cold?"

"Cold or not is one thing, but being dressed warmly enough is another," Zilvra leaned against a corner of the carriage, adopting the demeanor of a Dark Elf Noble, and said to the Mage, "Drive the carriage!"

Lynch smiled wryly and sat on the coachman's seat. The transformation magic on him turned his appearance and attire into that of a thoroughbred Coachman, even transforming the hood of his mage robe into a thick fur hat. Unless one stared closely into his eyes and perceived the intentional gleam of wisdom behind the apparent confusion, even Lynch's closest friends would find it difficult to recognize him.

This task reminded the Mage of his childhood days, helping his mother manage the inn chores. Back then, he was just a child yearning to become a traveling merchant, driving a spacious and grand horse-drawn carriage filled with goods, humming a rural bard's tune, traveling and calculating how to win the hearts of girls with the money earned. He worked hard to learn various racial languages, local dialects, and customs from the passing merchants. He picked up a few phrases while serving them plates or fetching ale.

Later, however, he became a Mage, carrying an identity cursed daily by the people of his hometown. He no longer had to worry about selecting horses, because if he wished, he could make any four-legged animal run faster than the wind—even faster than some rumors. He also no longer needed to find ways to make a profit from customers, for a Mage's wealth could make even the oldest giant dragon envious.

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