Ten kilometers away from the Indus River, everything was covered by mountains.

Between those mountains stood a large city that stretched for kilometers.

It was built like a giant stone beast hiding in the cold land.

Tall walls surrounded the whole city, and on top of those walls, soldiers were moving around in a hurry.

They were setting up cannons, adjusting metal parts, pulling ropes, and preparing other weapons with tense faces.

This place was the outermost city, the shield of the north, and the former estate of the Indrath Empire's duke, Ravan Tramplin.

"What's the situation?" a man asked.

He sat on the edge of the wall, looking out at the distance, where only endless white snow could be seen.

He looked around forty, an ordinary man with short blonde hair, not the type anyone would stare at twice.

But his presence said something different.

He was the younger brother of Ravan Tramplin, and even though he was known as one of the swordmasters of the Tramplin family, the force coming from him now was far stronger.

If Vined saw him at this moment, he would be shocked to his bones.

A year ago, this man had only reached the early stage of swordmaster.

Now he stood as a grandmaster.

That kind of rise made no sense. It should not be possible for a normal person.

"They are building a bridge to cross the river," the soldier kneeling in front of him reported.

"From our spies' intel, they will reach us within a month."

The man did not reply at once.

His gaze stayed on the snowy horizon, watching the empty land as if something might rise from it at any moment.

The air felt heavy, as if the future itself was pressing down on the walls.

A thin smirk slid across his face as he kept his eyes on the far snow.

The cold wind brushed past him, but he didn't blink.

"How many grandmasters do they have?" he asked, the question sounding light, almost casual.

The soldier kneeling before him lowered his head even more.

His voice was respectful and steady.

"There are two grandmasters in their ranks at the moment, Duke Vined D. Zenithara… and Duke Kamesh Sant."

The man's smirk dipped for a moment, then slowly curled back up.

His eyes brightened with a strange spark.

"So the son-in-law and the father-in-law are in charge, huh? Good… good."

A thin thread of killing intent leaked into the cold air around him, sharp enough to make the soldier's shoulders stiffen.

The man murmured, almost to himself, "Let them come and die."

He sounded confident, far too confident for someone who, just a few weeks ago, would've had shaking knees at the mention of Vined marching toward them.

Back then, even though Vined was only a swordmaster, his Intuition was the thing that made people lose sleep.

It was a nightmare of an ability, frightening enough to make even veterans hesitate.

His Intuition didn't need tricks or strategy.

Once it was active, it became almost impossible to beat him in a one-on-one fight.

Every duel turned into a desperate struggle where the outcome always leaned toward him, as if the battlefield itself shifted in his favor.

Facing Vined alone felt like stepping into a space where defeat was already waiting.

And this man had felt that fear deep in his bones.

That whole history hung behind his smirk like a shadow he refused to acknowledge.

It had started with something as simple as a marriage talk.

The Tramplin household wanted the match. Duke Sant didn't object.

Everything was moving in a neat straight line… until Vined's future wife decided she didn't want a Tramplin groom at all.

She chose Vined. Just like that.

Duke Sant didn't stop her. He didn't shout. He didn't argue. He just let her cancel the proposal.

That alone should've been a clear warning. But the man back then was still young, proud, and painfully stupid.

He couldn't accept it.

So he did the worst thing possible, he announced a duel to decide who would marry her.

Right there, in front of everyone. Duke Sant was so furious he almost cut him down on the spot.

The man would have died right there, marriage or no marriage, if Vined hadn't stepped forward and accepted the duel himself.

And the fool actually thought he had a chance.

They were both swordmasters at the same level at the time, so he walked in proud, thinking it would be a fair fight.

But the moment the duel started, Vined activated Intuition, and everything ended in a blink.

One instant they stood facing each other.

The next, he was on the ground, defeated so fast that even the spectators didn't know what had happened.

For him, it was a nightmare he still remembered with bitter clarity.

Even now, years later, that memory sat somewhere deep inside him, like a scar he pretended didn't exist.

Vined's words from that day were still carved into him like a blade mark:

"You should be grateful I'm not killing you

But if I ever see you eyeing what's mine again, I will erase your family."

Even now, remembering those words made his hands clench so tight his knuckles went white.

He could still feel the stone floor under his cheek, the sting of defeat, the humiliation of lying there while everyone watched.

That moment had buried itself deep, a wound that never fully healed.

But the man standing on the wall now was no longer the fool who had lost in one strike.

"Things are different now," he murmured, voice low and cold.

"I will kill you this time, Vined… and make you regret ever standing in my way."

The killing intent that leaked from him felt almost solid, like the air itself wanted to flinch away.

His hatred boiled up again, thick and hot, but he pushed it down.

This was not the time to lose control. He glanced at the soldier kneeling beside him.

"You may go," he said calmly.

The soldier bowed and hurried off, relieved to escape the sharp pressure around his commander.

The man stood up, dusted off his hands, and turned toward the ladders.

As he walked along the wall, every soldier nearby stopped working.

Tools froze in midair. Cannon crews turned stiff. One by one, they lowered their heads and bowed deeply as he passed.

He didn't return their greetings.

He only let out a few cold snorts, each one carrying the tone of a man who no longer needed anyone's approval.

Then he descended the ladders, step by step, the killing intent following him like a shadow that refused to let go.

He walked straight toward the large barracks at the end of the path.

Two guards stood at the entrance, stiff as spears.

The moment they noticed him, they bowed deeply and pushed the heavy doors open without a word.

He stepped inside with the same cold expression carved onto his face.

The air in the barracks was heavy and still, almost unnatural.

In the center of the room stood a large gate glowing blue, the light pulsing like a slow heartbeat.

Stone pillars framed it, each one carved with symbols so old and detailed they almost seemed alive.

It looked like a dungeon gate, only smaller, tighter, and far more detailed.

Beside the gate stood a man with absolutely no expression.

He didn't bow. He didn't greet him. He simply stared, unblinking, as if carved from wood.

The man let out a sharp snort, annoyed by the lack of respect, but he didn't bother wasting breath on it.

"Connect it to the palace," he ordered.

The expressionless man didn't reply.

He just raised his hands and began chanting something that sounded like broken echoes, soft, unclear, and not meant for normal ears.

The blue glow surged, brightening until the carvings around the gate flickered like they were waking up.

A humming sound filled the room, low and deep, as the portal stabilized.

The man didn't hesitate.

He stepped forward, eyes locked on the swirling light.

Without a word, without a pause, he walked through the glowing gate and vanished inside.

The air shook once, then the room fell silent again, as cold and empty as before.

He stepped out of the gate on the other side, and the first thing he saw was another expressionless man guarding it.

The figure stood still like a statue, offering no greeting, no reaction, nothing at all.

The man didn't bother speaking to him. His eyes were already moving, taking in the scene around him.

The barracks from before were gone.

In their place stretched the heart of the Tramplin estate, wide stone paths, trimmed gardens covered in winter frost, and in front of him, a huge castle rising like a dark mountain of its own.

His cold expression softened for the first time, turning into quiet amazement.

"No matter how many times I see it… it still feels like a miracle," he muttered. .

"Crossing such a distance in a single blink?"

He let out a long sigh, the weight of travel and memory slipping off him for a moment.

His voice dropped to a softer tone, almost thoughtful.

"Joining hands with them was the right choice all along."

Another small sigh escaped him, half relief, half acceptance.

Then he straightened his back, pushed away whatever softness had appeared on his face, and started walking toward the palace with steady steps.

The cold ground crunched under his boots, each step echoing toward the towering doors ahead.

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