The night had settled deep over the northern plains, and the cold felt sharper than ever.

Seventeen days had passed since the empire's army reached the north, and two days had gone by since they built the Pontoon Bridge and crossed over it.

Now they were marching toward the main estate of Ravan Tramplin, step by step through wind that stung like needles.

They had finally stopped for the night. Tents rose across the snow-covered ground.

Every few steps, a campfire burned.

Soldiers huddled close, laughing, sharing stories, warming their frozen hands while the wind tried its best to bite at their ears.

It wasn't peaceful, exactly, but it was the closest thing to comfort one could find this far north.

At one of the campfires, three men sat shoulder to shoulder, wine warming their throats more than the flames warmed their bodies.

Vice General Raven sat with his back straight, still getting used to his new title.

Beside him sat Captain Manoj, relaxed as always, legs stretched out and boots almost touching the fire.

Across from them sat an old soldier whose beard looked older than half the army.

The old man had no rank, no fancy badge, nothing that made him stand out, except stories.

Stories older than the scars on his arms.

Manoj wiped his mouth after another long gulp from his wine flask.

His grin was a little crooked from the heat and alcohol.

"Old man, tell us how you impressed your wife," Manoj said.

"You always say you were smooth when you were young. Let's hear it."

The old soldier snorted, rolling his eyes like this was a tale he had told a thousand times but still liked remembering.

Raven leaned forward a little, curious despite himself.

The fire cracked between them, sparks drifting into the cold night.

The old man tapped his cup, cleared his throat, and gave them both a look as if deciding whether they deserved the truth or the better version of the truth.

"Well," he said, a small smile forming under his beard, "it didn't go the way you boys think…"

The flames danced higher, and the night seemed to lean in to listen.

Raven shifted closer to the fire, his eyes fixed on the old man.

"How did it go, old man?" he asked, voice low and curious.

His face had already turned a little red, not from the wine, but from something he didn't want to admit.

Manoj saw it right away. Of course he did.

Manoj noticed everything when it came to teasing material.

He nudged Raven with his elbow, smirking.

"Aren't you an impatient one, huh?"

The shade on Raven's cheeks grew even deeper.

He tried looking away, pretending to study the flames instead of facing his friend's grin.

Manoj didn't let him off so easily.

"Is she the one who gave you that handkerchief?" Manoj asked, wiggling his eyebrows just to make things worse.

Raven almost groaned.

Before leaving the Zenithara estate, a woman had indeed walked up to him and quietly handed him a handkerchief.

She hadn't said much, but the gesture alone had been enough for Manoj to tease him for days.

And now here they were again, with no escape.

Raven pushed his palm against the ground, ready to stand up and walk away before his face caught fire completely.

Manoj grabbed his arm before he could move.

"Where are you going? Why are you getting so embarrassed?" Manoj said, half-laughing.

"Sit down. Learn something. This old man has more experience than both of us combined."

The old soldier heard that and instantly straightened his back.

He stroked his beard in a proud, exaggerated way, his chest puffing up like a rooster who just won a fight.

"You came to the right person, kid," the old man said, his voice suddenly full of arrogant confidence.

"When it comes to impressing women, I was a legend in my time."

Manoj snorted into his cup. Raven sighed, but stayed seated.

The old man looked at both men and said, "There are certain tricks to impress a woman."

He leaned closer to the fire, eyes narrowing just a bit as the flames reflected in them.

"And to impress a woman," he continued, "you first need to understand what kind she is."

He paused on purpose, letting the silence stretch.

Manoj looked only half-awake, as if he was listening out of politeness.

He had never found a woman he liked, and he wasn't desperate enough to chase someone just to get married.

Raven, however… Raven leaned in.

He tried very hard to hide his curiosity, but it showed on his face anyway, glowing like the faint blush that still hadn't faded.

The old man noticed it and smirked.

"There are three types of women."

He lifted three fingers.

"Diamond, gold, and mud."

"Mud?" Raven asked, confused.

"Yes. Mud." The old man reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.

The small flame brightened his wrinkled face for a second.

He took a long drag, then let the smoke flow out slowly before speaking.

"Mud is the type of woman who doesn't love you. She only loves what you can give her. What you can provide. She takes and takes, and when you can't give anymore, she leaves you behind without a single look."

Raven's brows pulled together.

Manoj lifted one eye slightly, as if the old man's tone had finally caught his interest.

The old man continued, voice firm but carrying an old tiredness behind it.

"And here's the worst part. A mud woman might sleep with other men even while pretending to be yours. You might give her food, clothes, safety… and she still won't see your value."

He flicked off the ash with a small tap of his finger.

"They're worse than trash," he said bluntly.

"If you ever have to choose between marrying a woman like that or a prostitute, choose the prostitute. At least she knows the worth of a man who treats her well."

The fire cracked loudly at that moment, like it agreed with him.

Raven sat still, absorbing every word.

Manoj looked over and gave Raven a tiny smirk, wondering how much of this the young vice general was secretly taking to heart.

The old man tapped the ash off his cigarette, gaze fixed on the fire.

"Here's the important part," he said.

"People call them 'mud' because they stick to you, drag you down, and when they're done… they leave you dirty."

Raven felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind.

The old man let out a sigh, his voice softening a little as he added something he clearly felt strongly about.

"And kid… don't misunderstand. This isn't about hating women. This is about avoiding the ones who lie and play with hearts. Every world has people like that, men and women both."

He took another drag, smoke curling around his beard.

"If you ever meet someone like that, don't chase her, don't try to fix her, don't try to win her. Walk away. Your life will be lighter for it."

Manoj finally looked interested, just a little, and Raven kept silent, absorbing every word.

The old man leaned back, lifted two fingers, and said,

"Now… the gold ones. Those are a different story entirely."

The fire cracked again, as if urging him to continue.

The old man tapped his cigarette against his knee and lifted two fingers.

"Now the gold ones," he said, and his voice softened in a way neither Raven nor Manoj expected.

"Gold women… they're like goddesses."

He shook his head slowly.

"But they rank a little lower than diamonds. Not because they lack anything, no, far from it. They are the ideal daughter, ideal wife, ideal mother, ideal sister a man could ever wish for."

His eyes drifted away, staring at memories only he could see.

"But their love… it doesn't grow in just a day or two," he said.

"They're the type who end up marrying not by their own choice, but by their father's choice."

Raven blinked. Manoj frowned a bit, thinking it over.

The old man raised his hand, palm outward, as if warning them not to jump to conclusions.

"But don't think they will betray you. Gold women don't do that. They don't leave. They don't wander. They will try to love their husband. And they will keep trying, again and again, until that love becomes something real."

He sighed lightly, almost with pity.

"In a way… they are pitiful," he murmured.

"They didn't get to choose their husband. Their life path was chosen for them. But…"

His gaze suddenly sharpened, serious enough to make both men straighten their backs.

"Never, never, make the mistake of making them cry. Never hurt them. If you ever find a gold woman… worship her. Protect her. She will give you a kind of happiness that makes every hardship in your life worth enduring."

The wind pushed the campfire gently, making the sparks dance around the three men.

Raven and Manoj didn't speak. Their eyes had taken on a faint shine, almost a dream-like glow.

If they could marry someone like that…

If they could build a life with such a woman…

The picture formed easily in their minds:

marriage, children, raising them together, growing old side by side, laughing at the small things, and in the end… resting next to the one who never left them.

It was the kind of dream every man quietly wished for, even if he never said it out loud.

The fire cracked again, as if agreeing.

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