Chapter 330: Chapter 288: The Princess’s Invitation, Phantom in the Mountains

"Your Highness, you flatter me. As I said before, it is the product of countless people’s..."

"Blood and sweat? I know."

Belina cut her off before she could finish her customary platitudes, her tone decisive.

"But the power of the people is scattered like sand. To be able to guide them to their proper place is the talent of a true commander."

"Your father, Lord Yed, certainly has such vision and skill, but you are younger, and you appeal to me more."

She paused for a moment. Her eyes, which seemed to see into one’s very soul, narrowed slightly. Their sharp edge softened, but this gave way to a deeper, more unsettling power.

"I have no shortage of brave Knights, cunning strategists, or even wealthy merchants under my command, but..."

"...people who can manage logistics, calm the public, and accurately grasp the situation amidst chaos are exceptionally rare and precious."

"Mark my words, Reya—"

Her tone carried a natural confidence, as if stating a foregone conclusion.

"There will always be a place for you on my council."

"This isn’t just because you’re a daughter of the Xavier family, or someone favored by Jon Apollonia..."

She looked at the red-haired girl, whose expression remained unchanged, her dark red eyes burning brightly.

"It’s because you yourself are an uncut gem that already shines, one worth having in my collection."

"When you change your mind... you know where to find me."

Reya’s heart was a tempestuous sea.

Every word from Belina struck a chord with the deepest feelings Reya had experienced while single-handedly managing the guild’s affairs.

Deep within her emerald eyes, a spark seemed to flare for an instant—the instinctive thrill of being understood and acknowledged.

However, this thrill was quickly smoothed over by a deeper resolve.

She didn’t answer immediately, only meeting Belina’s gaze—one filled with both powerful pressure and expectation—and taking a deep breath.

"Your Highness."

"Your praise and esteem are the highest affirmation of everything I have done. I, Reya Xavier, am deeply honored."

She curtsied slightly, a more formal bow than before, her posture graceful and impeccable.

This not only affirmed and respected the Princess’s authority but also bought herself a precious moment to think.

"However, the Xavier family has been rooted in Heta County for generations, and our guild is the foundation upon which countless people depend for their livelihood."

"My father has only just recovered. Though the smoke of war has cleared from Birch Town and all of Heta County, the task of rebuilding has just begun. At this moment, I must continue to devote my Power to this land."

She took a small step back, creating a little distance, yet still remaining within the bounds of etiquette.

"Therefore, please allow me to regard your current invitation as encouragement for the rebuilding of Heta County."

"Once the trade routes are restored and Prosperity returns, I would be willing to discuss further possibilities of cooperation with you."

"A wise answer."

Belina lightly tapped the hilt of the sword at her waist. The crisp metallic sound sent ripples through the silence.

"In that case, I look forward to seeing the Golden Maple Leaf bloom across the wider territories of the Empire, under the dawn of a new day."

She suddenly leaned in and added in a whisper only the two of them could hear,

"By the way, pass a message to that absent Workshop owner for me... he owes me a private meeting."

With that, she turned and walked toward the main banquet hall. The wall of people that had subtly surrounded her began to flow again with her movement.

Reya watched the receding black and gold formal dress and couldn’t help but sigh softly.

But her eyes couldn’t hide a trace of envy and longing.

’So dazzling, so powerful...’

With the charisma and presence Belina displayed, never mind men—how many women could resist being captivated by her?

If Jon were here, he would have inevitably sighed that history has its own momentum... those two still ended up together.

However, as Reya had said, he did indeed have some "urgent business" to "handle personally."

「 」

The biting wind, like an invisible razor, scraped across the exposed ridges of the Shery Mountain. It whipped up flurries of snow that swirled coldly under a sky so clear its blue was almost cruel.

Basso hunched his back, resembling a dead stump eroded by years of wind and snow, as he trudged through the calf-deep drifts.

The coarse linen robe he wore had long since frozen stiff, chafing his skin. The air was thin and frigid; every breath felt like swallowing shards of ice.

But he was long accustomed to this bone-deep chill, just as he was accustomed to the dead silence of this place. After all, they, the servants of the Ice Dragon God Candela, could no longer be considered Ordinary people.

But even if they weren’t Ordinary people, they still had to work.

Even a Transcendent has to eat.

And his job was to harvest the blue vine potatoes that grew in the permafrost, as tough as the frozen ground itself.

These deep purple tubers, nestled beneath the permafrost, were the primary food source that sustained the Life of the Eternal Frost Cultists.

"This is the spot..."

Basso scanned the surrounding rocks, spotted a square mark on one of them, and began his day’s labor.

He swung a heavily worn Bone Shovel, HACK... HACK... digging at the crust of frozen soil and surface snow, which was as hard as rock. His movements were mechanical and numb.

Every strike sent a painful jolt through his chapped palms. His knuckles were swollen and stiff, like frostbitten radishes. His skin was covered in a shell of frost, and the trickles of blood from his cracked skin froze instantly, turning into dark red Ice Crystals.

But he seemed to feel nothing, simply repeating the motion.

Only when he truly had no strength left to continue did he pause, exhaling a cloud of frosty breath.

"Hah..."

The man looked up at the endless, violet-blue sky.

The sunlight poured down, pure and unfiltered, yet he felt no warmth from it. Instead, the glare reflecting off the snowfield was even more blinding, stinging the corners of his eyes until he almost shed cold tears.

For no reason, a hazy, warm silhouette suddenly broke into his frozen mind—a humble cabin with smoke rising from its chimney, a woman humming an off-key tune in the firelight, holding an infant wrapped in tattered swaddling clothes... It was his wife and child.

A sharp, suffocating sorrow seized his heart, more piercing than the mountain’s icy wind.

But soon, a short, dry laugh escaped his chapped lips.

"Heh..."

The sound was almost inaudible in the dead wind. But then he laughed again, a broken, hollow sound tinged with a chilling mockery.

"Heheheh..."

"What’s... the use in thinking about it..."

Yes, what was the use?

To gain even a sliver of the Ice Dragon God Candela’s merciful Power, to escape his wretched, ant-like fate, he was the one who had personally offered them—the woman who hummed songs, the soft, warm little Life in the swaddling clothes—as the most devout "sacrifices" upon the altar of Eternal Frost.

Basso wiped his face with the back of his cracked hand. Ice crystals mixed with dried blood scraped across his skin, the tiny stings feeling like a swarm of ants gnawing at his bones.

The mirage of his wife and child was shattered by the pain, dissolving into the biting wind.

He didn’t regret it. Those soft thoughts were a trap, a test from Lord Candela for his believers.

He bent down and once again gripped the worn-down Bone Shovel. The permafrost was as hard as pig iron, and every impact sent a numbing shock up his arm.

Just then, an unusual shriek came from overhead.

It wasn’t the ordinary sound of the wind. This sound was higher, sharper, tearing through the air like a sheet of metal scraping across ice.

Basso’s back went rigid in an instant. Faster than thought, he recoiled like a startled snow lizard.

The Bone Shovel slipped from his grasp and fell into a snowdrift, kicking up a cloud of cold, white mist.

He scrambled toward a nearby pile of jagged black rocks and huddled in the shadow of a large boulder shaped like an eagle’s beak, cautiously looking up at the sky.

This area was far from safe. Yakala, the man who had this potato-digging job before him, had been snatched by a snow hawk and eaten for a snack. He’d worked hard to get where he was today; he didn’t want to end up like that.

The man narrowed his eyes and saw a massive silhouette streak across the sky with a piercing whistle.

"What... is that?"

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