Time flew by.
In real time, about a minute had passed—which translated to roughly three days.
…
The blizzard of Snezhnaya raged as relentlessly as ever, as though intent on grinding the entire world flat.
Outside the heavy palace doors, the snow had drifted high, its surface smooth as a mirror, devoid of a single footprint.
Through the howling storm, Sandrone appeared, seated atop her massive automaton, Pronia.
She surveyed her surroundings, taking in the undisturbed snowfield, her lips curling into her usual slightly mocking smirk.
“It seems…
I am the first to arrive again today?”
“Alright, Pronia.”
The giant Pronia lowered Sandrone gently and steadily, as if carrying a cup filled to the brim with red tea.
“To think Her Imperial Majesty would summon the Harbingers again so soon…
It seems the Gnosis has already been retrieved…”
Thinking of the meeting’s purpose, Sandrone daily muttered to herself, her tone tinged with a natural arrogance before a trace of curiosity emerged.
“Is this meeting to discuss the next target?”
Her gaze drifted toward the closed palace gates, and the figure of that strange fellow involuntarily surfaced in her mind.
*Could it be that that guy actually managed to get the Gnosis?* Sandrone wondered.
*Heh.
If so, his efficiency is certainly high.
Still, it’s easy to imagine that even if he got it, his crude style of waving weapons around is an insult to the title of ‘Harbinger.’ No elegant planning, no flamboyant methods—just like a wild beast that only knows how to charge headlong.*
She had zero goodwill toward Daigan.
In her eyes, he understood neither art nor the beauty of strength; he was merely a dreadfully dull weirdo who knew only how to complete tasks.
*I wonder what reward Her Imperial Majesty will bestow upon him,* Sandrone thought idly.
*Or will he reject everything as usual?
What an utterly incomprehensible fellow.
If that credit had been given to me, I might have been able to request funding for several new mech units…*
As she pondered, Sandrone noticed that Pronia’s massive body had stopped following behind her.
“Hmm?” Sandrone’s brows furrowed slightly as she cast a puzzled look toward Pronia, who stood beside a snowdrift.
Pronia didn’t speak.
It merely raised its metallic arm, pointing at a slightly raised mound of snow nearby.
Inside its optics, several infrared-like beams swept across the area, projecting a line of data visible only to Sandrone.
[Life Signs: Weak.
Body Temperature: Extremely Low]
“Life signs detected,” Pronia’s mechanical, synthesized voice chimed.
Sandrone frowned, finding it bizarre.
In a place like this, at a time like this, what life signs could there possibly be?
“Dig it out,” she commanded.
Pronia extended its giant palm and roughly shoveled away the snowdrift.
Snow clods flew in all directions, revealing a curled-up, nearly frozen figure inside.
Sandrone leaned forward to look.
Her indifferent expression froze instantly, turning into unreserved shock and disgust.
“Tsk.
It’s you, you weirdo?”
There in the snow, Daigan was stiff all over, his teeth chattering violently, his face pale and purple.
He looked as though he might stop breathing at any moment.
“Well, isn’t this a sight?”
Sandrone looked down at him from on high, her tone dripping with mockery.
“What are you doing here?
What, did Her Imperial Majesty refuse to reward you and kick you out?”
Having been buried under the snow for three days, Daigan slowly raised his head.
His eyes, usually devoid of any emotion, held only the most primal physiological reaction right now.
He looked at Sandrone and the massive, steam-emitting automaton before him.
His lips trembled as he squeezed out a single word through his chattering teeth: “Cold.”
Sandrone was thoroughly amused by his pathetic yet absurd appearance.
She crossed her arms and burst out laughing.
“Cold?
You’re cold, yet you nested in the snow?
What, are you trying to freeze yourself into an ice sculpture so you can apply for a heating allowance from Her Imperial Majesty?”
Daigan kept his head down, his body shaking uncontrollably, mechanically repeating, “Cold…”
Once Sandrone had laughed her fill, she glanced at him lazily and said to Pronia, “Since we don’t need a ride anymore, dig him out.
Don’t let him actually die here and soil Her Imperial Majesty’s doorstep.”
Pronia extended its pincer-like metal fingers, disdainfully pinching Daigan by the collar, hoisting him out of the snowdrift like a drowned dog.
Seeing his miserable state, Sandrone couldn’t resist throwing another jab: “I truly wonder what goes through that head of yours.
You even dare to defy Her Imperial Majesty’s dignity.
Did you fail to get the Gnosis and get thrown out?
Now you don’t even have a place to stay.
Can’t you secure a few perks for yourself under normal circumstances?
Like a warmer room, perhaps?”
Daigan hugged his arms, shivering violently, completely deaf to her taunts.
Finding it boring, Sandrone snorted coldly and took the lead toward the interior of the palace.
“Keep up.
Don’t drag the snow inside.”
…
Before long, the other Harbingers arrived one after another.
Inside the palace, various atmospheres lingered.
Sandrone didn’t bother exchanging pleasantries with them, only occasionally glancing toward the entrance, wondering if that weirdo was still freezing outside.
A short while later, Arlecchino, “The Knave,” who had a houseful of children to care for, arrived as well.
Sandrone nodded at her and spoke casually, her tone carrying an intentional nonchalance: “By the way…
where is Daigan?”
Arlecchino’s steps paused, her eyebrows arching slightly in surprise.
She was long accustomed to Daigan’s eccentric behavior and hadn’t paid him any mind when she saw him standing outside earlier.
However, for Sandrone—whose tea party he had once disrupted—to actively ask about him was quite a rarity.
“Are you referring to Master Daigan?” Arlecchino said calmly.
“He should still be standing outside the hall.
Strange as it is, for him…
it is quite normal, isn’t it?”
“Hmph,” Sandrone agreed, a mocking smile on her lips.
“He truly is a weirdo.”
After another while, when almost all the other Harbingers had arrived, Sandrone finally grew restless.
She stood up impatiently, walking toward the door while complaining to Arlecchino, “Honestly, I can’t stand waiting for that weirdo every single time.”
Arlecchino gave her a strange look.
Stepping out of the palace, Sandrone’s brow furrowed tightly at the sight before her.
Daigan was still standing in the wind and snow, utterly motionless.
A thick layer of snow had accumulated on his shoulders and head, and two small snowdrifts had piled up at his feet.
The entire man looked like an ice statue about to be swallowed by the blizzard.
*So that’s how he got buried in the snow earlier.*
“What an hopeless fool,” Sandrone muttered under her breath before commanding, “Pronia, bring him inside and toss him into any random seat.”
Pronia strode over with heavy steps and, like moving cargo, lifted the stiff Daigan, carried him into the warm hall, and casually set him down on a chair.
Daigan took the opportunity to settle into the seat.
The warm indoor air dispelled the chill, and in just a dozen seconds, color returned to his corpse-like face.
He even looked quite full of vigor.
Sandrone had been waiting to watch him make a fool of himself, only to see him sitting comfortably in the chair with an air of satisfaction.
She instantly felt like an idiot.
A surge of nameless anger flared up from the depths of her heart—this bastard was playing pitiful all along!
Naturally, this scene did not escape the eyes of the other Harbingers.
Dottore, “The Doctor,” who had been deeply intrigued by Daigan since the last meeting, adjusted the bird-beak mask on his face.
He chuckled with great interest, his gaze darting back and forth between Sandrone and Daigan as he probed, “I was unaware that you and our colleague, Master Daigan, shared such a close private relationship.
Such ‘thoughtful’ care is truly touching.”
Sandrone, her chest burning with fury, didn’t even spare Dottore a glance.
She walked straight back to her seat, her tone laced with unvarnished disgust: “Heh…
I didn’t expect mosquitoes to be buzzing around on such a cold day.
Buzzing on and on—how annoying.”
Having her cold shoulder turned to his warm gesture, the smile on Dottore’s face stiffened momentarily.
He then rubbed his chin as if nothing had happened and spoke no further.
Just as everyone harbored their own thoughts, from the depths of the palace, an indisputable, supreme chill descended slowly.
The Tsaritsa’s figure gradually condensed and manifested upon the throne.
Without drawing attention, her eyes swept a subtle glance toward Daigan, who was sitting quietly in his seat.