The biting winds of the Borealis Continent never seemed to thaw.
Even as the magnificent carriage procession of the Duke of House of Silver approached Gimle’s main gates, the freezing air continued to seep through the gaps in the guards’ armor and the thick garments wrapped around the coachmen.
Black silk banners fluttered in the wind from the carriage poles and the tips of the guards’ spears.
Embroidered across their surfaces was the emblem of a horned wolf—a symbol of power long feared along the northern frontier.
Before them stood the towering gates of metropolitan Gimle, their grandeur impossible to ignore.
Massive bronze gate leaves were flanked by sturdy defensive walls, while watchtowers rose high above them.
To travelers, this place was the gateway to one of the most important centers of power on the Borealis Continent.
Yet the most striking sight was not the magnificence of the gates.
It was the long queue stretching out before them.
Thousands of people crowded the inspection lanes, from homeless wanderers, traveling merchants, and adventurers to rogue mercenaries and farmers from remote villages.
Some brought cargo wagons, while others carried nothing more than sacks slung over their backs.
Every one of them had to undergo a strict inspection by the gate guards before being permitted to enter the city.
Complaints could be heard everywhere.
Some merchants grumbled as their goods were inspected repeatedly, while adventurers were beginning to lose patience with a queue that barely moved.
However, the commotion gradually subsided when the rhythmic pounding of dozens of heavily armored horses drew closer.
Hooves struck the stone road in disciplined unison.
The sounds of scraping metal and rattling carriage wheels followed as the procession advanced across the road.
A warning bell rang once.
The guards, who had previously stood with arrogant expressions, immediately turned toward the approaching procession.
The moment they spotted the horned wolf banner fluttering among the carriages, their attitudes changed.
The gate commander raised his hand, signaling to his subordinates.
The special gate reserved for nobles, which had previously remained closed, was promptly thrown wide open.
The guards straightened and bowed respectfully as the House of Silver procession passed through without having to join the common queue.
Not a single person dared to object.
Whispers quickly spread through the crowd.
“Look at that… the Horned Wolf banner,” muttered a burly mercenary wearing a worn animal-hide cloak.
His eyes followed the main carriage as it passed before him.
“The House of Silver really has come to Gimle.”
He then shifted his gaze to the middle-aged man leading the escort beside the main carriage.
The man wore pitch-black armor beneath a thick brown cloak, an outfit reminiscent of the rugged hunters of the northern territories.
A massive warhammer was strapped across his back, so enormous that it seemed better suited to demolishing gates than fighting human opponents.
Yet the weapon’s size was not what made the mercenary fall silent.
There was something about the man that made his survival instincts scream at him not to cause trouble.
A restrained aura concealed a terrifying pressure beneath his calm demeanor.
The mercenary swallowed hard.
“Wait… by the gods.”
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the dagger at his waist.
“That’s… the Iron Bastion.”
He paused, as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing.
“Sir Raymond! The Frost-Hammer of Judgement!”
The name immediately caught the attention of several experienced adventurers nearby.
Some of them even took half a step backward.
Sir Raymond was no ordinary field commander of the House of Silver.
He was a Master Spirit who had mastered advanced Spirit techniques.
His experience on the northern battlefields had earned him a fearsome reputation, while his warhammer had become a symbol of destruction to anyone foolish enough to stand in the way of Silver forces.
To ordinary soldiers, Raymond was someone best avoided as an enemy.
To adventurers who understood the world of Spirit, he was a reminder that there was a vast difference between being a formidable fighter and becoming a monster who had surpassed the limits of ordinary humans.
It was hardly surprising that many people chose to hold their tongues whenever he was nearby.
Yet amid the growing whispers, a thin merchant who had just emerged from the inspection post clicked his tongue.
“Don’t be surprised they only arrived now,” he remarked to a group of adventurers nearby.
“Their sworn rivals, House Vallière-Silver, arrived in Gimle three days ago.”
Several heads immediately turned.
“House Vallière-Silver?” a mercenary asked, furrowing his brows.
“That noble family from the eastern territories? Why would they come all this way so early?”
The thin merchant smirked and adjusted his cloak, which was damp with snow.
“To make sure they’re in the most advantageous position, of course. This year, Duke Archambaud wants to show everyone that his family is more than just a branch that once separated from the House of Silver.”
He lowered his voice.
“And word has it that he’s brought an ace up his sleeve who shouldn’t be underestimated.”
A female adventurer with a scar on her cheek folded her arms across her chest.
“Julian?”
The merchant nodded.
“That’s right. Julian. He’s only twenty, yet his name alone is enough to draw the attention of many nobles.”
He glanced left and right before continuing.
“You’ve all heard the stories about the Vallière-Silver bloodline, haven’t you?”
Some nodded, while others leaned closer to hear him more clearly.
“According to the rumors, the ancestors of House Vallière came from a collateral branch of the House of Silver that eventually split away because of old grudges and disputes. Ever since then, they’ve been trying to prove that the blood running through their veins is no less valuable than that of the main family.”
The merchant rubbed his chin.
“But what makes their story far darker is their obsession with the bloodline of the gods.”
He drew a breath before continuing in an increasingly hushed voice.
It was said that Duke Archambaud’s mother had once entered into a relationship with a Second-Generation Divine Descendant, giving birth to Archambaud.
However, rumors claimed that the relationship had not been founded solely on love.
His mother was suspected of deliberately allowing herself to be impregnated in the hope of producing an extraordinarily gifted heir and strengthening her family’s bloodline.
Several listeners’ expressions changed.
The merchant was not finished.
The more horrifying story, however, concerned Archambaud himself.
According to the rumors, he had once captured and imprisoned a Second-Generation Divine Descendant woman, forcing her to become his wife in the hope of producing offspring with what he considered purer blood.
He swallowed before continuing.
The woman was said to have given birth to a boy named Julian.
However, not long after giving birth, she managed to escape Archambaud’s estate and vanished without leaving a trace.
Since then, no one had discovered where she had gone or what had become of her.
Meanwhile, Julian remained under the protection of House Vallière-Silver, a living reminder of a dark tale whose truth was still shrouded in mystery.
The crowd fell noticeably quieter.
Several people exchanged glances.
It was not because they were certain the story was true, but because they understood how dangerous it was to discuss such a scandal in a city under the influence of House Vallière-Silver.
Before the thin merchant could continue, a fat merchant suddenly pushed his way in from the side.
“Idiot! Shut your mouth!”
He grabbed the thin merchant’s arm so forcefully that the man nearly lost his balance.
The fat merchant’s face had turned deathly pale.
His eyes darted nervously toward the black-armored guards patrolling not far from the gate.
“You want to keep your head on your shoulders, don’t you? Then stop spreading stories like that!”
The thin merchant frowned.
“I’m only repeating what I’ve heard—”
“And that’s exactly the problem!” the fat merchant interrupted in a strained voice.
“You have no idea who might be listening!”
He leaned closer.
“House Vallière-Silver wields considerable influence in the capital, including a security network and intelligence apparatus that must not be underestimated. If one of their people hears you bringing up the scandal involving Divine Descendant bloodlines and Julian’s mother’s escape, you could be dragged into a dungeon before sunset!”
The thin merchant immediately lost his nerve.
He glanced toward the black-armored guards, then hurriedly pulled up his hood to conceal his face.
Without another word, he slipped back into the crowd.
The fat merchant let out a relieved sigh, although his expression remained tense.
Nevertheless, the story had already left a deep impression on those who had heard it.
In Gimle, even a rumor could become a threat to someone’s life.
“How amusing.”
A low voice came from the rear of the crowd.
A sturdily built man stepped forward.
He had a firm jaw, cold eyes, and a face that betrayed almost no emotion.
He wore adventuring gear that had seen many battles, while the damage to his gloves and arm guards bore witness to a long and arduous journey.
The man’s name was Garreth, an S-rank adventurer known by the title The Silent Gale.
He did not whisper like the others.
His voice was calm enough to carry clearly, yet every word held a certain weight.
“You’re all so busy talking about Julian that you’ve forgotten the real threat.”
Several adventurers turned toward him.
“What do you mean, Garreth?” a man asked.
“Don’t tell me there’s someone even more dangerous than Julian.”
Garreth gave a quiet snort.
“House Vallière-Silver hasn’t brought a twenty-year-old youth to Gimle alone. Duke Archambaud also has people in his service who cannot be compared to ordinary noble guards.”
His gaze shifted toward the House of Silver procession as it continued deeper into the city.
“If the rumors are true, he’s gathered fighters descended from Third-Generation Divine Descendants. People like that aren’t opponents you can deal with simply by relying on superior numbers.”
He adjusted his steel gloves.
“Rumor has it that their power has surpassed the limits we normally use to measure mortal fighters. Even advanced Spirit defenses might not be enough to stop them.”
Garreth paused before adding in a lower voice,
“If one of them truly possesses the abilities people describe, even the defenses of a Master Spirit like Sir Raymond could face a serious threat.”
“You’re exaggerating them too much, Captain Garreth.”
The voice came from a young blonde woman whose hair was tied into a short ponytail.
She stood beside Garreth, holding a rune-engraved staff.
The crystal at its tip emitted a soft blue glow, making it clear that the staff was more than a ceremonial object.
Her name was Luo, a Circle 5 mage and a member of the Frostfang Vanguard.
Luo regarded Garreth with displeasure.
“You may respect the descendants of divine blood, Captain, but you cannot compare a Master Spirit of Sir Raymond’s caliber to an ordinary fighter.”
She tapped the end of her staff against the stone road.
“Advanced Spirit Hardening allows its user to compress their flesh and muscles until their durability resembles adamantine. Ordinary physical attacks and mortal weapons would struggle to penetrate such defenses.”
Luo raised her chin.
“And that doesn’t even account for Stance Manifestation.”
The blue light at the tip of her staff pulsed briefly.
“At a certain level of mastery, Stance Manifestation allows the user’s will and laws of combat to be projected into the surrounding environment. While in that state, a Master Spirit can control the course of a battle in ways ordinary fighters cannot.”
She looked at Garreth as though challenging him to refute her argument.
“So how could a Third-Generation Divine Descendant simply break through defenses built through years of training, experience, and sacrifice?”
Garreth did not answer immediately.
He merely looked at Luo for several seconds.
His once expressionless gray eyes gradually changed.
They did not grow angry; instead, their light dimmed, as though an old memory had suddenly surfaced from the depths of his mind.
He exhaled slowly.
A cloud of white vapor escaped his mouth before vanishing into the cold wind.
“You speak as though a Master Spirit’s defenses are an impenetrable wall,” he finally said.
His fingers brushed the thin scar above his eyebrow.
“You’re correct about the theory you’ve studied. Advanced Spirit Hardening is indeed extraordinary. Stance Manifestation is no ability that just anyone can master, either.”
He turned his gaze toward the road ahead.
“But theory only explains what should be possible. It doesn’t always prepare you to face something far beyond your expectations.”
Luo frowned.
“Have you fought one of them before?”
Garreth fell silent for a moment.
“Twelve years ago,” he replied, “when I was still an arrogant B-rank adventurer, I encountered someone who changed my entire understanding of power.”
The atmosphere around them gradually shifted.
Garreth clenched his right fist.
The Barbarian tribal tattoo etched into his skin seemed to pulse faintly.
“I was born on the Borealis Continent. Back then, I believed I had reached the pinnacle of mortal strength. I had fought countless battles, slain various monsters, and survived places ordinary adventurers couldn’t even reach.”
A bitter smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“I thought all of that was enough to let me face anyone.”
He paused briefly.
“Until I challenged a Third-Generation Divine Descendant.”
Luo no longer interrupted him.
Several people nearby moved closer, drawn by the confession of an S-rank adventurer who rarely spoke about his past.
Garreth continued.
“That encounter hardly deserved to be called a fight.”
His voice remained calm, but his jaw tightened.
“Within moments, my advanced Spirit Hardening was crushed as though it were made of nothing but clay. I barely had a chance to retaliate. Every movement I made was read, every attempt to defend myself was broken, and every attack I launched proved futile.”
He clenched his fist even tighter.
“I was beaten until I couldn’t stand. In front of everyone who witnessed that encounter, every ability I had once been proud of became nothing more than a joke.”
Shadows of the past flashed through his memory.
The smell of blood.
Mud clinging to his clothes.
Pain spreading through his entire body.
And the laughter of someone standing over him, as though looking down at an insect they had accidentally stepped on.
Garreth drew a deep breath.
“After rendering me helpless, that bastard didn’t even consider me worth killing.”
A mocking smile appeared on his face, but there was no amusement in it.
“He laughed at me, urinated on my dying body as I lay on the ground, and then told me to crawl back to the snowy plains of Borealis.”
Silence fell between them.
Luo stood frozen in place.
Garreth, the S-rank adventurer standing before them, had just admitted that he had once been so thoroughly crushed that his opponent had not even granted him the dignity of dying in battle.
“So don’t be too quick to treat a Master Spirit’s defenses as absolute, Luo,” Garreth continued.
“I once believed the same thing. And I paid for that arrogance with a price I’ll never forget.”
Jaden, the half-elf Ranger standing near Garreth, finally spoke.
His pointed ears were visible beneath his moss-green hood.
He held a composite bow inlaid with monster bone, while astonishment filled his sharp eyes.
“Wait a moment, Captain.”
Jaden stared at Garreth as though hoping the man would immediately admit that the whole story was a joke.
“Are you serious? You’re The Silent Gale—the S-rank adventurer who once slaughtered a horde of Frost Drakes alone in the northern valley.”
He slowly shook his head.
“I know what you’re capable of. I’ve personally witnessed how you read an opponent’s movements and end a battle before most people even realize it has begun.”
Jaden took a breath.
“As a Ranger, I understand how important speed, distance, and precision are. But what you’ve described sounds like someone who wasn’t given any chance to fight back at all.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Garreth replied curtly.
Nearby, Kahn—the Assassin clad in black robes—shook his head in disbelief.
The two poisoned daggers at his waist clinked softly as he shifted his stance.
“This is hard to believe,” he muttered.
He studied Garreth with a searching gaze.
“We know what you’re capable of, Captain. The Frostfang Vanguard follows your command because we trust your experience and strength.”
Kahn paused.
“If that fighter truly humiliated you as badly as you claim, who was he? And why did you leave Aethlgard after that encounter?”
He was not offended by their doubts.
He understood that without experiencing such a vast gap in power firsthand, it was difficult for anyone to believe his story.
“I don’t know his name,” Garreth replied.
Jaden frowned.
“You don’t even know the name of the person who defeated you?”
“I never got the chance to ask.”
Garreth let out a short breath.
“What I do know is that, twelve years ago, he was a soldier serving House Lionheart on the Aethlgard Continent.”
He paused before continuing in a more serious tone.
“You need to understand one thing. The adventurer ranking system is different from the military hierarchy of noble houses.”
Garreth raised his right hand, revealing the Barbarian tattoo that faintly pulsed against his skin.
“I’m from Borealis. When I went to Aethlgard, I brought with me the experience and adventurer rank I’d earned in my homeland. I thought those achievements were enough to measure my abilities against anyone on another continent.”
He shook his head.
“But Aethlgard has its own power structure. There, the influence of great noble houses can determine whether someone lives or dies. One of the families with considerable military strength is House Lionheart, one of the thirty influential noble houses on that continent.”
Garreth looked at Luo.
“And within House Lionheart’s military, there are three primary ranks: Copper, Silver, and Gold.”
He allowed the names to sink in.
“Copper is the lowest rank. Silver stands above it, while Gold is the highest rank in their military hierarchy.”
Jaden nodded slowly, beginning to understand where the story was leading.
Garreth then turned his gaze toward the road ahead.
“And the fighter who crushed me twelve years ago held nothing more than the rank of Copper.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Luo stared at Garreth with an expression that was difficult to interpret.
A soldier at the lowest level of a noble house’s military hierarchy had defeated a B-rank adventurer from the Borealis Continent so thoroughly that the memory still haunted him after all these years—even though that same adventurer had eventually risen to S-rank.
“How is that possible?” Luo whispered.
Garreth turned toward her.
“Because I made the same mistake you did.”
Luo fell silent.
“Twelve years ago, I believed the stories about divine-blood descendants were exaggerated. I thought people were simply afraid of their famous names and prestigious bloodlines.”
Garreth gave a faint smile, but it was bitter.
“I was convinced that the harsh training I’d endured in Borealis was enough to let me face anyone. I saw that man’s Copper rank and assumed he wouldn’t be too difficult to defeat.”
He clenched his fist.
“My arrogance was shattered in the blink of an eye.”
His gaze hardened once more.
“That’s why I won’t underestimate House Vallière-Silver’s guards simply because they belong to a different family. If there really are Third-Generation Divine Descendants among them, we must understand that their strength may be far beyond our expectations.”
Luo lowered her head, reconsidering her own words.
She still believed in the power of a Master Spirit.
But for the first time, she began to realize that believing in a power system was not the same as understanding every possibility the world contained.
Some things could only be understood after facing them firsthand.
And some defeats were terrifying enough to change the way a person viewed the world for the rest of their life.
The cold wind swept through the gates of metropolitan Gimle once more.
Jaden and Kahn exchanged glances, while Luo remained silent with her staff in hand.
The blue light that had once pulsed at its tip had now dimmed.
Garreth unclenched his fist and let out a long breath.
He had no desire to discuss his past any further.
Twelve years had passed since that defeat.
Much had changed in his life.
He had trained harder, honed his abilities, and eventually achieved the S-rank he had once only dreamed of attaining.
Yet he had never forgotten one simple lesson.
The world was far broader than anything a person could comprehend through their own experience alone.
Garreth reached into the pocket of his fur cloak and took out a flat metal case bearing the logo of a legendary trading company that had originated in the era of the Gods (Players).
He opened the case and removed a filtered kretek cigarette made with specially cultivated tobacco—a mass-produced product still manufactured and traded by a commercial conglomerate inherited from that era.
He then took out a slender metal lighter.
The device used old technology powered by mana and Spirit, a relic of the age when the Gods (Players) still left traces of their technological progress throughout Novarth.
Garreth pressed its sensor button.
A faint blue glow illuminated the lighter’s internal mechanism.
A moment later, a nearly invisible stream of heat ignited the cigarette’s tip, turning it a glowing red.
He took a slow drag.
Gray smoke drifted from his mouth before scattering in the freezing wind.
“Save your arguments about Master Spirits and absolute defenses for later,” Garreth said, glancing at Luo, Jaden, and Kahn in turn.
“If you want to live longer in this world, keep your eyes wide open.”
He exhaled another stream of smoke.
“Don’t judge someone solely by their rank. And don’t assume a defense is invincible simply because you’ve never seen it breached.”
Garreth extinguished his cigarette.
“Most importantly, never assume that everything you know about this world is enough to keep you safe.”
He gave his party a brief signal.
It was finally their turn for inspection.
Without another word, the Frostfang Vanguard closed ranks and moved toward the checkpoint.
They proceeded in disciplined formation through the open gates and into Gimle’s inner districts.
Behind them, the long queue began moving again.
People resumed their conversations, merchants returned to hawking their wares, and the guards continued their inspections as though nothing extraordinary had just occurred.
Yet to Garreth, the arrival of the House of Silver and the presence of House Vallière-Silver in the city were anything but trivial.
Two great powers were gathering in one place.
And when their interests eventually collided, there was no guarantee that those caught in the middle would survive.
Inside the House of Silver’s main carriage, Aiden sat behind a slightly parted velvet curtain.
Ever since passing through the gates of metropolitan Gimle, he had been observing the guards’ changing attitudes, the people’s reactions to his family’s banner, and the various conversations drifting in from outside.
He could not hear every word clearly.
However, several names had reached his ears.
House Vallière-Silver.
Duke Archambaud.
Julian.
And House Lionheart.
Aiden leaned back calmly, allowing these fragments of information to settle in his mind.
Their arrival in Gimle was clearly no ordinary event.
The tension in the city was too conspicuous, while the names being discussed suggested a rivalry far more complicated than a simple dispute between noble houses.
He also understood that rumors circulating in the streets could not always be trusted.
Some might be true.
Others might have been exaggerated.
And some could even be lies deliberately crafted to influence people’s opinions of certain parties.
Aiden had no intention of drawing conclusions based solely on conversations he had overheard.
For now, he chose to observe.
The carriage continued toward the heart of the city.
Through the gap in the curtain, Aiden saw the walls of buildings, watchtowers, and the banners of House Vallière-Silver fluttering in the distance.
Cold air slipped through a gap in the window.
Aiden shifted his gaze toward the road stretching ahead.
Beneath Gimle’s grandeur, various interests were moving in silence.
Ancestral grudges, noble ambitions, and the power of divine bloodlines were gradually converging toward a single point.
He did not yet know how everything would end.
But one thing was clear.
Gimle was more than just a city they had come to visit.
It was a stage upon which great powers were beginning to measure one another.
And beyond its magnificent gates, the shadow of a greater conflict was waiting to reveal itself.