"Amaunator above..."
"That is nothing less than... a natural disaster."
Inside the Kingdom of Cinders' forward camp, Count Trischka stood dumbfounded.
"To think the Everfrost Tribe would be... wiped out just like that. From now on, there will be no more Frost Calamity."
Trischka could not help but murmur under his breath.
He gazed into the distance at the dark storm clouds that blotted out the sun and blanketed half of Vahara Glacier, listening to the roaring thunder in his ears, his voice trembling in a rare display of weakness.
*Rumble!*
Another deafening crack of thunder detonated. Even nearly thirty kilometers away, people could still feel the terror of that Storm of Vengeance; the violent magical fluctuations washed over their faces like a physical wave.
The aging scholar Mohr pulled out a handkerchief, mopped the cold sweat beaded on his forehead from fright, and muttered under his breath, "Th-this is a good thing, though."
"We thought this Frost Calamity would claim countless lives again, but now look—the Kingdom of Cinders' dragon lord solved the problem at its very source."
Yelina also wiped her pale cheek and forced an echo of agreement: "Indeed. The Frost Calamity has been resolved just like that. Thanks to that red dragon's hand, our Principality of Bosque didn't even have to spend men or materiel. Truly a happy outcome for all."
Trischka, however, stared silently at the sky, his face clouded in gloom. Only after a long silence did he speak slowly.
"A ninth-level spell."
"At least a ninth-level spell, if not higher."
He turned to look at Mohr, his expression grave beyond measure, and asked in a low voice, "Mohr, do you know what that means?"
"N-no, I do not."
Cold sweat broke out on Mohr's brow once more.
Trischka's tone grew heavier still, his words quickening: "It means that red dragon can effortlessly destroy our cities—even our entire realm. You must realize that's a ninth-level spell!"
"I once witnessed the legendary court wizard of the Kingdom of Fadlan cast a ninth-level spell with my own eyes. Meteors fell from the heavens, and in just a few short breaths, a rebellion of tens of thousands was extinguished. Yet this unknown spell cast by the red dragon... its fluctuations were even more terrifying than that day."
By the end, his voice trembled once again.
Trischka sighed softly and lowered his gaze, but the scene of that surging tempest lingered in his mind, impossible to banish.
Grand Duke Leo had sent him here primarily to survey the situation, mediate among the parties, and secure the greatest possible advantage for the Principality of Bosque in this conflict.
In their ideal scenario, the two great factions—the Kingdom of Cinders and the Everfrost Tribe—would be locked in a grueling war of attrition. Then, under the guise of an "ally," the Principality of Bosque could bleed the Kingdom of Cinders dry, wait for an opportunity to strike a fatal blow, and purge both monstrous forces in one fell swoop, preserving order in the Northlands to the greatest degree. At the very least, it would leave the burgeoning Kingdom of Cinders severely crippled, unable to turn its gaze southward.
Yet neither he nor Grand Duke Leo had anticipated the red dragon's true power, grossly underestimating him.
Never could they have imagined that this red dragon would conclude the war in a matter of days, single-handedly resolving the Frost Calamity that had plagued the northern realms for nearly a millennium—and even pursuing the giants all the way to their lair at Vahara Glacier to utterly annihilate their entire race.
*We've lost the initiative. The Kingdom of Cinders has become a behemoth beyond our ability to handle. I must report this to the Duke as soon as possible. Our Principality of Bosque... cannot afford to lose.*
*Unless outside powers intervene, we can only wait for the Northlands to be swallowed by the red dragon.*
Such were Trischka's grim thoughts.
A bitter taste rose in his throat; he wanted to say something, yet no words would come.
"Honored military advisors, the war has ended. Might I inquire if you have any further insights?"
An unfamiliar voice shattered Trischka's train of thought.
Everyone turned around in unison. It was the Kingdom of Cinders' tiefling commander—Mezrolash.
This oathbreaker paladin was listed as a person of prime concern within the Principality of Bosque, considered exceptionally dangerous. Widely known for his ability to control the undead, he was dubbed the "Fiendish Hand" by the peoples of the northern realms. Rumors claimed he was a terrifying figure who sacrificed hundreds of living souls every day to turn them into walking corpses.
Trischka had never put much stock in such baseless rumors. At the very least, the demeanor the Fiendish Hand presented was quite courteous and composed—nothing like the living-hater depicted in storybooks. Only those solid-black eyes sent a chill down one's spine.
Trischka bowed slightly and responded politely, "His Majesty Cassius's might leaves us in awe. It was a thoroughly crushing victory. What could humble figures like us possibly have to say?"
"I have only trivial words to offer. Allow me simply to say—congratulations. The Kingdom of Cinders has achieved absolute victory. You have eliminated the Frost Calamity that threatened the Northlands for nearly a thousand years. All of Anzeta will rejoice at this news, and on behalf of His Grace the Duke, I offer you our highest respects."
Mezrolash smiled and shook his head, saying, "You should know that is not what my master wishes to hear."
Trischka's expression froze, and a helpless, bitter smile surfaced on his face.
"I will report the situation here truthfully to the Duke. From now on, we should cease all covert operations against the Kingdom of Cinders and accept your treaty of reparations, hoping only that you will preserve basic peace..."
Listening to Trischka's practically pleading words, Mezrolash nodded in satisfaction.
Finally, he spoke again, a devilish smile appearing on his face.
"My honored master thinks along the same lines. He hopes we can reach a mutual understanding and has no desire to engage in meaningless strife."
"I hope you understand that our Kingdom of Cinders is not an undisciplined realm that plunders recklessly and disregards production. At the very least, before digesting the remnants of the Principality of Lakeman and the Principality of Norton, we have no intention of launching a full-scale war."
The tiefling paused, an unmistakable hint of menace gleaming in his black eyes.
"Of course, should any nation care to test that resolve, we would not mind whetting our appetite a bit more."
Trischka exhaled a long breath. A strained smile returned to his pale face as he extended his hand.
"Naturally. Peace is the consensus of every orderly realm, and Bosque is no exception."
Two hands of contrasting colors gripped each other.
***
*"The 'Frost Calamity' was beneath mention before a true natural disaster; the eternal winter of ten thousand years caused Him not the slightest trouble. On that day, a dreadful Storm of Vengeance swept across the whole of Vahara Glacier, and the frost giant civilization that had endured for several millennia was thoroughly erased, its surviving remnants reduced to slaves of the empire.*"
*"Once again, He demonstrated disaster-class might to all of Anzeta. With the Everfrost Tribe's effortless downfall, the 'Frost Calamity' was no more, replaced instead by the far more terrifying 'Dragon Calamity.' The entire Northlands trembled beneath His wings.*"
*"Certain scholars argue that the 'Battle of Winter's Fall' objectively eliminated the Frost Calamity that had tormented the Northlands for a thousand years, making it an act of positive significance. Yet this author maintains that an evildoer cannot be deemed a hero merely for an incidental good deed; to do so is an insult to the countless righteous souls who gave their lives in valor.*"
*"Though the 'Frost Calamity' brought tremendous misery to the people of the Northlands, the tyrannical rule of the evil dragon has thoroughly upended the sacred order of the North and ruthlessly destroyed the justice of Anzeta—which is, without doubt, a far more profound and far-reaching catastrophe."*
—*Chronicles of Anzeta: The Battle of Winter's Fall*, by Duke Luton
Chapter 188