Chinston City, perched high atop the mountains, was a city-state perpetually encircled by blizzards.
The freezing wind whipped across the steep ridges, howling past as it danced with swirling flurries of snow.
Across the vast highland snowfields that stretched out like an endless canvas, pure white flakes drifted through the air. Each seemed alive, circling gently before settling upon the unbroken expanse of white.
Yet across this snowy wilderness, traces of life remained.
Occasional animal tracks could be seen, slowly being buried again beneath the swirling snow. At the end of the tracks, an elk stood motionless on the drifts, gazing into the distance. Soon, as if detecting something, it bolted like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.
The blizzard howled on.
The undulations and textures of the sprawling snow gradually came into focus. Far in the direction the elk had fled from, a tiny speck appeared to be moving slowly against the wind and snow.
At first, it was barely noticeable, but over time, the figure's staggering gait grew distinct—frenzied, panic-stricken, stumbling every few paces, always on the verge of tumbling into the snow.
Accompanied by ragged, heavy breaths, the youth in a thick coat finally abandoned his suitcase. Out spilled his only presentable noble attire alongside his identity documents from the south.
His skin was pale, almost matching the surrounding snow, and his large, bright eyes were filled with panic and anxiety. His flaxen hair was as soft and sleek as that of a young lady from a warm, prosperous southern city-state, though it was now tangled in disarray by the biting gale.
Behind him, four or five agile, athletic men were in swift pursuit.
Dressed in thick hunting gear and wearing hats of demonic beast hide, their smiling faces were sinister and cruel. Each heavy stride stamped into the snow, leaving a trail of deep footprints in their wake.
Clearly they were veterans seasoned by years of survival in these northern city-states, and the distance between them and the youth continued to shrink.
The youth's feet sank into the powdery snow; every step felt as if it were trying to swallow him whole.
His breath was ragged, his cheeks bitten raw and red by the icy wind, yet he sprinted forward without pausing.
The silence of the snow plains was shattered by their pursuit, echoing across the boundless white earth.
The frozen woods in the distance were the youth's only lifeline.
He knew that if he could just reach the snow-covered forest, a sliver of hope for escape would remain.
No matter how slim, it was far better than fleeing across this flat, exposed expanse of snow!
"Hey, little southern lady, why don't you come play with us for a bit?!"
"Don't worry, we won't kill you right away!"
Amid the jarring, celebratory jeers of the thugs, arrows and blades flew toward the youth's back from time to time. Yet, as if by bizarre twists of fate, none managed to strike him, glancing away as though deflected by an invisible barrier.
"...!"
The youth clenched his teeth, not daring to look back, relying solely on the sound to gauge the bandits' distance.
Yet the gap was closing far faster than he had anticipated.
Long before he reached the woods—probably still quite a distance away—they would catch up to him!
In the blizzard, the distance between the youth and the bandits grew ever shorter. Tension and peril saturated the air, but the merciless snowfield had no intention of showing favor to anyone—it watched this chase of life and death with indifference, awaiting the outcome.
The strong prey on the weak, and only the fittest survive; such was the law of the snows.
Even southerners of the empire had long heard of conditions in the north.
Of course, things in the south were hardly peaceful these days either.
The north was simply in greater turmoil due to external threats compounded by the empire's new bills and reforms this year.
Traveling past a few more cities north of Chinston City would bring one to the northern frontline. Even the route from Box Mountain Province to Chinston City was already fraught with peril.
The youth's thoughts were a tangled mess. He could not even tell whether his legs were growing numb from the freezing snow or trembling from sheer terror, but he was fast reaching his limit.
Misfortunes had come in spades.
His name was Xiaya, the eldest son of the Count Candis family from the southern Protos Empire. His ancestors had achieved illustrious military merits in the empire, but after two successive generations of squandering heads of the house, the family was now saddled with debt and barely able to put food on the table.
Thus, his only option was to come north and marry into another family.
To a degree, it felt as though his family had sold him off, but fundamentally, it was a mutually beneficial transaction where each party took what they needed.
The Chinston family he was to marry into was by no means lacking.
The lord of Chinston City, Viscount Laiwen Chinston, had become quite a prominent merchant even in the Imperial Capital in recent years. By virtue of his personal brilliance, the scale of the merchant guild his family had built up over the years, and the formidable martial prowess that allowed him to hold his ground in the north, both this northern city-state and his family were experiencing an unstoppable rise.
However, as a clan of merchants, the Chinston family's only shortcoming was that people constantly mocked them as counterfeit nobles who had simply bought their titles.
For this reason, Viscount Laiwen Chinston was never warmly received by the high nobility whenever he visited the Imperial Capital—whether out of pure disdain or petty jealousy—and even many nobles in the north sought to ostracize him.
Useless as Xiaya might be, he had one thing going for him: he belonged to an authentic, ancient noble lineage of undeniable military glory. His family had made its name in the history of the Protos Empire long before the Holy War had even begun.
This was precisely what the Chinston family sought.
Word had it that his fiancée was exceptionally talented and haughty, having already reached Tier 3 at the age of seventeen. Come early summer, she would head straight to the Imperial Capital to enter the first-year class of Protos Royal Academy, becoming an aristocratic student with a boundless future.
Meanwhile, his own family could not even afford his tuition.
To enter as a scholarship recruit without paying tuition required tremendous strength.
With his meager abilities, even passing the preparatory exams was a tall order—he had already failed once. He had no desire to fight or harm others, nor did he possess the confidence to survive in such a cutthroat institution.
His best hope of attending was to accompany the young lady of the Chinston family as her fiancé and personal attendant, entering alongside her.
Yet doing so felt a bit like being a kept man.
Her family was wealthy enough to hire a far more powerful attendant for her.
He didn't even know if she would annul the engagement on the spot and send him packing.
Everything remained an unknown. He didn't even know what she looked like or what her personality was like. Despite the dangerous, bizarre rumors circulating throughout the north, he had traveled thousands of miles to change his fate.
In theory, if he could turn things around against all odds and restore his family's former glory, he would not only secure a seat in the imperial House of Lords, but also reclaim the prominent stature his lineage had once held in the high society of the Protos Empire.
And yet—
First, the railway was damaged, and the terrible weather made emergency repairs difficult. What should have been a relatively safe direct journey to Chinston City aboard a mana rail train under Imperial Army protection was thwarted.
Now, in order to make his appointment on time, he had no choice but to brave the blizzard and trek across the wasteland toward the city.
And along the way, he had run right into bandits.
Chapter 307