In the howling snowstorm, the world was pure white.
The boundary between sky and earth had grown faint, giving the illusion that the entire world was buried in snow.
The frigid wind cut the skin just by brushing against the cheeks, and even inhaling stabbed the lungs like needles.
Everything was frozen solid. The occasional sound of cracking ice was the only sign that this land was still alive.
KUUUUUUNG!
A dragon that had been cleaving through the sky folded its wings and landed on the blizzard-swept ground.
The moment Ghislain and his party dismounted from Arterion’s body and set foot into the cold air, they instinctively shrank back.
“...So this is the Land of Extreme Cold?”
Ereneth looked around with a hardened expression.
As if weighed down by some invisible force, the elemental energy had drastically weakened.
An unseen pressure had spread over this land. Perhaps because of it, the suffocating oppression could be felt constantly.
“Uuuugh! It’s too cold!”
“Even breathing feels like torture.”
“You don’t seriously train in a place like this, right?”
The mercenaries cupped their hands around their mouths, exhaling visibly. The breath they exhaled seemed to freeze instantly in midair.
Ghislain calmly scanned his surroundings.
The chill of this land, its silence, and the unknowable aura that filled it—
All of it whispered death. But instead, he brightened his eyes and said:
“Nice. Training in a place like this will make us stronger faster.”
The harsher the environment, the faster the body evolves and strengthens. This was exactly the kind of environment Ghislain had wanted.
At that, Arterion curled his lips into a wide grin.
“Indeed. This place is filled with the purest natural energy. And on top of that, there’s the magical field I’ve spread and maintained for a long time.”
Only then did the group realize the true nature of the force pressing down on them.
It wasn’t just the cold—this place was imbued with magical energy accumulated over thousands of years.
Kyle glanced around and asked,
“What’s that?”
A short distance away stood a small altar made of ice.
Arterion answered casually, as if it were nothing.
“That’s where the Pope’s envoys send signals to request an audience. It’s not easy for them to reach my lair with their own power, after all.”
The truth was, even without something like that, Arterion could sense any intruder the moment they entered this land.
But it was left there out of formality—for those who came as official emissaries.
After explaining, Arterion spread his massive wings again. Looking down at the group, he spoke.
“From this point forward, your training will begin.”
At those words, the group exchanged confused glances. They knew training was coming, but they hadn’t expected it to start so abruptly.
“Skill isn’t judged with words. Show me, directly.”
Arterion raised his head toward the sky and let out a resounding roar.
KUUOOOOOOOOOOH!
The cry that shook the sky and earth was no mere shout.
It spread like a ritual—or a signal.
The magic he released coiled around the land and burrowed deep into the darkness beyond the snowy mountains.
The air trembled, and a distant echo returned from the snowy plains, piercing through the party’s bodies again.
Arterion smiled as he said,
“This is my teaching—and your trial. From this moment on, this land is a battlefield.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Arterion soared into the sky in a single bound.
At the same time, Deneb and several mercenaries were lifted into the air.
“Huh? Huh? Huh?”
Deneb and the mercenaries were startled. Their airborne bodies were quickly trapped in translucent spheres.
“Deneb!”
Julien leapt up at once to rescue Deneb.
KWAANG!
But his body was repelled by an invisible barrier and bounced back.
As Julien clenched his teeth and prepared to jump again, Arterion looked at him and spoke.
“The tale of an evil dragon kidnapping a princess and a hero coming to rescue her—such an old, yet entertaining story, isn’t it? I hope you all make it to my lair in one piece. But if you don’t and end up dead...”
Arterion’s gaze turned to the mercenaries floating in the air.
“...Then I’ll toss the rest of them, minus the Saintess, to my Guardians for food.”
At those words, the mercenaries trapped in midair began trembling violently. Though it seemed Arterion had excluded them from the ‘training’ as promised, no one was grateful.
Soon, the massive silhouette of the dragon slowly vanished into the white blizzard.
A brief silence followed.
Then, a deep rumbling began to spread from beneath the earth.
Thoom... thoom...
Moments later, massive forms began to emerge from the white mist.
KROOOO!
They were Ice Trolls, covered in white fur.
Their eyes were bloodshot red, and the wooden clubs in their hands were thickly coated in ice.
Next came the beasts that moved like hunters between the snow and wind.
GRRRRRR...
A pack of Ice Wolves circled the group, growling.
With white fur, crimson eyes, and fangs imbued with a chilling energy, they resembled living ice itself.
Their size was no joke either—each one rivaled a bison.
“Heh...”
Ghislain let out a dumbfounded snort. Hundreds of those monsters had gathered.
And more would keep coming. They were completely driven mad by the dragon’s aura.
Arterion’s idea of "teaching" was far more brutish than anyone had imagined.
But Ghislain understood. From Arterion’s perspective, it didn’t matter if Ghislain’s party died—but if they survived, they’d grow significantly stronger. It was efficient.
“Yeah, it’ll take something like this to speed up our growth.”
Ghislain smirked and stretched his limbs.
Arterion may not know it, but Ghislain actually enjoyed training like this.
There was just one thing that bothered him.
“...Someone’s missing.”
Ghislain turned around with a slightly conflicted expression.
“S-Ser Osvald! I don’t understand what’s happening! He should’ve taken me too!”
Osvald was trembling, his face pale.
Truth was, Arterion had simply forgotten to take Osvald. He was supposed to, but missed him by accident.
Ghislain chuckled as he looked at Osvald’s world-ending expression.
‘Guess that means he thinks Osvald’s stronger than expected.’
Though Arterion had picked people somewhat arbitrarily, Ghislain had also intended to exclude Osvald. But the dragon had specifically left him behind while taking the rest.
That meant he’d judged Osvald to be stronger than the other mercenaries.
All that training had paid off. He’d improved significantly since their first meeting.
Ghislain gave Osvald a thumbs up, then turned to the group and said,
“Everyone ready?”
Julien, Kyle, Ereneth, Lionel, and Marika all nodded.
They looked tense. Now they had to fight through this harsh environment and those monsters to reach the dragon’s lair.
But they weren’t afraid. They had survived countless brushes with death so far.
Their faces were filled with grim determination to survive this trial as well.
Julien’s eyes, especially, blazed as if he would burn this frozen wasteland to the ground.
Ghislain looked up at the sky.
“Maybe we could fly part of the way and make it easier—”
KAAAAAAA!
But before he could finish, monsters began pouring down from the skies too.
Snow Wyverns circled above them, spewing frost from their mouths.
Seeing that, Ghislain smirked.
“So you won’t even allow that kind of shortcut, huh?”
In the end, they’d have to fight their way through everything.
Ghislain shook the snow from his cloak and rolled his shoulders.
“The goal is simple—reach the dragon’s lair without dying. Easy, right?”
Kyle grimaced and gripped his sword tightly.
“Easy... for who, exactly?”
The others laughed as they readied their stances.
As always, being with Ghislain meant everything turned out beyond what anyone could imagine.
Who would’ve thought that a simple request for help with training would lead to this kind of ‘teaching’?
But it wasn’t bad. Each time they pushed through a trial like this, they could feel themselves growing faster than anyone else.
Ghislain crouched and summoned his mana. Blue energy flowed into his staff like light.
“Let’s begin.”
KWAANG!
Ghislain shot forward like lightning and blasted the lead Ice Troll into the air.
At the same time, the others moved toward their assigned directions.
And so, on the Land of Extreme Cold—
The Julien Mercenary Corps began their life-or-death training.
***
When he first heard the news that a Sacred Stone had been obtained, the Pope could not conceal his excitement.
“To think... to think they actually obtained a Sacred Stone...”
Truthfully, he hadn’t held high expectations for the Julien Mercenary Corps.
He had merely placed a sliver of hope in them, as they had reportedly solved the problems of several kingdoms without failure.
After all, the envoy delegations had all failed, and no path remained but war.
And yet, a mere mercenary corps had acquired a Sacred Stone.
And not only that—they’d managed to repel an invasion by the Salvation Order along the way.
The joy was immense. But at the same time, a surge of displeasure rose in him.
“Iralniel, how dare you...”
It was said that Iralniel, the High Chief of the Elves, had handed the Sacred Stone to a low-ranking priestess.
She had even publicly declared that no one could take the stone from her.
That statement was no different from one aimed directly at the Pope himself.
The Sacred Stone was a divine artifact that only he, the representative of God, had the right to possess.
“To deny my authority so brazenly...”
Rage boiled within him, but he couldn’t afford to go to war with the elves over this.
In any case, the Pope desperately wanted to get his hands on the Sacred Stone immediately. But for now, he had to hold back.
“Not yet... We need to obtain more.”
This was only the first success. Only now did a true possibility begin to emerge. So he couldn’t afford to provoke the Julien Mercenary Corps.
Still, anxiety lingered.
The stone must not be lost due to an ambush from the Salvation Order or similar cause.
He couldn’t send troops, either. The moment an imperial army got involved, it would be no different from the failed envoy missions.
Worse, it might provoke resistance from the dwarves or escalate the situation further.
Thus, the Pope quietly issued a new order.
“Find the fastest, most capable assassination group available. First, have them locate the Julien Mercenary Corps and shadow them from the dark. Instruct them to guard the group from the shadows, and to report their every move.”
Lionel had been assigned to them—but he was only one man. The Pope didn’t believe he could protect the Julien Mercenary Corps and the Sacred Stone by himself.
Besides, there was no telling how much Lionel had been influenced while traveling with them.
That’s why he was sending an assassination unit as a more dependable safeguard.
Of course, the assassins were only the first layer of surveillance. Entrusting something so critical to mere assassins was unthinkable.
“Dispatch an intelligence unit alongside them and have them follow the Julien Mercenary Corps discreetly.”
Even the imperial intelligence corps alone wasn’t enough. The mercenary corps must return to the Empire safely, with their mission complete.
“Send word to all kingdoms. Order them to ready their armies so they can immediately mobilize to assist the Julien Mercenary Corps in case of danger.”
From now on, every kingdom would move to protect the Julien Mercenary Corps.
The Pope was that determined to secure the Sacred Stone.
He had no doubt that the Sacred Stone would eventually be in his hands.
But that conviction was shattered by the news that came shortly after.
“A Saintess? A Saintess, you say?”
The title of ‘Saintess’ was something the Pope himself appointed. It had always been that way.
And yet now, they said a ‘true’ Saintess had appeared. That she had performed the Goddess’s miracle before the eyes of many.
The Pope initially thought Lionel must’ve been mistaken. But not long after, a letter arrived—personally sent by King Grondal of the dwarves.
“What? ‘Congratulations on the birth of the Saintess’? That lowly priestess is the rightful bearer of the Sacred Stone?”
Obtaining the dwarves’ Sacred Stone should’ve been joyous news. But the fact that someone else—not himself—was its owner was utterly unacceptable.
“Even you, Grondal, you bastard...”
Even the dwarf king had named the lowly priestess as the rightful bearer of the Sacred Stone.
Then what did that make all the Pope’s efforts until now? Was he just some prop meant to create a false Saintess?
“I will not accept this.”
The Pope was furious. He wanted to kill the Julien Mercenary Corps on the spot.
“A Saintess?! A Saintess, you say?! Who gave you permission to declare someone a Saintess?!”
A Saintess had appeared—one not approved by him. And yet, many had apparently witnessed her perform a miracle of the Goddess.
If that were true, the Saintess could be treated as equal to the Pope himself—perhaps even above him.
Unforgivable. She had to die.
Only by doing so could the Pope exalt his own authority and unify humanity.
“The Sacred Stone is mine. I must wield it and bring this long, long war to an end.”
The Pope muttered that over and over under his breath.
He had been raised from childhood as a messenger of God.
He believed—truly—that he was destined to be the savior prophesied to end the war with the Demonic Realm.
The powerful divine energy he’d been blessed with was proof. No one dared deny that strength.
And now, an unforeseen obstacle had appeared.
At once, the Pope issued a new order.
“Until the final Sacred Stone is {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} secured, continue to guard and monitor them. And if they do succeed in obtaining it...”
He suddenly clutched his head, wracked by a splitting headache, and spoke with grim finality.
“...Kill the Julien Mercenary Corps and the false Saintess, and retrieve the Sacred Stones.”
That command was sent to every envoy and army stationed across the kingdoms, as well as to Darentz, the one shadowing the mercenary corps from up close.
Now that the Demonic Realm was on the move, even a dragon could not block the Pope’s march.
If the elves or dwarves rebelled, he intended to crush them with military force if necessary.
As long as he secured the Sacred Stones, humanity alone would be enough to win the war against the Demonic Realm.
From that day on, the Pope suffered daily from persistent headaches caused by ceaseless waves of murderous intent, fury, and anxiety.
“Ghhh...”
And it wasn’t just headaches anymore. The abnormal symptoms he had long suppressed with divine power were returning.
[$%&*#@$%!%^$$#]
Incomprehensible whispers filled his ears.
Indecipherable words—yet with a sinister tone that pierced all the way into his bones.
That voice had followed him since childhood.
It was precisely because of this phenomenon that he had never left the cathedral.
Should he leave the protective barrier of powerful divine energy, he would be consumed by those whispers.
They were too powerful for him to suppress with his own strength alone.
That’s why he needed the Sacred Stones. Only with their power could he break free of this curse.
And with the Goddess’s power, he would erase the Demonic Realm and save the world.
That was his reason for existing.
He truly, wholeheartedly believed it.
“I will... save the world... Only... I can do it... Therefore... the false Saintess must die...”
The Pope repeated those words like a mantra, praying over and over again—
Praying that his unwavering faith would not be tainted by evil.
