Before departure, the route map Ur had provided was meticulously planned.
The east wall, the old bell tower, and a gap in the inactive protective wards beneath the third gray brick.
As long as her teleportation landing was precise enough, she could even bypass the first round of patrols.
Of course, she only dared to believe half of what that shady merchant said.
The surrounding misty light burst apart, and Isolde crashed heavily into the snow.
Cold instantly rushed down her collar, freezing her throat and nearly making her cough aloud.
The surroundings were dead silent, so quiet that she could hear the faint rustle of snow landing on tree branches.
Isolde slowly pushed herself up. After taking a moment to recover, she raised her head to inspect her surroundings.
Tall black pines towered all around, their branches heavily weighed down by snow, while the distant gray mountain silhouettes were shrouded in thin mist.
The sky was dim, making it impossible to tell if it was dusk or just an overcast sky before a blizzard.
The Grey Dove Monastery was supposed to be nearby, but her current location was definitely not the "corpse-transport path" Ur had mentioned.
Isolde looked down at her palm.
A faint golden holy glow was mixed with the crushed powder, burning her skin red.
The answer surfaced automatically in her mind—the Holy Court's protective array.
No wonder the teleportation had gone off-course.
Ur likely knew the barrier would interfere with the landing point but had simply omitted that detail.
Creatures like shady merchants were best at treating "unasked" as "no need to inform."
Isolde brushed the snow off her cuffs and took a few steps forward.
Just as she was about to pull out her map to orient herself, a low, beast-like growl suddenly echoed from the forest.
The sound was close, coming from her left-rear.
Immediately after, a second wolf howl rang out.
This time, it was to her right.
She lowered her hand, mana slowly gathering at her fingertips.
The wind in the forest suddenly grew sharper, sending snow tumbling from the branches.
A shadow stepped out from behind a tree.
It was a snow-white wolf, massive with long limbs, standing nearly as high as her shoulder.
Baring its pale gums and white teeth, its nose snuffled against the snow as it slowly sniffed the spot where she had just fallen.
Then, it raised its head, locked its gaze onto her, and let out a menacing low growl.
Isolde held her breath, leaning her body back slightly.
She recalled that these northern icefield wolves could not only smell flesh and blood, but also sense residual mana.
The traces of dark power within her had been deeply suppressed by the unicorn's holy nature, but the instant the teleportation stone shattered, a brief wisp of the castle's aura had leaked out, which might not be completely hidden.
The faint click of a crossbow trigger came from behind the trees.
Isolde slowly raised her hands. “I mean no harm.”
From deep within the snowy forest, someone sneered.
“Everyone who falls right under an icefield wolf's nose says that.”
A man wearing a beast-hide cloak stepped out from the shadows of the trees.
He was very tall, with frost clinging to the edges of his leather armor. A short axe hung at his waist, and a large crossbow was slung across his back.
An old scar ran diagonally across his face from his brow to his jaw, giving him a naturally imposing look.
Several figures appeared behind him one after another.
Gray-white cloaks, runic bolts, and dark red knots.
Northern Witch Hunters.
The name flashed through Isolde's mind.
Ur had mentioned them—they specialized in hunting witches, beastkin, necromancers, and anything that "didn't quite look human but wasn't dead yet."
The leading man stopped about ten yards away.
“Name.”
Isolde's throat moved slightly. “Yu Lingye.”
The man stared at her. “Identity.”
Isolde: “Rogue mage.”
The man sized her up. “Are you a Descender?”
"Descenders" was the collective term used by the natives of this world for the suddenly appearing "players." Strangely, they seemed to have long since grown accustomed to this bizarre race that popped up out of nowhere.
Some even believed they were messengers sent by the gods. Over time, various factions and groups began actively recruiting them.
Of course, others viewed them as a bad omen, an exile.
They observed them in secret, adopting an attitude of neither welcoming nor rejecting them.
And the Northern Witch Hunters belonged to the second category.
Wearing the face of her past life, this identity was actually the most suitable for blending into the neutral camp of players.
She replied, “Yes.”
The man's gaze grew even colder.
A young hunter behind him immediately raised his crossbow, his voice extremely tense.
“She's lying! A Descender couldn't possibly cross the northern snowy forests alone. She must be a lapdog of the Holy Court.”
Isolde looked at him.
The youth was not very old, seemingly in his teens, with dark circles under his eyes and lips turned pale from the cold.
Isolde withdrew her gaze. “I didn't walk in.” She slowly spread open her burned palm. “I just had a slight mishap with a teleportation.”
The older hunter squinted. Upon seeing the scorch marks and the residual holy glow on her palm, his expression changed slightly.
“Burned by the Holy Court's protective wards.”
The leading man took half a step closer. The icefield wolf immediately followed, its nose twitching slightly.
Isolde could feel its senses piercing through her disguise of Purifying Light, digging deeper and deeper.
A chill slowly crept up her spine.
Just then, the man spoke. “Are you heading to the Grey Dove Monastery?”
Isolde did not answer immediately.
Remaining silent for too long would make her look suspicious, while answering too quickly would sound like a rehearsed lie.
She let her lips tremble slightly and said candidly, “I took an escort commission.”
“Escorting what?”
“A person.”
“Who?”
Isolde blinked, her fingertips tightening slightly inside her sleeve.
“Someone trying to escape from the monastery.”
The snowy forest fell silent for a moment. The young hunter's expression suddenly changed.
“Who? Explain yourself!”
His voice rose, carrying an uncontrollable urgency.
The leading man raised his hand. “Colin.”
The youth snapped his mouth shut, but his eyes remained locked onto Isolde.
Isolde understood the situation.
These Northern Witch Hunters were probably here for more than just plundering.
There might be someone—or some body—they were looking for inside the Grey Dove Monastery.
Otherwise, they wouldn't have appeared near the corpse-transport path.
She didn't overcomplicate her lie; leaving blanks in a story allowed others to fill them in with their own assumptions.
“I didn't see the employer's face,” she whispered. “They only told me to meet them at the corpse-transport path outside the Grey Dove Monastery. If there was no signal before dark, I was to leave.”
Colin gritted his teeth.
“Nonsense! The perimeter of the Grey Dove Monastery has been sealed for three days. No one inside can get out!”
The moment the words left his mouth, his face grew even paler.
The older hunter nearby frowned and barked in a low voice, “Colin!”
Colin's finger tightened on the crossbow trigger. His breathing was rapid; he seemed to be trying to hold himself back, but his chest was heaving violently.
“My brother is in there! She must know something!”
Isolde watched him, her heart stirring slightly.
It seemed she had hit the nail right on the head by pure chance.
The leading man's voice sank as he looked at Isolde.
“I am Herwin Hartmann, a Northern Witch Hunter.”
He finally introduced himself, which meant he didn't plan on killing her immediately.
“Yu Lingye,” Herwin said, staring at her. “Show me your mage mark.”
Isolde slowly raised her hand, and a faint wisp of white light coalesced in her palm.
It was a disguised mark extracted from Meng Yinyin's class skills. She had suppressed it heavily, deliberately making the light look impure.
The hunters exchanged glances. Colin's hostility had not entirely faded, but he hesitated.
The older hunter murmured, “It's a basic mage mark.”
Herwin did not relax. “There is another scent on you.”
Isolde's heart skipped a beat.
The beast let out a low whine and took half a step forward.
“I haven't taken a bath in a very long time since I came to this world.” She looked up at Herwin. “It's not surprising if I smell a bit unpleasant.”
Herwin stared at her for a long while. “I recall Descenders always travel in parties. Why are you alone?”
Isolde curled her lips, flashing a weary smile:
“My party fell apart.”
She didn't elaborate, but her downcast eyes and the old wounds not entirely hidden by her sleeves were more than enough for them to fill in the blanks.
Rate on N.U.
