Interlude

The moonlight was hazy, and snowflakes fell silently onto the snow-covered ground, layering into soft blankets of white.

In a sheltered hollow within the wilderness, an orange campfire flickered against the wind, casting a warm halo of light across the surrounding snow.

The burning firewood crackled softly, occasionally sending sparks bursting from the hearth to land on the nearby snow, where they sizzled out and left tiny black pockmarks.

Rosie sat on a relatively flat stone, gnawing on a strip of jerky held in her hand.

The meat was tough, requiring a hard tug with every bite. It tasted heavily of smoke and salt, leaving a rough, fibrous texture between her teeth.

Alysia stood at the edge of the campfire's glow, her back to the flames as she faced the vast wilderness.

She raised both hands to her chest, her palms turned slightly outward.

Her lips moved softly, her voice carrying an ancient, distant cadence.

Rosie chewed her jerky while tilting her head to catch the intermittent syllables.

The gist seemed to be: Thank the heavens, thank the earth, thank nature... blah, blah, blah—a whole heap of meaningless prayer words.

As the hypnotic sound droned on, Rosie couldn't help but let out a yawn.

It was practically a lullaby.

After a moment, the chanting finally ceased.

Alysia lowered her hands and turned to walk back toward the campfire.

The firelight caught the side of her face, outlining her pointed ears and delicate jawline in sharp relief.

She sat down beside the fire, hesitated in silence for a brief second, and spoke. “Nature is growing hostile. This journey may prove difficult.”

Rosie swallowed the piece of jerky she had been chewing on for ages. “It’d be a miracle if a northern winter was friendly. But don't worry—as long as I accept a commission, I'll see it through to the end.”

Alysia’s gaze rested on her face for a fleeting moment, a subtle flicker passing through her eyes, before she turned her head away and murmured softly, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Rosie replied, fishing out another piece of jerky and taking a bite.

The two fell into silence for a while.

The campfire burned quietly between them, the firewood popping occasionally as it pushed warm air into the night.

Rosie suddenly broke the silence, asking the question that had been weighing on her mind all along:

“Alysia, you're pretty strong yourself. Why did you bother hiring me?”

Back at the baron's castle, Alysia's capabilities had been plain to see.

She could scale walls using vines and shape-shift for stealthy assassinations.

With her skills, she probably could have dealt with the baron on her own even without Rosie.

Alysia didn't answer right away.

She looked down at the dancing flames of the campfire as tongues of fire curled around dry branches, igniting them into fresh blazes.

Only after a long silence did she speak softly, her voice ethereal, as if drifting on the wind. “Because of the wind's guidance...”

Rosie froze mid-bite, raised her head to look at Alysia's completely matter-of-fact expression, stayed silent for two seconds, and then went back to gnawing on her jerky.

She didn't press further, knowing she likely wouldn't get a sensible answer anyway.

She switched the topic. “Miss Alysia, could you tell me where our destination is? So I can mentally prepare.”

Alysia pulled her gaze from the fire and looked over at Rosie, uttering a few words: “Stratholme.”

The jerky froze at Rosie's lips before she lowered it. “Stratholme?”

She remembered that place.

The night she left the Royal City of Norman, the pointy-chinned knight had told her, “Don't go to Stratholme.”

“What is it?” Alysia asked, noticing her shift in expression.

Rosie replied, “Someone I know told me to stay away from there.”

“Though, that was over ten days ago. Maybe...”

She was cut off mid-sentence by Alysia abruptly raising a hand.

“Wait.”

The elf's eyes passed over Rosie's shoulder, piercing into the dark wilderness beyond the campfire's glow.

“We have guests.”

Rosie didn't turn around to look. Instead, she reached down to grab the shield by her feet and stood up, her right hand settling onto the hilt at her waist.

In the next second, dozens of faintly glowing eyes emerged from the darkness of the wilderness.

Then, a long howl echoed from the deepest shadows.

“Awoooo—!”

The sound traveled far across the empty snowfield, carrying a desolate chill that pierced the night sky.

“Snow wolves!”

Rosie drew her blade with a shing, bracing for combat.

But Alysia reached out to stop her.

“Don't be reckless. I'll speak with them.” The elf's voice remained calm.

Rosie tilted her head, looking at Alysia. “Speak with them?”

“Druids are messengers of nature. We possess the ability to communicate with beasts.”

Alysia rose from the fireside, brushing grass and dust off the hem of her black cloak.

“Stay here. They do not like humans.”

Without waiting for Rosie's response, she stepped forward, walking toward the darkness where dozens of glowing eyes flickered.

Rosie stood her ground, quietly marveling to herself: As expected of an all-rounder class.

Alysia extended her hands toward the pack, letting out a series of low tones.

Rosie pricked her ears to listen, realizing it wasn't any spoken language, but rather a unique vocal frequency.

Since it wasn't a language, her Ancient Language Proficiency trait was useless.

A faint stir rustled through the pack of snow wolves.

Then, the wolves parted to both sides, clearing a path.

A powerful snow wolf stepped forward from the pack.

It trotted up to Alysia, its damp nose twitching softly as it sniffed her scent carefully.

After a few breaths, a low rumble sounded from its throat, and it gently nudged Alysia's palm with its thick, fur-covered head.

Alysia naturally rested her palm on the alpha wolf's head, stroking gently from the base of its ears down its neck with smooth, practiced movements, as if soothing a domestic dog.

As she stroked it, she continued to murmur softly, her voice flowing like a trickling stream through the open, snowy night.

The alpha wolf whimpered softly in turn, the rumbles in its throat rising and falling as if responding to her cadence.

In the hazy moonlight and sparse veil of snow, the elf and the wolf communicated in low tones.

Then, the alpha wolf stopped whimpering.

It raised its head, glanced at Alysia, and turned around, walking back in the direction it had come.

Following its lead, the pack turned one by one, quietly retreating along the same path back into the darkness.

Alysia stood in the snow for a moment longer before turning to walk back to the campfire.

The orange firelight fell over her black cloak and face once more, slowly washing away the veil of night and cold clinging to her.

She sat down in her previous spot and said calmly, “It's fine now.”

“Oh.”

Rosie sheathed her sword and sat back down on the stone.

“Where were we?”

Alysia tilted her head slightly, prompting her to continue the topic that had been interrupted.

Rosie held both hands over the fire to warm them, feeling the heat spread from her fingertips to her palms.

“That guy I knew told me not to go near Stratholme. But that was over ten days ago, so maybe things have changed by now...”

“Is that so? Let's hope so.” The elf gave a slight nod.

After the interlude, the night passed without further incident.

The next morning, the snow had stopped.

A line of pale gold light gleamed along the horizon.

The golden light pierced through the clouds, spilling over the vast, endless snowfields and etching bright outlines around every undulating mound and snow-laden tree.

The air was filled with a crisp freshness unique to a clear morning after snow; inhaling it brought a mild chill to the lungs, invigorating the mind.

Rosie stretched her stiff shoulders and neck, then washed her face with melted snow. The icy touch made her shiver, but it completely cleared her head.

She and Alysia hastily ate their rations, stomped out the campfire, buried all traces of ash, and set off again along the road covered in fresh snow.

Two sets of footprints stretched forward across the snow-capped wilderness, trailing parallel tracks that led toward the distant horizon.