Months of relentless snow had sealed off the mountain range, freezing the only lake nestled within its peaks.
When Yihan arrived with Carola, mist swirled over the shimmering water. The crisp air cleared the sky, making the lake at the mountain’s foot gleam like a colossal crystal, dazzling under the sun.
Shards of broken ice dotted the surface. The shore lay silent, untouched by beasts. Yihan carefully descended the steep slope, mindful not to jostle Carola on his back.
“Is this place safe?” He set the girl gently onto the snow, worry etching his voice.
“I’ll handle the rest myself.” Carola nodded faintly, fingers brushing the buttons at her collar. Her eyes kept flicking toward him.
Understanding her unspoken request, Yihan quickly stepped back, thumping his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m a gentleman—I won’t peek while you tend to yourself.”
Backing up too eagerly, he nearly tripped over a tree root. Carola watched his stumble, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Once certain he was far enough away, Carola exhaled deeply, her tense shoulders relaxing. Then, a sharp jolt of pain twisted her face. Trembling, she peeled back the fabric around her wound, staring at the dried blood. A shiver of dread ran through her.
She’d never expected the Fallen Cult’s poisoned arrow to be so vicious—a mere graze nearly killed her. Only Yihan’s quick bandaging and snow-packed pressure had kept her alive this long.
Though he couldn’t fight on the battlefield, his reckless bravery had saved her life. A faint pink flush spread across Carola’s porcelain-pale cheeks.
Her fingers moved swiftly, unfastening each button. Her chest garment parted, revealing her undergarments. As a water Sorceress, ice manipulation was an offshoot of her water-based Spellcraft. Nothing healed better than pure, frigid water.
Garments slipped to the ground one by one. Her milk-pale body emerged from the lakeside mist—youthful, supple, radiating quiet vitality.
Gritting her teeth, Carola stepped into the water. Delicate feet disturbed the surface, sending ripples outward. The near-freezing temperature seized her instantly, making her lips tremble. Her expression flickered between endurance and something like pleasure, lashes fluttering.
This depth wasn’t enough. She needed full immersion. Bracing against the cold that threatened to freeze her blood solid, she advanced like a warrior marching to certain death. Her feet sank into the soft mud beneath floating ice. Staggering, she waded deeper—the water rose past her calves, thighs, waist, then chest…
The lake’s embrace numbed the wound’s agony. Finding a spot where she could stand, Carola relaxed, leaving only her head above water.
As she channeled the Witch Hunters Guild’s healing techniques into her shoulder, her mind raced. The Fallen Cult’s involvement had raised the mission’s risk level several notches. This was far beyond a rookie Witch Hunter’s capability. She needed to contact Lady and the others.
But how? The Guild relied on town newspapers for intel—even this mission came from such a report. Hunters filed task updates weekly at best, and with delays in transit… by the time help arrived, the Fallen Cult might have already extracted Lia’s Witch Core.
For a fleeting moment, Carola considered abandoning the mission entirely. Crossing the mountains back to the Guild was safer. The risk outweighed the reward—especially against multiple enemies. One misstep, and she’d die for nothing.
Extracting a Witch Core was perilous; a single mistake could unleash devastation, swallowing Soul Valley Town whole. How many villages had fallen to a Witch’s power over the centuries? And wasn’t this town’s fate self-inflicted? Still… the innocent townsfolk didn’t deserve this.
Shivering in the icy water, Carola glanced back toward the shore.
*He’d never accept retreat.*
*He’d never suggest giving up so soon.*
Memories of his muttered words while carrying her through the mountains tightened her chest.
*For a Witch? He begged me to save a Witch? To rescue Lia with him?*
Absurd. Helping a stranger—a potential disaster-bringer—violated every Witch Hunter tenet. What reason did she have? Their “special relationship”? What did that matter to her?
Frustration flared. She kicked at the mud. Soft silt enveloped her toes—no pain, no injury—but her heart refused to settle.
A tangled, unfamiliar emotion coiled inside her. Unpleasant. Unnameable.
When her wound finally knitted closed, Carola steeled herself. Her face smoothed into its usual cool mask as she dressed without drying off.
She’d find Yihan. Tell him plainly: she was withdrawing. The Fallen Cult’s presence made Soul Valley Town a death trap. Two people couldn’t change that. Charging in blindly meant suicide.
If he protested? She’d remind him: she was a Witch Hunter. Their kind and Witches were mortal enemies. She wouldn’t save one—guilty or innocent.
That excuse would silence him.
Carola quickened her pace, a faint, almost cruel smile touching her lips. Her pulse quickened.
It had been years since she felt this twisted urge—to do something wrong just to see disappointment shadow his face.
She found him behind a boulder. True to his word, he hadn’t peeked. Arms crossed, legs stretched out, he leaned against the rock, neck tilted, breathing slow and even.
Carola crept closer, silent as a shadow. She hovered near, holding her breath like a cat studying its sleeping master.
*Asleep…* Disappointment washed over her.
Of course. Carrying her through mountains, sprinting through deep snow—it would exhaust anyone.
But he was just an ordinary boy. How could he sleep in this freezing wilderness? Would he catch cold?
Frowning, Carola hesitated, then shrugged off her thick woolen cloak. Gently, carefully, she draped it over his shoulders.
*I’ll tell him when he wakes.*
Drowsiness proved contagious. Watching him sleep so deeply, Carola’s own exhaustion surfaced. She slid down the rock beside him, stretching her legs.
Even as a water Sorceress, sleeping in this cold was hard. A little warmth would help…
Her gaze lingered on his profile. Finally, she shifted, pressing her uninjured shoulder against his. The solid warmth seeped into her. She rested her head against him and drifted into sleep.
