The wind of the Northern Territory has never been gentle; the mont it brushes past the cheeks, it carries a relentless sharpness.
The Mage Forest’s insect corpse investigation team has been running across this Icefield for nearly two months already.
Yet it seems like a nearly futile journey.
"Another day with no results." Soone squatted on the ground and let out a low sigh after a long pause.
"I’m starting to wonder... is there only one Nest? Are we going around in circles, doing pointless work?" The voice sounded exhausted, almost numb.
Another mage interjected from the side: "You do have a point, running around like headless flies is not the solution."
No one refuted.
The atmosphere in this Mage Corps had already begun to seem... sowhat downcast.
Grand Mage Flora stood on a higher ground, her expression calm, yet there was a trace of exhaustion that even she had not noticed.
"I don’t think there’s only one Nest." Flora’s voice was not loud, but enough for everyone to hear.
"But indeed, we shouldn’t continue searching blindly like this. Let’s persist for a few more days. If we still find nothing, we’ll return and change our strategy."
Her tone didn’t sound like an order, more like a helpless compromise.
Even the mage who complained finally said nothing more upon hearing this.
Everyone knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, just that luck was too poor.
And ti, resources, and morale all have their limits.
......
It wasn’t until two days later that they encountered sothing "unusual."
"...Look over there." The scout in the front row used a short magic signal to alert, a trace of uncertain tension in the voice.
They looked in the direction.
The snow at the edge of the forest was being crushed under a series of heavy footsteps.
It was a marching army, majestically crossing the shallow valley among the trees, with tattered flags and damaged armor, but the numbers were vast, like a tide of snow surging from the depths of the Icefield, numbering in the hundreds, even nearly a thousand.
They were Snow Swearers.
Those wild and fierce Northern Land avengers.
They wore animal skins or ragged cloth, their skin etched with totems, so wielding giant axes, others riding on the backs of wolves.
"...Where are they going?" soone asked.
But no one could answer.
The entire Mage Corps’ procession halted almost simultaneously.
They had seen Snow Swearers before.
But it was usually just a few scattered individuals, or at most a patrolling squad of dozens.
To see such a force of a thousand people marching across the Northern Icefield was unprecedented.
"Another war is coming, I suppose..." Flora’s eyes grew somber.
She didn’t like war and didn’t want to get involved.
Mage Forest was neutral and couldn’t intervene in the Empire’s political conflicts with the clans.
They only dealt with magic-related crises and disasters.
But then, Dilin, who had been silent, stepped forward.
"I have a hunch," he continued, his tone calm yet certain, "they... are related to the Nest."
His voice was not loud, yet it pierced into everyone’s nerves like an icy blade in the cold wind.
"Are you sure?" Flora turned around.
"I’m not sure." Dilin closed his eyes, "It’s just my intuition."
The group paused, glancing at him.
Dilin’s premonitions were never wrong.
Even just a fleeting thought, if he voiced it, it had to be taken seriously.
Flora took a deep breath, staring at the silhouette of the Snow Swearers slowly fading into the distance.
"Since there’s no other clue, in that case... let’s follow them. Maintain the formation, activate Stealth Technique and Barrier Technique, everyone suppress your magic power fluctuations, no exposure allowed."
They quietly trailed behind that eerily orderly force of Snow Swearers, traversing the undulating Frozen Tundra, eventually stopping at a secluded place.
It was a closed narrow canyon, a scar left by a heavenly rift.
Ice and snow piled within, the wind howling between the walls, as if whispering ancient taboos.
At the bottom of the valley, Snow Swearers were gathering in droves, forming a twisted yet orderly array, seemingly performing so kind of ritual.
They were prostrating, chanting, roaring; the Priest wearing masks made of animal bones and grey iron, as if welcoming the descent of a "Divine Being."
The mages dared not approach; they watched from a distance within a cave, applying nurous concealnt spells.
"This doesn’t look like an ordinary gathering." Flora frowned and instructed to record the anomaly,
Everyone speculated and debated about what they were doing.
But always-silent Dilin slowly stood up and walked to the edge of the cave.
"Let see." he said.
Dilin extended his right hand, his five fingers caressing the air lightly, the lines of magic rippling like water, slowly spreading from his fingertips, weaving into an invisible spiritual network.
It was his proud sensing technique, "Sensing·Spiritual Resonance Thread."
His consciousness penetrated the barrier, following the currents to probe into the magical vortex at the valley’s bottom.
However, in the next second—
"Ugh!"
He suddenly kneeled on the ground, forehead veins bulging, as if sothing indescribable pierced through his ntal barrier.
"Dilin!" a mage exclaid, rushing over to support him.
"Don’t touch ... do not touch..." Dilin’s voice was hoarse, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, teeth clenched tight, his magic power fluctuating violently.
For a full half-minute, only his rapid breathing and the low-frequency hum of magic resonance echoed around.
Finally, he slowly unclenched his fist, his eyes refocusing, as if just breaking free from so kind of ntal purgatory.
"...It’s the Nest, without a doubt... and a hundred tis more powerful than the last carcass we encountered."
He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with difficulty, his voice low and trembling.
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