Chapter 15.
The ducal manor stood on the high ground of Frosthold Fortress.
The stone walls were covered with traces left by wind and frost, carrying an air of stern authority.
Staff Officer Victor led the way ahead, his steps steady. The iron armor on his body made faint clinking sounds in the quiet corridor.
Sylvia dismissed everyone else and rely tilted her head toward Logaris West.
“Co with .”
Victor opened his mouth as if to speak, but when he saw Sylvia’s unyielding gaze, he lowered his head and stationed the guards at the end of the corridor.
The path leading to her grandfather’s bedroom felt very long to Sylvia.
She rembered how her grandfather used to lift her over his head with one hand and teach her swordsmanship with the harshest words.
Now that powerful man lay behind the door, close to death.
She pushed open the heavy oak door.
The room was filled with the strong scent of herbal dicine, mixed with the slls of old leather and tal oil.
An extrely thin old man lay on the bed.
His hair was white but neatly combed. He was covered with a thick wool blanket, leaving only a wrinkled face exposed.
The scar running from his brow to his cheek was terrifying.
Even in such sickness, he still resembled a wolf.
The Wolf of the Northern Territory—
Fenrir Von Winterhold.
He opened his cloudy eyes.
Only when he saw Sylvia did a trace of vitality appear within them.
“…You have co.”
His voice was terribly hoarse.
“Grandfather.”
Sylvia quickly walked to the bedside, knelt on one knee, and grasped his thin hand.
It was very cold.
Fenrir’s gaze passed over her and landed on Logaris West standing behind her.
He examined the young man with glasses who looked refined and scholarly.
After a mont, he slowly spoke.
“The intelligence from the royal capital said Sylvia now had a young academy professor by her side.”
“The intelligence did not say that this professor could erase a mountain with a single move.”
Logaris West adjusted his glasses.
His expression did not change, which was essentially a silent acknowledgnt.
Sylvia briefly recounted the ambush on the train.
When she ntioned the combination of a sixth-tier assassin and a sixth-tier magic archer, Fenrir’s expression barely changed, as though it were nothing noteworthy.
Only after she finished did he snort coldly.
“Flies that cannot stand the light.”
No one knew whether he was cursing the assassins or certain people in the royal capital.
“The situation in the Northern Territory is even more chaotic than you imagine.”
Fenrir’s gaze returned to his granddaughter.
Using great effort, he pulled a short sword from beneath his pillow and handed it to Sylvia, sheath and all.
The hilt was shaped like a wolf’s head.
The sheath was engraved with a map of the Northern Territory.
“This is the Fang of the Winter Wolf.”
“It symbolizes command of the Northern Legion.”
“Take it.”
“From today onward, the Northern Territory obeys your command alone.”
Sylvia accepted the short sword with both hands.
It felt extrely heavy.
“Grandfather…”
“Sylvia, rember my words.”
“Forget traditions. Forget the pride of those old n. The problems in the Northern Territory have already rotted to the roots.”
“They must be cut out with ruthless thods.”
“Do whatever you must!”
“Anyone who blocks your path—cut off their head!”
“I am not dead yet. I can still suppress all criticism for you.”
“But my ti is running out.”
“You must turn the Northern Territory into your own territory as quickly as possible.”
He suddenly began coughing violently.
Sylvia hurriedly tried to pat his back.
Fenrir pushed her away.
“You go out first.”
He spoke to Sylvia.
Then his sharp eyes locked firmly onto Logaris West.
“You stay.”
Sylvia glanced at Logaris West, then at her grandfather.
In the end, she nodded and left the room.
The door closed, leaving only the two n inside.
“Sit.”
Fenrir gestured toward the chair beside the bed.
Logaris West sat down.
“For many years, Sylvia’s letters always ntioned you.”
Fenrir’s tone softened slightly as if recalling mories.
“At first, she complained about an annoying fellow at the academy who always competed with her for first place.”
“Later, she said through clenched teeth that one day she would smash all your bottles and experintal equipnt.”
“And later still… she began saying that so of your ideas, though crazy, might actually be useful.”
Logaris West listened quietly.
Behind his glasses, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“This ti, without you, she might truly never have returned.”
Fenrir let out a sigh.
“Professor Logaris West, you are a clever man. You must have seen that Sylvia’s situation is extrely dangerous.”
“Her mother, my daughter, died early.”
“She did not live well within the royal palace.”
“Her father originally treated her rely as a bargaining chip.”
“Now she is caught in the struggle for the crown prince’s position. Her two half-brothers will not spare her.”
“If she fails, her fate will be miserable.”
The old man paused.
A trace of sorrow passed through his cloudy eyes.
“I gave the Northern Territory to her.”
“It is both a foothold and a place of danger.”
“After I die, too many people will be watching her.”
“Alone… it will be too difficult.”
“I ask you to help her.”
“I know this is an excessive request.”
“But she trusts you more than anyone else in the royal family.”
Logaris West fell silent.
He seed to recall their days at the academy.
“I agree.”
Logaris West finally spoke.
His voice was calm.
“However, I am not agreeing because of your request.”
“Sylvia is my investor.”
“Protecting the safety of an investor is a basic prerequisite for cooperation.”
A faint smile appeared in Fenrir’s eyes.
“Good.”
“I will not let your help go unrewarded.”
The old man took a breath.
His next words were spoken with difficulty.
“As compensation, I will tell you a secret.”
“A secret that would make every spellcaster on the continent fight over it.”
Logaris West’s brow lifted slightly.
A secret that all spellcasters would fight over?
That was quite a claim.
Fenrir stared at him and said slowly, word by word:
“The legacy of the Mad King Maxim.”
The calm expression on Logaris West’s face vanished instantly.
His pale blue pupils shrank sharply.
Mad King Maxim.
The one who ended the era of the Mage Wars.
One of the most powerful mages in history—and also the most infamous madman.
Legend said he had attempted to challenge the gods themselves.
In the end, he was slain by the Hero King Astrelia I and the Seven Knights, his kingdom destroyed.
All of his research and inheritance disappeared along with his tower.
For scholars pursuing magical truth, Maxim’s research notes were priceless treasures.
“My ancestor was one of the Seven Knights who slew the Mad King.”
“I know where he died.”
“While I am still alive, if you can help Sylvia truly turn the Northern Territory into her own territory, I will tell you that secret.”
……
When Logaris West stepped out of the room, he seed sowhat distracted.
Sylvia was leaning against the wall waiting for him.
Seeing his dazed expression, she frowned slightly.
“What did he say to you?”
Logaris West ca back to his senses.
Looking at her concerned expression, he suddenly smiled.
“Nothing much.”
“The Grand Duke simply offered a cordial and friendly greeting and expressed strong support for my scientific career.”
“Speak like a human.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes.
“He said you wet the bed frequently when you were a child.”
“Logaris West!”
……
Inside the bedroom, Fenrir lay alone on the bed, quietly staring at the ceiling.
At last, his gaze shifted toward the south, in the direction of the royal capital.
“My dear king…”
“What are you plotting this ti?”
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