The shed was repaired, but such crude shelter held little significance for the group in its current state. For ordinary mercenaries or adventurers passing through, this wooden structure might offer a moment of respite from the blizzard. But for Ronen’s team, it was redundant.

  The mages began chanting short, low incantations. Driven by mana, the two camp wagons began to transform. Like folding paper art, the carriages expanded into two thick, sturdy tents. Under the guidance of Ethan and Mary, the remaining chassis structures reconfigured into long supply tables and low protective fences surrounding the perimeter. Within moments, the two vehicles had linked to form a sophisticated, fully functional temporary camp on the snowy plains.

  Ronen stared, slightly dazed.

  This was his first independent mission, but it was far from his first time camping in the wild. When hunting monsters with the legion, they had to carry heavy rucksacks through dense forests and spend half a day constructing tents that barely blocked the wind. It was for that very reason that mercenaries voluntarily maintained those derelict sheds scattered across the wilderness—they were the only havens in a brutal environment.

  Only now did Ronen truly understand why Wolf had been so shocked when the Lapsus Merchant Circle provided them with these wagons.

  "What, staring like a fool?" Vivian’s voice came from the side. She was hanging a coil of rope onto the fence with crisp, efficient movements. "You don't see these often outside the Frostlands."

  Ronen snapped back to reality and nodded honestly. "I’ve... never seen anything like it."

  "They are prototypes co-developed by the White Star Tower and the Merchant Circle," Ethan explained, his fingers tracing the delicate magitech runes on the carriage wall with technical appreciation. "Though the cost is astronomical, they would be a massive boon for long-term field operations if they could be mass-produced."

  "Provided they don't get flipped by a herd of beasts midway," Wolf interjected with his usual gritty pragmatism. He slapped the tent support. "Hurry up and pack. We wait for Emma until dark—or at least until we figure out where she went."

  Ronen walked silently to the supply table, his fingers brushing the cold, orderly surface. Memories of heavy bags, damp tents, and huddling together for warmth on freezing nights suddenly felt distant in the face of this organized "camp." Technological progress brought not just convenience, but a strange sense of detachment—as if the wilderness were no longer an all-consuming danger, but a mere background being tamed by human ingenuity.

  Yet, he knew it was an illusion. Just like the magitech ballistas hidden beneath the hills, the apparent control could not hide the true forces churning deep within the blizzard.

  And Emma’s disappearance was the first signal of things spiraling out of control.

  "It seems Emma hasn't been here," Vivian sighed, her hands behind her back as she walked up to Ronen. Her tone was calm but carried a heavy weight.

  "I've scouted the perimeter. It’s been snowing all morning, covering everything. If Emma had arrived before us, she would have left tracks—but I found nothing except our own."

  Her words pulled Ronen back from his curiosity about the wagons to the harsh reality.

  "The outpost confirmed it," Wolf added, his voice low and wrapped in a puff of white mist. "No one else has passed through today except us." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the gathered faces. "...We have to face the facts: Emma has likely left the team of her own accord for now."

  A brief silence followed, broken only by the wind whistling against the tent flaps.

  Wolf crossed his arms, his brow furrowed with deep thought. "However, something is worth noting—the soldiers at the outpost told me that about ten days ago, they saw a woman riding a snow wolf pass through here. The description of her gear... sounds a lot like Emma."

  Ronen looked up instinctively. "Does that mean Sister Emma was already..."

  "Not necessarily," Wolf interrupted, though he didn't dismiss the idea. "Could be someone with similar gear, or maybe a relative." He slowed his speech as if thinking aloud. "Remember what she said when she took the job? 'Some private business to handle.' I didn't think much of it then, but now... when we were grouping up, she was the only one who insisted on traveling alone."

  He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear to everyone.

  Vivian crossed her arms, her voice as analytical as a battle commander. "So, she wasn't separated by the blizzard, but left intentionally?"

  "Hard to say," Wolf shook his head. "But if we just sit here waiting like fools while she’s off doing her own thing, we’ll be the laughingstock of the trade."

  Ethan approached with Mary and Zoe. Having overheard the conversation, the mage looked displeased, his tone sharp with the irritation of a man who despised insubordination. "The mission must continue. I will not have the entire commission abandoned or failed because of one person's unauthorized actions!"

  "I agree," Wolf exhaled a long breath that quickly vanished in the dimming light. "As Alice warned, the days in the North are only getting shorter. Every day we delay makes the road ahead harder. Besides, our food is limited. We can resupply at Dragonwood Village, but the Merchant Circle won't foot the bill for rations wasted on a whim."

  A brief silence ensued. Though the snow had stopped, the cold dug into the seams of their clothes like fine needles. Suddenly, someone’s stomach let out a loud growl, puncturing the tense atmosphere.

  Vivian smiled and clapped her hands, her voice intentionally light. "Everyone’s been on the road since before dawn. It’s time to eat. We’ll have lunch here while we wait for Emma. If she hasn't arrived by the time we're finished..."

  She paused, locking eyes with Wolf. "We keep moving. All we can do is report it to the Merchant Circle."

  They were well-prepared; the meticulous Mary had even purchased extra food from Alter, knowing the wagons had ample space. While their eyes betrayed some unease, they weren't panicking—after all, this was a temporary team, and the bonds between them hadn't yet formed.

  After the brief halt, the convoy continued northward.

  Leaving the Glory Plains, the horizon was gradually replaced by snow-capped mountains and silent forests. The road became winding, the sky sliced into fragments by snow-laden branches. The wind carried a scent different from the plains—the smell of permafrost and cold pine.

  Wolf held the reins, his eyes scanning the deepening woods on either side as he continued his lesson for the junior beside him.

  "When the Empire was first founded, there was no such thing as the 'Frostlands.' Those blank spots you see on the map used to be nothing but unnamed mountains and jungles."

  "It wasn't until Glory City shifted its focus to trade that mercenaries and pioneers started pushing north. Only then did human traces slowly appear. Later, for the sake of administration, this entire region was officially designated as the 'Frostlands.'"

  Ronen looked out; the distant mountains layered upon one another, their gray-white silhouettes faint in the post-snow haze.

  "Because of that," Wolf continued, "there are no real major cities here, and very few commoners. Most people living here are descendants of those early pioneers—making a living off the region’s unique stone and timber industries."

  "Dragonwood Village, where we're heading, is one of those settlements," Mary’s voice drifted from the carriage.

  The snow had stopped, and sunlight glinted off the fields. The carriage door was open, letting the crisp air flow through. Mary glanced at her mentor, Ethan, and seeing him nod, she continued softly:

  "I looked up the records after seeing the mission brief. Dragonwood Village... some call it Frostwood Village. Many of these small hamlets are named after nearby landmarks. This one is no different."

  Her tone was steady, carrying the rhythm of a storyteller. "They say during the Age of Enlightenment, the locals saw the shadow of a dragon soaring across the sky before vanishing into the end of the mountains. Thus, the northern range was named the Ancestral Dragon Mountains, and the forest beneath it was called Dragonwood. Later, because the woods are perpetually covered in white rime, people began calling it 'Frostwood.' The village was built by the forest and took the name."

  Wolf looked back with an approving glance. "Clear explanation."

  The afternoon sun fell on Ronen’s shoulder, offering a thin, deceptive warmth. As Wolf had described, the mountain forests thickened, yet remained sparse—clusters of snow-covered houses were scattered among the trees, with thin lines of gray smoke rising from chimneys into the cold air. These settlements had no scale to speak of, a stark contrast to the bustling Glory City, yet they possessed a serene, isolated peace.

  "Looks peaceful, doesn't it?" Wolf asked, as if reading his thoughts. "Don't be fooled. More than half the contracts in Glory City come from the North. These villages are right next to the woods; monster sightings are common, and attacks aren't rare."

  He adjusted the reins. "Even if you avoid the beasts, you have to watch out for mountain bandits on the roads used for hauling timber and stone."

  Ronen looked at the distant rooftops that seemed on the verge of being swallowed by the snowy woods. "If that’s the case... why hasn't the Empire built a city here?"

  "The age of pioneering is over. The major powers are stable now," Wolf shook his head. "And while the Empire and the Demon Race are currently in a truce, everyone knows the peace won't last. The Empire’s focus is on war preparations; they don't have the resources to develop a new city in the North."

  He pointed ahead. "Dragonwood Village, where we’re staying tonight, is about the only place built up by mercenaries. I told you people go there for the Sword Saint, and that’s true, but not the whole story—there are plenty of contracts there with high pay, enough for mercenaries to settle down."

  Wolf’s mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. "A town grows day by day. In a few more years, it might actually become a city sustained by mercenaries and pioneers."

  The team continued north as the terrain became increasingly rugged. Though the weather was good, the pace did not quicken—wary after Emma’s disappearance, Wolf maintained a steady speed to ensure no one else fell behind.

  The sun began to sink, staining the horizon with a gilded red before quietly submerging. Dusk fell like a veil, and the light faded rapidly. Just as the last vestige of warmth was about to be swallowed by the chill, a cluster of lights appeared at the end of the road.

  Dragonwood Village had arrived.