Chapter 24: Convergence

  Dragonwood Village lay huddled in the colossal shadow cast by the Ancestral Dragon Mountains, looking like a scattering of debris forgotten by time. Beyond the village perimeter, the Frostwood forest stretched into the gloom, its branches heavy with the weight of permafrost. When the wind stirred, the trees produced a faint, brittle friction—a sound like the forest itself whispering in a language of ice.

  The village was smaller than any of them had imagined—barely a dozen households scattered along a single, straight dirt road. This unadorned artery cut through the heart of the settlement, bisected at its center by a narrower path to form a crude cross. This simple geometry divided the living space into four stark quadrants, each containing three or four log cabins whose roofs groaned under snow thick enough to bend the rafters.

  The outermost houses had clearly been abandoned for years. Their window frames were hollow sockets, their doors hung askew, and snow had invaded through the gaps to form miniature white hills within the rooms. Even the inhabited dwellings were shrouded in a heavy silence. The log walls, polished to a deep brown by years of biting cold, were chinked with dried moss. Small windows, covered in murky animal hides or waxed cloth, offered only the occasional flicker of a dim oil lamp—a light that felt stingy and guarded, as if afraid of revealing too much.

  An eerie stillness permeated the entire village. There was no sound of children playing, no neighborly chatter, and not even a wisp of hearth smoke—at least, not at this hour. The villagers clearly didn't bother clearing their streets; the packed snow made the road a treacherous landscape of ruts and hollows. Only at the village entrance, atop a tall wooden pole, hung a weather-beaten sign. On it, one could just barely make out the crude carving of a dragon, followed by two characters—"Dragonwood"—half-eaten by the wind and snow.

  The surrounding Frostwood forest embraced the village like a high, grey-white wall. The woods were deep, their branches interlaced into a dense web that likely remained dark even at high noon. Because of this oppressive gloom, the faint light from the few inhabited windows felt exceptionally prominent, almost piercing in the thick darkness.

  Ronen and Mary sat quietly on the roof of the camp carriage for a while, until the snow-hounds resting nearby suddenly pricked up their ears. They stood, letting out low growls and sharp, short barks toward the south.

  The two followed the hounds' gaze. Deep in the murky night, the swaying silhouette of another camp carriage emerged, gradually sharpening into focus. The dogs pulling the second carriage barked back in excitement, their voices echoing across the silent tundra and shattering the frozen peace.

  Ronen leaned forward and leaped nimbly from the roof. He turned and opened his arms for Mary. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and jumped. The expected impact never came; the mercenary caught her steadily, his grip strong yet restrained, before gently setting her on the ground.

  "Finally, we're here."

  Vivian let out a long sigh, sounding as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She rapped her knuckles against the carriage door and raised her voice: "We've arrived!" She then walked toward Ronen, her brow slightly furrowed as her gaze swept the surroundings. "Where are the others? Just the two of you?"

  "Mr. Wolf and the others went into the village to scout," Ronen replied. "They wanted to see if they could arrange lodging for the night. Also..."

  "Mary! I thought I'd never see you again!"

  Before Ronen could finish, a crisp, excited voice cut in. Zoe came hopping out of the carriage. She practically ran to Mary, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. The two immediately grabbed each other's hands, huddling close.

  "You have no idea what we ran into on the road," Zoe said rapidly, her voice a mix of lingering fear and excitement. "A bull! A massive one, as tall as a mountain, blocking the middle of the path..."

  The two apprentices leaned their heads together, immediately sinking into a hurried, low-voiced exchange, sharing the sights and anxieties of their time apart.

  Watching them, a gentle smile touched Vivian's face, though it was quickly replaced by her usual gravity. She turned back to Ronen, her voice dropping an octave. "The journey here wasn't exactly smooth, but at least the whole team is back together. How long has Wolf been gone? I have something important to discuss with everyone immediately."

  Ronen nodded. While the two girls were occupied, he gave Vivian a brief summary of their journey, specifically mentioning Emma’s early arrival.

  It wasn't long before Wolf and his group returned, their faces etched with a touch of disappointment. From their expressions alone, Ronen knew the villagers hadn't been easy to deal with.

  "The locals aren't exactly welcoming," Wolf sighed. "I stated our business to the village head and asked if we could lodge with a family for a while. He gave me an immediate answer: a flat refusal."

  He paused, looking toward the dark, looming shapes of the abandoned houses on the outskirts. "But at least they aren't chasing us away. The old man has some shred of humanity left. He said those empty shacks are ours to use as we please."

  Turning, Wolf slammed his palm against the side of the camp carriage, the heavy thud echoing through the cold air. "Besides, we have this—it was designed for camping, after all. Staying in those houses for a few nights shouldn't be a problem."

  The two carriages rolled slowly onto Dragonwood’s sole straight road. Along the way, every door and window remained tightly shut, a picture of deathly silence. Yet, as the wheels crunched through the snow past each log cabin, the hair on the back of Ronen's neck stood up. He could feel it—behind those dark, lightless windows, dozens of eyes were silently tracking their every move.

  The group eventually settled on a derelict house that appeared structurally sound to serve as their temporary base. Cold stone steps led to a porch on the south side, mostly swallowed by snow, leaving only a few blurred outlines visible.

  The entire building leaned visibly, the eaves hanging low under the weight of the snow as if on the verge of collapse. Not a single window was intact; behind broken glass, loose shutters clattered lonely in the wind. Massive snowdrifts had crushed the rotting wooden supports on one side, burying what used to be a woodshed and a small outhouse in the corner.

  It was a grim, desolate place, likely visited only by the wind and snow. Yet, it was the best of the ruins.

  The house sat on a raised stone foundation—a common northern design to keep out the snow. The edges had once been lined with smooth wooden steps, most of which were now collapsed or rotted through. The "door" was long gone, replaced by a heavy wooden plank leaning precariously against the frame—a purely symbolic barrier.

  Ronen moved the plank aside. The interior was pitch black, and a stale smell of mold mixed with dust billowed out, making his nose itch.

  Mary followed him inside, looking around before softly chanting an incantation. Several soft but bright orbs of light manifested around her like waking fireflies. They drifted slowly into the corners of the room, dispelling the gloom and illuminating the dust-caked hall.

  Zoe skipped in, seemingly inspired by her friend's action. A faint green light flickered in her eyes, and suddenly, an unprompted breeze swept through the house. It was crisp and clean, swirling up years of stagnant air and carrying it out through the broken windows, along with some of the freshly fallen snow.

  However, as soon as the spell was complete, Zoe swayed, her face turning visibly pale. Mary, being close, reached out to steady her.

  Seeing this, Ethan’s brow locked tight, his voice sharp with displeasure.

  "Miss Zoe, you should be glad you aren't my student. If Mary dared to overextend herself like that for a spell she hasn't mastered, I would strip her of every practical credit." He swept a stern gaze over both girls. "When we return, I shall have a word with Professor Els—I'd like to know exactly how he's been instructing his pupils."

  Zoe stuck out her tongue, managing to stand straight while maintaining a mischievous look. "It's fine, Professor! My mentor always says the path of magic is paved with experimentation..."

  "But mindless experimentation at the cost of exhaustion is a disgrace to the White Star Magic Tower," Ethan interrupted, his tone icy. "If you collapse from mana depletion in actual combat, you become nothing but a burden to the team."

  As he spoke, he raised his right hand, a faint blue glow appearing in his eyes. A gentle, pure stream of mana flowed toward Zoe, and her color quickly returned.

  "Thanks, Professor!" Zoe said with a grin.

  Ethan shook his head. "I am replenishing your mana, but I do not condone your actions. You are not my student, and I have no obligation to guide you, but I hope you remember this: a true mage should hold reverence for every drop of their power."

  At that moment, Mark stepped up beside Zoe. He clearly couldn't stand the man lecturing his niece and spoke up with an unfriendly tone. "Professor, aren't you being a bit harsh? Zoe was just trying to help. Thanks to her, this place is actually livable now."

  "This was a mere Basic Breeze spell. Any competent mage should be able to cast it with ease," Ethan replied dismissively.

  "If that's the case, why didn't you do it?" Mark shot back.

  "The timing of a spell requires situational judgment. Once I had confirmed the area was safe, I would have purified the air myself." Ethan’s brow tightened, and he shot a glare at Mary. "And you, Mary—casting spells without assessing your surroundings is equally improper!"

  Mark let out a scoff. "I think you're just trying to protect your 'orthodox' pride. You're looking for excuses. In a mage's duel, casting speed is everything. For a grand mentor, you're slower than an apprentice. What right do you have to criticize her?"

  "Is that so?" The blue light in Ethan’s eyes flared, and a faint frost mist began to swirl around him. The water elements in the air gathered silently. "Would you like to test that theory?"

  "Enough."

  Wolf’s voice cut in smoothly, his body positioning itself directly between the two men. He didn't raise his voice, but his gaze carried an unmistakable warning.

  "I doubt the task ahead is light enough for two mages to start infighting the moment we arrive."

  "We've been traveling all day. Everyone is exhausted. The priority now is to check this house, ensure it's safe, and get some rest for the investigation tomorrow."

  His gaze shifted between Ethan and Mark.

  "I have no interest in interfering with your philosophical disputes, but since you've appointed me leader, my responsibility is to see this mission through. Put your personal grievances aside."

  Ethan remained silent for a moment, the frost mist around him gradually dissipating. He gave Mark a cold look.

  "For Mr. Wolf’s sake, we'll leave it at this for today. But Mark, I will remember your provocation."

  He turned and walked deeper into the house, his voice carrying back clearly.

  "Once the mission is over, I will issue a formal challenge. If you have a shred of a mage's honor left, do not refuse. Then, I will show you the meaning of 'orthodoxy.'"