The carriage rolled toward the Zero Ice region, its wheels gliding with an eerie, unnatural smoothness. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Andria sat with his eyes half-closed, his head tilted as if listening to the wind itself. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

  "Old man," he whispered, his voice cutting through the silence. "Someone is tracking us."

  The old Knight shifted uncomfortably, looking out into the dense thicket. "Tracking us? Are you sure?"

  "There’s no time to explain," Andria leaned forward, his face hardening. He turned to the little girl. "Can you read his thoughts?"

  She shook her head, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her cloak. "I can’t read the thoughts of someone I can't see."

  Andria exhaled sharply. "Then we change the plan. You two hide in the back and roll out when I give the signal. I’ll take the reins. I need a place where the branches are thick enough to swallow a man."

  Scene II: The Lightning Bolt

  As they reached a shadowed bend in the forest, Andria slowed the horse. With practiced agility, he swapped his place with a life-sized doll—a decoy crafted by the merchant’s power. He slipped into the undergrowth, vanishing just as a streak of crackling blue light tore through the canopy.

  A lightning arrow.

  It struck with a deafening crack, shattering the carriage roof and piercing through the decoy and the horse in a single, brutal line of energy. The carriage lurched to a violent halt. A man emerged from the trees, a predatory grin stretching across his face.

  "Is that you, little hero? Here your journey ends," he announced, walking toward the wreckage with arrogant strides. He reached the driver's seat, expecting a corpse, but his smile curdled into a snarl. "A doll?! You little rat!"

  Four more mercenaries dropped from the branches, their weapons drawn, eyes darting around in confusion. "How did he know?" one hissed. "We didn't lose sight of them for a second!"

  Scene III: The Counter-Strike

  "You wonder how?" A voice drifted from the darkness, cold and detached.

  Before the mercenaries could turn, a faint gleam cut through the shadows. A Fundo—a sharp blade attached to a weighted rope—whistled through the air. In a heartbeat, it pierced the throat of the man who had just spoken. With a wet thud, he fell, and the blade vanished back into the trees like a ghost.

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  The mercenaries backed up, their shoulders touching as they formed a desperate circle. Their hands trembled on their sword hilts.

  "What was that? Did you see it?"

  Andria stepped out from the gloom. He didn't look like a hero; he looked like a hunter. He rolled his shoulders, his gaze tracking their every move.

  "I don't have mana to sense you," Andria said, a mocking edge to his voice. "But in my world, I trained my body to sleep while my heart stayed awake. I don't sense your power—I sense the void you leave when you draw it. Now, shall we begin the second round?"

  The fight was a blur of steel and wind. Andria moved with terrifying efficiency, his Fundo dancing like a metallic viper, fueled by a wind stone that accelerated every strike. One by one, they fell, until only the leader remained, gasping in the dirt.

  Scene IV: The Tax of Life

  The old Knight and the girl emerged from the brush. The Knight’s face was pale as he surveyed the carnage.

  "We almost died!" the Knight barked, though his voice lacked real heat.

  The girl looked at the wreckage of their carriage and then at Andria. "Let me see who sent them," she said, placing a small hand on the dying leader’s forehead.

  She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing. "They were hired in a tavern. They took the job for the money. Three hundred silver coins."

  Andria’s eyes lit up. He wasted no time stripping the pouch from the leader’s belt. "Three hundred? Actually, I see three gold pieces here. Consider this a tax for sparing your soul the trouble of carrying it to the afterlife."

  "Hey!" the Knight protested, crossing his arms. "My carriage is ruined! My goods are gone! I want compensation—two hundred and fifty silver!"

  Andria tossed a coin in the air and caught it. "Two hundred. Take it or walk."

  The little girl interjected, raising a sharp eyebrow. "Give me fifty. We’ll use it to buy extra food for the village in the Zero region. The Ice Captain’s men bring food, but they could use a treat."

  Andria looked at the girl, his cynical expression softening just a fraction. "Fine. You're far too kind for your own good."

  Scene V: The Hidden Watcher

  "So, how do we get there without a horse?" the Knight grumbled, rubbing his aching knees.

  "We walk," Andria replied. "The village is only three kilometers away."

  "I'm eighteen!" the Knight shouted. "I'm in the prime of my youth, but I'm not walking that far!"

  "You're eighteen?" Andria scoffed. "And I'm a king."

  The girl sighed, pulling a piece of enchanted parchment from her bag. "Father, use the paper the Deputy Ice Captain gave you. Just channel mana into it, and it will transform into a transport."

  Andria took the paper, staring at it with intense concentration. His face turned red from the effort, but the paper remained flat.

  "You idiot!" the girl groaned, slapping her forehead. "I forgot—you have no magic! You're completely useless at this!"

  As Andria sat by a tree, lamenting his lack of sorcery, a pair of eyes watched them from a high ridge. A figure held a long-range scope, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

  "So, the mercenaries failed," the watcher whispered. "Good. They were only level-one trash anyway. The real fun hasn't even started. Keep walking toward the mountains, Andria... the Silver Ice Monsters are waiting. They don't just eat the wicked—they eat everything. I'

  m going to make you taste true terror."