CHAPTER 255: CHAPTER 199: INFORMATION ABOUT THE NEST

Takalin is one of the rare veterans among the Snow Swearers, nearly forty years old this year.

In these turbulent times, surviving to this age as a Snow Swearer is already a luxury.

Moreover, he has a thirteen-year-old son, Aik, who is his only living concern.

These are enough to make him feel happy.

These Snow Swearers, now hiding in a village in the northern part of Snow Peak County, long erased from the map.

Since the Empire started purging the Snow Swearers last year, this place has become one of the few remaining strongholds within the Empire’s borders.

Day after day, they waited here for the leader’s orders, capturing those solitary members of the Imperial Nobility and Knights, and then sacrificing them to the "Ancient God of Cold Abyss."

But the sacrificial rites are not their responsibility.

It is a matter handled by a priest wearing a bone-white mask and a black feather robe.

No one has seen his face, nor heard his voice except for when he mutters curses.

At first, everything seemed normal enough.

The scarcity of people was a fact, but morale persisted, at least in Takalin’s view.

Yet in recent days, he began to notice something was amiss.

It started with Herrick, a young warrior whose incessant chatter could be annoying, suddenly turning silent and withdrawn, staring at the campfire all day, lost in thought.

His mouth would constantly move unconsciously, as if whispering to someone.

Then there was Ula, who had once been a great lover of wine, not touching a drop for quite some time now.

Initially, Takalin merely furrowed his brow, thinking that this group might have been affected by the "whispers" of the Ancient God.

Until that midnight, when he himself began to talk in his sleep.

And he had no idea what he was saying.

It was his son Aik who woke him up.

"Father... what were you saying just now, you spoke for such a long while, do you remember?"

Takalin broke out in a cold sweat. How could he possibly remember?

More terrifyingly, this sleep-talking began to spread throughout the camp.

Many people started speaking meaningless words. When they spoke, their eyes were empty, and their voices sounded as if coming from a deep well.

And he discovered that people in the camp began to "change."

Those past intimate brothers gradually became unfamiliar.

Looking at their faces, Takalin would even have the illusion: "Is this person... really someone I know?"

He looked down at Aik beside him, sleeping quietly curled under the blanket.

But the firelight on his face seemed to cast upon a block of ice. Not a trace of warmth.

Clearly, the fire was hot, yet he felt increasingly cold.

An unspeakable premonition, like a needle, slowly pricked at his heart.

He finally realized something was wrong in this place.

But Aik... hasn’t changed; he still has a chance.

Takalin began to prepare, secretly hiding a few short blades and some dried food, meticulously studying the escape routes on the map.

The back way through the valley was the hardest to traverse, but also the most concealed.

As long as they could pass through that frozen forest, they could flee, going anywhere, just leaving here.

On that night, the surroundings were so silent, only the wind could be heard.

Takalin grabbed Aik’s hand, silently stepping into the wasteland of the back valley.

They moved very slowly, each step as if treading on thin ice.

But they couldn’t get far.

The few who pursued them appeared behind at an uncertain moment.

They did not shout, nor did they give orders,

just quietly followed, like shadows attached to their backs.

Takalin turned back, recognizing those faces.

They were comrades who fought alongside him, people who once drank, joked, and battled with him.

"Blo? It’s me, it’s me! Takalin!"

He shouted, trying to wake them.

"Heim! Heim! Wake up! We are brothers!"

But they did not speak, just slowly approached, their eyes empty.

At that moment, Takalin truly felt fear.

Not the fear of death, but the nameless fear of "them still being alive but no longer themselves."

He clutched Aik as they fled desperately.

The footsteps behind them were like maggots on rotting bones, not fast, but unceasing.

Finally, at a riverbank where streams converged, he stopped.

"Aik," he knelt, gripping his son’s shoulders, eyes full of pain, "Run south, as far as you can, don’t look back."

Aik’s eyes widened, "Father? What are you going to do?"

"Run!" Takalin growled lowly, drawing his long sword.

He turned to face those familiar yet strange figures.

And behind him was everything he needed to protect.

Aik ran desperately.

The cold wind sliced around his ears like a rusty knife as he heard his own rapid breaths.

And that heavy and slow sound of hacking behind him.

The clash of metal and flesh.

Each sound, like a clock striking the heart.

Aik didn’t dare to look back.

There was no snow, yet the sky felt like it was freezing over.

The ground was chilled hard, each step carried a bone-chilling tremor.

His boots had long since cracked, his feet numb, yet he kept running. His father’s voice calling still echoed in his ears.

"Aik, run south! Don’t look back!"

He didn’t look back, didn’t dare to look back.

Just kept running, clutching his father’s short sword and that cold emblem, like holding the entire world as he fled to the end of the night.

Until his legs could no longer lift.

Until the sounds behind finally stopped.

He curled behind a frozen stone, hid in the wind, hid in the silence.

At first, he tried to suppress his trembling, but later even opening his eyes became difficult.

That night was bitterly cold.

It was a chill whipped out from the bones.

He didn’t know how long he slept, only remembered dreaming of his father standing before the firelight, his shadow so long it nearly swallowed the entire valley.

When he awoke again, it was already bright, and the wind had ceased.