Question: In the war between humans and the Demon King's army, what caused the most deaths?
Answer: Not the demons—but the winters of the Northern Nations.
In the bitter cold, adventurers face temperatures dozens of degrees below zero, the need to find direction under snow-buried terrain, and survival with zero food in extreme conditions.
After leaving Count Granat's territory, Frieren's group continued north toward the northernmost point of the continent: Öde. But as the war situation on the northern plateau worsened further, passage became extremely restricted. Without a First-Class Mage accompanying them, even adventurers were barred.
Thus they needed to cross the Huvia Mountains, head to the magical city of Oisast, and take the First-Class Mage Exam at the Continental Magic Association to gain passage rights.
And with Diego accompanying them, this journey would surely go smoothly, right?
Utterly not!
Soon after entering the Huvia Mountains, a blizzard descended. The heavy snow buried the forest, and unluckily, neither Frieren, Fern, nor Stark had any sense of direction.
Frieren walked at the front of the group and announced the bad news: "Tragic report: we're lost. It would be terrible if we perish before even entering the mountains."
"Lady Frieren, is there any way to get through this?" Fern struggled to keep up. The fierce wind made it almost impossible to open her eyes.
"…I don't have any ideas either. I remember there's a cabin nearby. If Dio were here, we could rely on his sharp sense of smell to find shelter." Frieren carefully scanned the surroundings.
"This is bad, Master—we're lost…" Stark brought up the rear. He lightly tapped the axe and spoke feebly to the parasitic Diego on the handle.
"…Turn back, Stark." After a while, the voice came from the axe. "I sent the little dinosaurs out to scout. They just reported back—the cabin is at the foot of the mountain. Go there and wait out the blizzard. Don't push forward through the storm… Hey, Stark! You didn't pass out, did you?! Hey! This is bad—I haven't given Stark extreme-environment pressure training yet!"
Even after years of training under the Freeze God Sword, Stark was still terrified of low temperatures.
Thud...
Stark collapsed into the snow.
Fern heard the sound and hurriedly turned back. She held him in her arms and called out in panic: "Lord Stark! Lord Stark, wake up! If you fall asleep now, you'll never wake up again!"
Stark murmured unconsciously: "…I completed your request, Master…"
"What request was so important?!" Fern tried to rouse Stark's consciousness without success. She turned to Frieren and asked, "What do we do now?"
Empty empty empty empty empty…
Before Frieren could answer, an enormous shadow enveloped the three.
Fern looked up and immediately panicked. A hundreds-of-meters-tall ice-and-snow sculpture of a snowman was spinning nearby.
"Lady Frieren, what kind of monster is this?" Fern's eyes widened in shock. Her voice trembled slightly as she backed away while carrying Stark. "There's no entry for this in Magical Ecology, and my mana detection isn't picking up anything!"
Faced with this sudden change, Frieren seemed frozen in place like she'd been hit with a binding spell, standing stock-still.
"Lady Frieren! What are you doing?!" Fern shouted. She ran back to pull Frieren away.
Frieren didn't respond. Like a puppet she walked straight forward—and even waved.
"A magic that amplifies sound tenfold." Frieren summoned her staff and cupped her hands like a megaphone. "Over here! Over here!"
The sound wave swept across the entire mountain range.
"What exactly are you doing?!?!" Fern was dumbfounded. Out of trust in Frieren, she paused the spell she had begun casting. "Why are you sending coordinates to the monster?!"
We were ready to fight to the death—why did Your Majesty surrender first?!
The ice-snow sculpture bent down, reached out, and scooped the three—plus axe—into its palm. A familiar voice rang out.
"Eh?! Frieren, Fern, and Stark—I finally found you!"
Fern followed the voice to the top of the ice sculpture. The Freeze God Sword was stuck in the snowman's head. Mabel—separated from them for days—was hugging a little dinosaur and controlling the giant construct.
Mabel met Fern's gaze and excitedly waved hello.
"Hiii————!!"
"Mabel-sama?!" Fern's breathing grew unsteady. Her pupils dilated. "I'm so happy to see you, but why are you here?"
"Oh————this————the little dinosaur brought me————" Mabel continued waving. Her voice stretched out across the empty snowy expanse. "I'll take you to the cabin at the foot of the mountain————"
...
The flashback ended. Fern patted her chest in relief, still shaken. "Thank goodness Mabel-sama came. Otherwise I really don't know what we would have done in that situation!"
"Heh heh, it's me—Mabel!"
"Ah—choo!" Stark sneezed again. Snot dripped from his nose.
"Ehh?!" Mabel immediately panicked and tossed a few more logs into the fireplace. "The hot soup still needs a bit more time to finish cooking…"
"Hot soup…" Frieren lowered her gaze, hugged her knees, and pondered deeply. A sudden spark of realization hit her. She clapped her hands. "Oh! I remember—the reward from that doctor gave me this."
Frieren summoned her staff: "A magic that produces hot soup."
Light flashed. Several bowls of steaming hot soup appeared before Frieren. She picked one up and drank contentedly.
눈_눈...
Mabel instantly fell silent. Her eyes turned dead-fish as she stared at Frieren.
Then what was the point of me simmering soup for so long? Magic really doesn't make sense. I hate magic too!
Fern blinked. From the corner of her eye she glanced at Stark—shivering under a blanket.
She silently supported Stark upright—like a mother feeding formula to a baby—held the hot soup, took a small spoon, and fed it to him one spoonful at a time.
"…Smells so good…" Stark's nose twitched. He murmured groggily.
"Can we just leave him here?" Fern paused mid-motion, looked up, and asked.
Not long after, Stark awoke from unconsciousness. Beside him sat an empty bowl that had just held hot soup.
Stark looked around. Frieren and Fern were sleeping together. The only blanket had been stolen by the sleeping Frieren, who was curled up against the wall. Fern shivered in the cold but remained asleep. He himself lay beside the fireplace, warming up.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
Knock knock knock...
"Oh, coming." Stark got up to open it.
Click...
The door opened. A green-haired, extremely muscular elf man carried several crates of food inside.
What the… another adventurer taking shelter…
Stark instinctively moved to close the door.
"Wait, Stark—your Master is still behind me." The green-haired elf spoke up to stop him.
"Who are you, old man?! How do you know my name?!" Stark shouted in shock. "Your voice sounds so familiar—it's terrifying!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The ice-snow sculpture returned carrying a carriage. Mabel pulled out the Freeze God Sword and leaped down from the top.
"Eh————Master! Am I still dreaming?!"
"So noisy…" Frieren and Fern were woken by Stark's shouting.
"See, Stark—I told you to keep it down." The green-haired elf put his hands on his hips and scolded. "You woke up all your friends."
"So who the hell are you, old man?! Why are you lecturing me like it's natural?!"
"Eh? Didn't I say?" The green-haired elf paused, pointed to his long ears, and explained thoughtfully, "I'm the monk Kraft. As you can see, I'm an elf—and the first person to arrive at this cabin. I just went out to move some supplies, and when I came back, you were already here."
"As for why I know you… it's a long story. I went out to chop firewood and try to start a fire. When I returned, I saw you frozen stiff beside the fireplace. Mabel told me about your situation."
Frieren added: "We already said hello."
Stark stared closely at Kraft, growing frantic: "So I'm the only one being left out?!"
The four exchanged glances and finally nodded in unison.
"How can this be—!!!"
...
After a simple catch-up, the misunderstandings between master and disciple were quickly cleared up. Night had fallen.
Stark looked pitiful: "…I thought Master didn't want me anymore."
Mabel retorted: "…I thought Stark abandoned me."
Fern's expression was complicated as she muttered: "It's all Lord Diego's fault…"
Diego…
So they're that dragon-man's companions…
Kraft subtly glanced at Fern. He turned his head, sighed, gathered the clothes drying by the fireplace, and called to Stark:
"Stark, it's night. Time to rest. Let's head out."
"Eh? Why…" Stark was startled. "We're going to sleep outside in the cold wind?!"
"What are you talking about? You're not planning to sleep with the ladies, are you? When we first met, I asked Mabel to use the Freeze God Sword to build an ice cabin outside. The two of us will sleep there." A puzzled look appeared on Kraft's face. He gestured with his hand. "It's fine—the temperature inside an ice cabin made by the Freeze God Sword can be controlled. It's actually very warm. I spread some dry grass too—it won't affect sleep."
With that, Kraft turned and left.
"Oh oh, wait for me!"
With a childlike nature, Stark naturally preferred sleeping with another guy. He hurriedly chased after Kraft to the ice cabin.
Watching the door open, Frieren was displeased. She pursed her lips: "If you're going out, at least close the door…"
...
Inside the ice cabin, Kraft removed his clothes, revealing a powerfully built upper body. Most striking was the terrifying claw-mark scar across his chest—it instantly drew Stark's gaze.
"…Old man, you've trained your body really well. You're strong, right? At least in pure physical ability, you're stronger than me." Stark rubbed his chin, pointed at Kraft's chest, and couldn't help asking, "But… with how strong you are… how did you get that scar on your chest?"
Kraft's expression turned nostalgic. Gently, he removed the goddess pendant hanging around his neck and held it in front of Stark. "Stark—do you believe in the existence of the Goddess?"
"No. But I hope she exists. Otherwise Master would be troubled—he's always searching for the Land of Sleeping Souls." Stark answered bluntly, then asked, "Does this have something to do with the scar on your chest?"
"You really are young. I used to think the same way." Kraft gently stroked the pendant and explained, "It does. This claw mark on my chest was left recently—only about eighty-five years ago."
"That's super long ago?!"
Kraft nodded toward Stark without arguing. He acknowledged the joke: "Yeah—for humans, eighty-five years is too long. That guy should be dead by now. That's why you're going to the Land of Sleeping Souls to find him."
"?" Stark blinked in confusion. Kraft's words had thrown him off—was this still about the scar?
Kraft continued.
"Diego Brando—he was a worthy opponent. Honestly, I don't hate him. I even understand him quite well."
"Eighty-five years ago, I first encountered him in a small forest in the Southern Nations."
"From the moment I saw him—from the lifeless look in his eyes—my monk's sixth sense faintly warned me: [He will destroy this world!] That thought firmly took root in my mind."
"I can't remember our conversation that day clearly anymore. But strangely, a thought welled up in my heart: perhaps my birth was meant to stop him—to prevent him from destroying the world, from straying onto the wrong path, to pull him back to the right one.
"Even now, I still feel that way deep down. And coincidentally, he also wore a pendant around his neck—just in the shape of a cross."
"If my pendant represents gratitude to the Goddess for creating this world…" Kraft's eyes held faint glimmers of light, but they soon extinguished. He asked another question: "Stark—guess what his cross pendant meant?"
Stark thought for a long time. After much hesitation, he answered.
"…Asking the Goddess for good luck?"
Kraft gently shook his head. His throat seemed to catch for a moment before he spoke softly: "No. He said it was to hang the Goddess on the cross."
"When two completely opposing faiths collided, he and I quickly came to blows. During the fight, the more we clashed, the more shocked I became. His rate of improvement was terrifyingly fast.
"At first I held the advantage, but soon we were evenly matched. In the end, I was completely helpless against him.
"I lost… We fought for nearly two years. This scar is from our final clash—it still aches faintly. I nearly died that time, but for some reason he spared me. After that, I never saw him again.
"The only thing I can be thankful for is that he was human. Eighty-five years have passed safely, meaning even if he's still alive, he's an old man on his last legs.
"Stark—from the first time I saw you, I could tell you have a deep connection with him. You may even have been trained by him.
"This premonition might just be my own wishful thinking. But whether it's right or wrong in the future—I hope you can stop him before he makes an irreparable mistake.
"The winters in the Northern Nations are very long. We'll be together for quite a while. Starting tomorrow, I'll train you. Be prepared."
...
So Master…
He used to be like this?
Is the Master I see now his true self?
Or is it just a mask?
Night had deepened. Kraft was already asleep, but Stark tossed and turned, unable to rest. He kept staring at the dinosaur mark on the axe handle.
Whatever… Master is the best. Compared to this old man I just met, I trust Master more—and I trust Frieren and the others' judgment too.
Stark's mouth curved up. Once he thought it through, sleepiness quickly overtook him. He fell into a deep slumber.
Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the ice bricks, shining on the dinosaur mark on the axe handle. The mark flickered, as though shifting into a different form.
[Saying he failed… acting like he's the victim. But that madman broke every bone in my body the first time we met and chased this Dio for two whole years for no reason!]
[That bastard… I should've stomped him to death back then. Now he even wants to steal this Dio's disciple!]
...