The sun did not rise in Isfellan that day; the sky merely transitioned from a pitch black to a somber, bruised grey. Lake Bejana, its waters frozen ten meters deep, had become a lethal arena. Around the perimeter, the Northern Lords stood with their axes and clan banners, their faces as rigid as the ice beneath their feet.
Harold stepped into the center of the lake alone. He wore no heavy armor, only leather and dark wool to keep his movements fluid. In his grip, he held the greatsword of de Croul, crudely reforged by the fortress smiths.
"A General without an army!" a booming voice echoed across the ice. Lord Karsten, a giant of a man with a bear pelt draped over his shoulders, stepped forward wielding a horrific spiked mace. "You bring Western women to our lands, Harold! You bring treachery! Isfellan bows only to blood, not to trade papers!"
On the lakeshore, Anne stood beside Caine. Caine was busy tinkering with a brass device that emitted a rhythmic mechanical ticking.
"You're actually letting your husband fight that monster?" Caine asked without looking up. "Karsten could crush a horse's skull in a single blow."
"Harold is no horse, Caine," Anne replied flatly, though her hand, hidden beneath her cloak, was clenched tight. "He is the storm. And Karsten simply needs to be reminded of that."
Rainnes stood slightly behind them, her eyes closed. She was trying to separate the sound of the Lords' footsteps from a much deeper frequency—something pulsing beneath the layers of lake ice.
"Wait..." Rainnes whispered. "There's something down here. Not water. Something hungry."
Caine glanced at Rainnes. "That's why I prepared these." He pointed toward four silver pillars his team had driven into the four corners of the lake. "Resonance-shattering crystals. If 'Bael' tries to interfere in this spectacle, he's in for an electric shock he hasn't felt since ancient times."
In the center of the lake, the battle commenced.
Karsten swung his mace with a speed that made no sense for a man of his bulk. Harold dodged, letting the mace strike the ice. CRACK! Fissures raced outward, but Harold did not falter. He glided across the slick surface as if it were a ballroom floor.
Harold struck horizontally, sparks flying as his blade met the handle of Karsten's mace. "You talk of blood, Karsten!" Harold growled. "But you let your people starve while you hoard meat in your cellars. That is not the Northern tradition. That is greed!"
"Silence, you Vaine dog!" Karsten roared, his eyes bloodshot with rage.
However, just as Karsten was about to swing a finishing blow, the ice beneath them shuddered violently. A roar that did not sound human erupted from the depths of the lake. The water beneath the ice began to boil with a sickly purple light.
"He's waking up!" Rainnes screamed.
The clouded sun suddenly seemed to swirl. A giant shadow with three heads—man, cat, and toad—began to take shape beneath the surface of the ice, directly under Harold and Karsten's feet. It was the manifestation of Bael.
"Caine! Now!" Anne shouted.
Caine pulled a lever on his device. The four silver pillars at the lake's edge flared with a blinding white light. A current of anti-resonance energy surged across the ice, forming a glowing net that trapped Bael's manifestation.
The entity shrieked—a high-frequency sound that sent the Northern Lords to the ground, clutching their ears. But not Harold. Protected by the frequency necklace Anne had given him, he remained standing.
Harold seized the moment Karsten was stunned by the noise. He did not kill him. Instead, he drove his sword directly between Karsten's trembling legs, cleaving the ice until frigid water geysered out.
"Choose, Karsten," Harold said, his breath steaming in the cold air. "Drown with this demon of the past, or stand with me and feed your people."
Karsten looked into Harold's eyes, then at Anne's glowing net holding back an unimaginable occult force. For the first time, the Bear Lord felt pure fear—not of the sword, but of the future power brought by the Vaine family.