The "cold wave" Lena mentioned stirred a vague memory in Yeats — it seemed to be the main plot of Chapter One in Phantom Wings.
He said "seemed" because Chapter One was so far behind him now, and the details were almost forgotten in later versions of the game.
What he was certain of was that Frostridge would inevitably face this cold wave sooner or later.
The silver-haired youth sat on a wooden chair, glancing back at Frakas and Gray standing behind him. Their reactions to Lena's warning couldn't be more different.
Frakas was silent, weathered face creased with a slight frown as he pondered deeply.
Gray played absentmindedly with her newly acquired returning axe, her mood light and carefree.
Yeats looked at Lena, the red-haired wolf-eared woman sitting across the wooden table, and asked,
"Miss Lena, could you describe this cold wave in more detail?"
"Every winter," Lena began, "the jagged mountains that separate the Northern Territories and the Kingdom of the Golden Lion are hit by the cold wave. Fierce snowstorms bury the northern provinces in snow, while barbaric northern tribes invade the kingdom, burning and pillaging."
Her gaze hardened, the sharpness of a merchant replaced by the ruthless edge of a warrior.
"Besides the savage orcs, hungry monsters from the mountains swarm outward, gathering into a terrifying magical tide. Frostridge stands as the frontline against this tide."
Yeats fell silent for a moment.
The land he was about to govern was more treacherous than he had imagined.
"Since the cold wave is so dangerous, doesn't the king care?" Gray asked, voicing what most of the kingdom's people thought.
The current king was a great conqueror who expanded the kingdom's borders by repelling barbarians and defeating Roland in the south. But his hesitation over succession sparked a civil war in later updates, ultimately bringing a beloved princess to power and crowning her empress.
"That's true," Lena said with a bitter laugh, "in years past, the king dispatched the royal guard and summoned lords to fight the magical tide at this time."
"But the old king is frail now, and his heirs fight bitterly over the throne. The lords scramble to expand their own holdings. Who has time to care about the peasants on the frontier?"
Lena took a long swig from her cup of strong liquor, revealing her raw honesty.
"Master Brandy, the Frostridge you're heading to is a half-abandoned domain. It might vanish from the kingdom's maps someday, with only a handful of villagers stubbornly clinging to the land."
"My advice: persuade them to leave and seek refuge with your siblings."
Her wolf-like eyes locked onto Yeats's face, reading every flicker of expression.
"Population is a precious asset. With that as a loyalty token, they won't give you a hard time."
"Enough," Frakas said quietly, suppressing his anger.
"Suggesting a noble abandon their domain is an insult."
"What's more important — life or land?" Lena's golden eyes shone with challenge. "You're Frakas, right? Seems you've grown old. What happened to the Sword of Brandy?"
The Sword of Brandy?
Yeats was surprised.
Old Frakas still had such a cool nickname!
Nicknames were common in this medieval world — the Conqueror King, the White Pirate King, and the like.
His past memories fused with the present, reminding him of his own infamous nickname.
The Rotten Branch of the Brandy family.
It's never too late to change.
The cold wave, arriving in three months, would be a huge challenge.
But Frostridge was his home base — leading its people through the storm was the only path to greater growth.
Lena wasn't a mean-spirited character in the game; her sympathy for common folk came from humble origins.
Yeats cast a glance at a slightly annoyed Frakas, signaling he'd handle things from here.
He slowly said,
"Miss Lena, your suggestion to persuade the villagers to leave — it's because you don't want to see them perish in the cold wave, right?"
Lena's golden eyes twinkled as she smiled.
"They're your subjects, young master — not mine."
"Fair enough," Yeats laughed, "I've taken your advice. But whether they leave or stay, I'll let the villagers decide."
Lena felt a strange sensation, as if a fourteen-year-old boy had seen through her.
But to find the right trading partner, she had to provoke and test the other party with words.
For now, this young master was calm and mature — someone to build a long-term partnership with.
Ultimately, it would depend on how this baron dealt with the cold wave.
"So, baron, are you going to take up your post in Frostridge, or are you already planning an escape route?" Lena asked.
"I don't consider myself a superior noble, Miss Lena."
The silver-haired youth smiled, his sea-green eyes gentle and captivating — a smile that made Lena briefly lose her composure.
"I will stand with the people of Frostridge, guarding the kingdom's frontier until the cold wave passes."
A breeze fluttered the tent's curtains, candle flames flickering in the silent camp.
It's rare to hear a noble speak of fighting alongside the commoners.
Frakas's eyes shone with emotion.
The young master's face before him seemed to overlap with the youthful face of years ago.
The sun set low as Yeats sat on a haystack, swinging his legs.
Frakas gently applied salve to his reddened, swollen eyes and asked softly,
"Yeats, do you know why you always make your father angry?"
"He loves you very much, young master. You will inherit his lands, so his expectations are high," Frakas said.
"You're wrong, Frakas," the boy shook his head.
"If the estate splits among heirs, the Brandy family will only weaken generation by generation. I'm not gifted enough to bring honor to the Brandys, but I can let my father disinherit me. If he leaves everything to my elder brothers, the family will suffer less infighting. That's all I can do for the Brandys."
The knight was stunned.
A boy under ten, saved personally from enemy lines, with no talent — willing to sacrifice his future for the family.
"Frakas, don't tell anyone this," the boy said seriously. "I've only ever trusted you."
The golden wheat fields bathed in sunset, the boy sat on the haystack.
The knight knelt on one knee, overwhelmed with emotion, swearing allegiance.
"In the name of the Sword of Brandy, young master, I pledge eternal loyalty!"
"Hey — steward?"
Gray's low voice cut through.
"Yeats and Frakas are still talking. Why are you crying?"
Frakas looked at Yeats's back and said hoarsely,
"I never thought the young master was rotten wood. He'll never abandon Frostridge or its people."
Gray rolled her eyes.
"What's he talking about? Sounds like nonsense."
The cold wave sounded like a disaster only an ancient dragon could bring.
Gray secretly hoped, "Maybe as Yeats's bodyguard, I'll get to see a dragon!"
Elsewhere,
"The Starlight Consortium will remain here for two months," Lena said, "If you need anything for your domain, just come see us. I'll offer you good prices."
Yeats shook her hand. "Pleasure doing business."
That night, the three stayed in the consortium's camp.
Before leaving the next day, Lena handed Yeats a scroll.
"This is a first-ring spell, Animal Messenger. You can use it to designate a beast as a trained messenger to relay information to the Starlight Consortium."
Lena's sharp merchant eyes gleamed.
"Consider it a personal gift, proof of our goodwill."
Yeats accepted the scroll.
"Thanks, I'll put it to good use."
Like letting Snowy Owl stay up late learning, gaining messenger abilities.
Unfortunately, the magic on the scroll disappears once learned; otherwise, you could sell it after use…
Lena smiled.
"If Frostridge survives the cold wave, it'll be good for our consortium. Best of luck."
Leaving camp, Yeats counted their gains:
Two enchanted items, a new spellbook for Snowy Owl, and critical information about the coming cold wave.
The golden autumn days gave them about three months before the storm.
Still enough time to develop the domain — but not much.
Inside the carriage, Yeats rested his forehead on his hand.
Frakas's voice broke the silence:
"Young master, not far now. We're almost at Frostridge."
Yeats looked up, eyes shining.
After a week's journey, he was finally taking up his post.