Although spring had descended upon the Northern Province, the wind was still bitterly cold.
Siv's hands tightly gripped the reins, her fingertips having long lost all feeling.
The warhorse beneath her breathed heavily, its four hooves stumbling, the sweat on its body quickly frosting in the cold night.
Faster... a little faster...
Behind her were the burning flames of the Cold Moon Tribe, the time bought by her brother with his life.
Don't look back, don't stop...
"Run south, and never come back!"
Sigel's angry roar still echoed in her mind, like a nail driven into the depths of Siv's soul.
Sigel was dead, as were her father, mother, brothers, and sisters.
And she was living pathetically, like an abandoned spirit, wandering in this world without belonging.
Not knowing where to go, just constantly fleeing south.
Food was long gone, Siv could only quench her thirst with river water and barely fill her stomach with tree bark and small amounts of wild fruit.
After several days, the warhorse finally exhausted its strength, letting out a long neigh as it collapsed.
Siv tumbled from horseback, falling heavily to the ground.
She wanted to stand up, but couldn't even move her fingers.
Her consciousness gradually drifted, and Sigel's face appeared in her mind.
I'm sorry, brother... I can't go on...
Her vision gradually blurred as Siv's consciousness sank into darkness.
...
A grand procession from the Crimson Tide was advancing northward.
The hunters were focused, the knights vigilantly surveying their surroundings, all hoping to perform well in the hunt.
After all, this hunt was personally led by the lord.
Vaerik, meanwhile, wore a thick wolf skin cloak, swaying slightly as he rode his warhorse.
A string of disorderly animal tracks appeared on the wasteland.
The experienced hunter immediately crouched down to examine them, saying quietly: "My lord, there are traces of wild rabbits ahead, and more than one."
Vaerik nodded slightly, slowly drawing the short bow at his waist, nocking an arrow, and narrowing his eyes to gaze ahead.
Sure enough, not far away near a clump of withered grass, a grayish-white wild rabbit was cautiously poking out its head.
"Whoosh—"
The arrow shot through the air, moving so fast that its trajectory was almost invisible, instantly and precisely piercing the rabbit's neck!
The rabbit rolled over once, twitched twice, and then completely lost its life.
"What marksmanship!"
"As expected of our lord!"
The hunters and knights immediately applauded and cheered, all flattering him.
"The lord is truly accomplished in both civil and military arts, even hunting with such precision!"
"Such archery skills would make even the royal court hunters feel ashamed!"
"If our Northern Province had a hundred such divine archers, what barbarian invasion would we fear?"
"Indeed! Truly a born warrior!"
Some knights even picked up the rabbit and ran to Vaerik, faces full of admiration: "My lord, could this rabbit be a descendant of the king of beasts? Otherwise, how could it be so difficult to shoot?"
The corner of Vaerik's mouth twitched slightly.
These people... were really too good at flattery.
But he didn't mind, after all, a lord's dignity and reputation sometimes had to be built up through these small "legendary deeds."
Of course, this hunt was merely an excuse to divert attention.
The real target was the princess who was about to be devoured by the Frost White Bear.
Using hunting as an excuse to head north and find her was just Vaerik's way of hiding his prophet-like ability.
Of course, Vaerik also knew that some clever people around him had already begun to notice anomalies.
They weren't fools and had long noticed that their lord had "too much luck."
From coming from the south to the Northern Province, he could accurately predict various crises and opportunities.
If anyone called this mere coincidence, no one would believe it.
But in this fantasy world, even if Vaerik directly told them he had a "Daily Intelligence System,"
They wouldn't understand what those six words represented, as this world had no web novels.
So they attributed everything to the grace of the Dragon Ancestor.
"This is truly a great harvest! My lord, your archery skills are simply divine."
"Yes! Yes! Today even the Dragon Ancestor is blessing us."
"Haha, we must certainly celebrate properly when we return."
Thus, this company advanced amid laughter and conversation, reaping plenty along the way.
The hunters shot several plump wild deer and even captured some rare cold-water fish species by the ice river.
"Relaxing like this occasionally... seems not bad," Vaerik couldn't help smiling at everyone's cheerful appearance.
Suddenly, a scout hunter hurried back to the group, a strange expression on his face.
"My lord! A young girl has been found ahead!"
The hunter's words instantly quieted the entire hunting party, everyone looking at him puzzled.
"A young girl?" Lambert frowned. "How could there be a young girl in the wilderness?"
"She's not far ahead, near the ice river," the hunter panted, his face still showing a trace of fear. "She's lying in the snow and appears to have fainted."
Found her.
Vaerik's eyes changed slightly, but he maintained a calm expression: "Lead the way."
When they passed through a patch of low trees, they found Siv unconscious near the ice river.
The young girl lay face up on the cold snow, slightly curled, her short white hair disheveled and covered with snow and ice.
Her fur coat was already tattered, shoulders and arms exposed to the air, purple from cold.
Several incompletely healed wounds showed the hardships she had endured over the past few days.
But her delicate face still carried a hint of stubbornness, showing no weakness even in unconsciousness.
An experienced hunter bent down to observe for a moment, his expression changing: "My lord, she is from a northern tribe."
Another hunter carefully looked at the patterns on her belt and added quietly: "Cold Moon Tribe."
The air was silent for a few seconds.
The surrounding knights couldn't help exchanging glances.
The Cold Moon Tribe was a major enemy of the Northern Province.
But Vaerik merely glanced once before making his decision: "Take her back for treatment."
The knights did not hesitate, quickly picking up the girl and carefully placing her on a warhorse.
The hunters, with a cart full of game, the entire company grandly set off for home.
Upon returning to the Crimson Tide Domain, the girl was brought to an empty room and given to a native folk doctor who knew some medicine.
Vaerik was silent for a moment, his gaze falling on the girl's face.
At this moment, her eyes were tightly closed, lips cracked from hypothermia, brows slightly furrowed, as if she were fighting against death.
Vaerik took out a vial of life potion he had brought from his family and handed it to the doctor: "Have her drink this."
The doctor was slightly startled but still slowly poured the medicine between the girl's lips.
After a while, her previously pale face seemed to regain a bit of color, and her breathing became more stable than before.
Although still unconscious, this life had probably been saved.
"A bottle of life potion is quite expensive. I hope she wakes up," Vaerik said, looking at the unconscious girl.