This is going to be difficult.
Callius watched as shadows approached from all directions, spreading out in a wide arc as if to surround him completely.
As the distance closed, their figures became more distinct through the swirling snow.
Assassins. Armed with swords.
Why now, of all times?
Callius looked around and sighed softly.
I don't think they're northerners.
It was easy enough to infer without meeting them directly.
If they were native to the North, they never would have chosen this place—or this weather—to attempt an assassination.
Woohoo!
Wooooow!
Especially not when such strange, eerie sounds could be heard nearby.
The assassins seemed to believe that Callius hadn't noticed their presence yet.
Even within the North, outsiders likely didn't understand much about the physical capabilities of the Ronheim people—those born and raised in the empire's northernmost reaches.
Ronheim was battered by blizzards nearly year-round. The people who lived there were not only accustomed to this type of weather—their ability to perceive their surroundings during a blizzard had developed to a remarkable degree.
Looking at how sloppily they've investigated their target, it seems someone was impatient and demanded my head in a hurry.
Given the circumstances, it seemed likely that someone unhappy about his marriage to Chloe had hired these assassins.
But who?
The assassins gradually tightened their encirclement, hiding themselves behind surrounding trees and rocks.
Callius gripped the hilt of his sword in one hand and held the reins firmly in the other.
Then one of the assassins let out a sharp, piercing whistle.
Whee!
At that signal, assassins rushed toward Callius from every direction.
As the distance narrowed, the assassins' figures became clearly visible.
One lunged at his horse—intent on preventing Callius from escaping—while three others simultaneously swung their swords at him from different angles.
"Heehee!"
"Hyah!"
Even during those critical seconds, Callius did not draw his sword.
"..."
He simply stood there, gripping the sword hilt and reins tightly.
The lead assassin, perhaps believing his surprise attack had succeeded, aimed for Callius's neck with a practiced, economical movement.
But at that very moment—
"Ahhhh!"
"Huh?!"
"Ugh!"
The assassins screamed and flew into the air, disappearing one by one—like fish yanked violently from water by unseen fishing lines.
It happened in an instant.
"Heeeeeeeeeee!"
The horse cried out in alarm.
Callius—who had known from the very beginning what was about to happen—didn't let go of the reins. He patted the horse's neck soothingly.
"Easy. Easy. It's all right."
Soon, terrible screams rang out from all directions.
"Ahhh! What the—?! Aahh! What is this thing?!"
"Ugh! Get away! Get off me!"
"Save me! Someone—save me! Keuk!"
He heard the sickening sound of something breaking and crunching—flesh and bone yielding to powerful jaws—carried through the howling wind.
Callius clicked his tongue.
This is going to make things difficult.
He tied the reins to a nearby tree and walked forward carefully, his eyes sharp, following the direction of the screams.
Crack!
"Ahh! P-please... save me...!"
Something whitish was tangled with one of the black-clad assassins, its form almost impossible to distinguish from the surrounding snow.
Callius swung his sword at the white beast clinging to the assassin—but carefully, with just enough force to get its attention without causing injury.
"Calm down, Whitey. You're a good boy."
"Krrrr!"
The beast with blood smeared across its muzzle was none other than a snow cat—nicknamed "the ghost of the snow."
The snow cat is the smallest feline species native to the North. When standing upright, its body is roughly the size of a human forearm.
In Ronheim—a land populated by many large, dangerous creatures—snow cats were often treated as cute, harmless little animals.
But when encountered as predator and prey, a snow cat was a beast that could never be dismissed as completely harmless.
Their white and gray fur, ingeniously mixed, provided perfect camouflage against the snowy northern mountains. They were nearly impossible to spot even at close range—especially during a blizzard.
Snow cats possessed the remarkable ability to leave almost no footprints in deep snow, and they were unnervingly skilled at concealing their presence.
When their figures moved through falling snow, they seemed to become transparent—blending seamlessly into the background.
That was why they were called snow ghosts.
Although they were formidable little predators, snow cats fortunately did not prefer human flesh and therefore posed little threat to people under normal circumstances.
But a starving snow cat was a different matter entirely. A hungry beast is not a picky eater.
Callius struck the snarling snow cat again with the flat of his blade—gently, just enough to discourage it from protecting its prey.
"Hey, hey. You need to eat healthier food than this."
"Aaaaaaaaaa!"
The assassin screamed as the snow cat's jaws tightened.
Callius pulled out some dried fish from the bag slung across his shoulder and tossed it to the snow cat, who was licking its lips and clearly ready to pounce on the assassin again at any moment.
The snow cat moved with astonishing speed—snatching the fish out of midair.
For just a moment, its figure seemed to shimmer and become transparent, disappearing almost entirely into the swirling snow.
That was the true terror of the snow ghost.
"Come on. Up you get."
Callius prodded the fallen assassin, who lay bleeding heavily in the snow.
"Huh...!"
The assassin, who had briefly lost consciousness, woke with a groan.
As soon as he regained awareness and saw Callius looming over him, he reached desperately for the sword that had fallen beside him in the snow.
He failed.
His right arm was already gone—torn away by the snow cat's razor-sharp fangs.
The assassin stared at the mangled stump of his shoulder in disbelief, then screamed.
"Ugh—ugh! Ahhh!"
Bright red blood splattered across the pristine white snow in grotesque patterns.
"You'll die if I leave you like this."
Callius turned away, muttering just loud enough to be heard.
"What about the others?"
Leaving the assassin he'd spared behind, he moved to search for the rest.
The screams that had echoed through the blizzard moments ago were now silent.
Are they dead already?
As expected, the other assassins had already lost their lives.
"Whitey. Whitey."
Callius called their names gently, but the snow cats were far too absorbed in their feast of hot, fresh meat to pay him any attention.
"You must have been terribly hungry."
By the time he'd called to them, Whitey—the first snow cat—had already devoured all the dried fish Callius had thrown and rejoined the others at their grisly meal.
Callius stroked the heads of the snow cats gently as they buried their muzzles in the corpses.
"It's not so bad to eat junk food every once in a while."
How unlucky these assassins must have been—to attack Callius at the exact moment when starving snow cats were waiting nearby.
"I was hoping to keep at least a few of them alive for questioning."
It would have been the only way to discover who was behind the attack.
"At least I managed to save one."
These snow cats were the ones Callius had been looking after for years.
They had followed him all the way from Ronheim to Abene when he'd left, and they'd been waiting for him near the teleportation magic circle ever since.
There was only one reason: they knew that whenever Callius returned via the magic circle, he always brought dried fish as a special treat.
"I must have left you starving for too long if you're willing to eat such tasteless human flesh."
The clever snow cats had learned from experience that once Callius departed, he usually returned after about a month.
But this time, Callius had come back later than usual due to his wedding preparations—so they must have been desperately hungry.
While they'd been whining and complaining about the lack of dried fish, the assassins had attacked.
The hypersensitive, ravenous cats hadn't been able to resist.
Once they'd bitten down and tasted fresh blood in their starving mouths, they'd lost all restraint.
Callius glanced at the assassins' clothing, searching for any clues that might help identify who had sent them.
Of course, he found nothing.
You wouldn't carry identifying documents when you come to assassinate someone.
He had no choice but to leave the bodies behind.
I should return to the inn. There might be more survivors there—or more assassins.
He wasn't overly worried; his subordinates were trustworthy and capable. Still, he felt an urgent need to return to Chloe as quickly as possible—just in case.
Just then, Brentian's voice rang out through the snowstorm.
"Marquis! Where are you? Marquis!"
"Brentian. Over here."
Callius mounted his horse and rode toward Brentian's voice.
"Ah, there you are. But what are all those...?"
Brentian gestured toward the bodies strewn across the snow. The blood was so abundant that the gruesome scene was clearly visible even through the blizzard.
"Assassins."
"Assassins? Why would they attack during the cats' mealtime?"
Brentian slapped his thigh as if genuinely regretful.
"What terrible luck. They're all dead, too. We'll need to track down whoever sent them and find out who's behind this."
"I saved one. He must have fled this way. Didn't you see him?"
"We must have missed each other in the storm. If I'd spotted him, I would have given him a horse and escorted him back to the city myself. He won't freeze to death on the way back, will he?"
"The town isn't far. He'll survive. It looked like he'd applied a tourniquet."
Callius urged his horse forward.
"I hope you've been protecting the Princess properly."
"I ordered everyone to remain on high alert. If anything happens to her, the Arental Empire won't sit still."
Brentian added in a slightly uncertain voice:
"Though I think Hawick might be having a bit of a headache dealing with the imperial knights. They've been blocking our men from even accessing the floor where the Princess is staying."
Callius frowned.
"Then there's a gap in our defenses."
[ To be continued... ]
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