The journey was long and merciless.


    It took twenty-five days to reach the North from the capital, and with each passing mile, the climate grew harsher. The burning heat of the capital faded into a biting cold, the wind slicing through flesh like a blade.


    Each soldier had been provided with thick cloaks, gloves, and insulated tents to protect themselves from the cold. Lucian, however, had no such luxury.


    When he opened his bag, he found only a thin blanket and a small supply of food—just enough to survive but far from comfortable. It was barely enough to keep a person warm.


    Lucian exhaled sharply, his fingers brushing over the thin fabric. His breath turned to mist in the freezing air.


    As expected, the King had not spared even a thought for his survival.


    His stomach clenched at the memory of Chloe.


    She must have sacrificed even the little they had to get him these supplies. She was the only one who never left his side, no matter how hard life became. Even in starvation, she never abandoned him.


    He still remembered her face when he left for the North.


    She stood at the entrance of the Southern Palace, her expression filled with worry and silent pain. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something, but she never did.


    That night, as Lucian huddled under his thin blanket, shivering from the cold, he made himself a promise.


    "No matter what happens, I must return alive."


    Even if the King had sent him to die, he would survive.


    On the twenty-fifth day, they finally reached the Northern Command Base.


    Unlike the grand palaces of the capital, the North was harsh and unforgiving. Large wooden fortresses stood tall against the endless white plains of snow, and hundreds of soldiers patrolled the area.


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    Here, no one bowed to royalty. No one cared about noble blood. The only thing that mattered was strength.


    As they approached, the soldiers stood in formation, their sharp eyes scanning the new arrivals. Among them stood a man with a towering presence, his silver hair ruffled by the wind.


    Duke Laniel Delmar.


    A living legend. The man who protected the North for generations, undefeated in battle.


    His eyes were like the tundra—unfeeling, cold, and merciless.


    Lucian felt something he hadn’t in a long time.


    Fear.


    This man was different from Karl.


    Karl was cruel, but his emotions were predictable—rage, hatred, disgust.


    But Duke Delmar… he was unreadable. He wasn’t just powerful—he was terrifying.


    The moment Lucian stepped forward, the Duke’s sharp gaze fell upon him.


    Lucian swallowed the lump in his throat, then forced himself to speak steadily.


    “I greet the Protector of the North, Duke Laniel Delmar.”


    The Duke didn’t respond immediately. His piercing gaze studied Lucian carefully as if examining his worth, his purpose, his very existence.


    Then, in a voice colder than the winds around them, he spoke.


    “Who are you?”


    Lucian’s heart pounded, but he kept his composure.


    “I am a soldier. My name is Lucian.”


    There was no hesitation in his voice.


    He had already abandoned the name "Pestelio" the day he left the capital.


    The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. He stared at Lucian for an uncomfortably long time, then turned to his Vice Commander.


    When he spoke again, his voice was like ice, sending shivers down the spines of those present.


    “Vice Commander.”


    The air suddenly felt heavy.


    The Vice Commander straightened immediately. “Yes, Commander!”


    The Duke’s eyes never left Lucian.


    “What is a child doing here?”


    Lucian’s blood turned cold.


    The Duke’s tone was not just dismissive—it was dangerously sharp as if Lucian’s presence alone was offensive.


    The Vice Commander quickly stepped forward, hiding Lucian’s true identity from the surrounding soldiers.


    “Sir, as per the King’s decree, all nobles must send a family member to serve. He is the eldest of his fallen noble family. With no soldiers of their own, he was sent here.”


    A long silence followed.


    The Duke’s gaze flickered—just for a moment.


    Then, without a word, he turned his back on Lucian and walked away.


    Lucian exhaled quietly. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.


    The Duke hadn’t accepted him.


    And worse, he didn’t even acknowledge him.