Exiled Prince: I'm the Unexpected Extra in the Novel-Chapter 132: The Unknown Smile

The War for the North [20]

Cassian had surrendered himself to the cold embrace of the sky to escape the stifling and complex atmosphere of Frosthelm Castle.

As he leaned his wings against the wind and glided, the world below consisted only of white and gray.

He began his descent as he approached the military base set up at the foot of the mountains, a little way off from the castle.

Even this area was covered by Cryomara’s barrier. Cassian couldn’t help but wonder how much mana this beast had. To cover a massive area with a barrier stretching for miles without a second’s pause...

The powers of mythical beasts were truly mind-boggling.

The moment his talons touched the snowy ground, he glided behind a rock formation where no one could see.

Black smoke swirled around him, and within seconds, the crow transformed into a young man with black hair, his cloak billowing in the wind.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with icy air. His goal was to clear his mind.

What happened this morning... That softness, Cecilia’s scent, their hands interlaced...

His heart pounded like war drums just remembering it. He pressed his hand to his chest. "Damn it," he muttered to himself. "I killed a God, yet a girl holding my hand reduces me to this?"

Stepping out from behind the rocks, he walked toward the campsite where the snow had been meticulously cleared and tents were pitched in orderly rows.

The soldiers were working like a beehive with the tension and discipline of the approaching war.

Noticing this stranger wandering freely, perhaps a bit absentmindedly, through the camp, a sentry approached him, leveling his spear.

"Halt! Who are you and what is your business here?"

Cassian appreciated the courage mixed with fear in the soldier’s eyes. He calmly raised his hands. "No need to be tense, soldier. I am Cassian, Duchess Cecilia’s guest."

The soldier’s eyes went wide. He had heard the name. That mysterious man beside Cryomara and the Duchess. He immediately lowered his spear and bowed slightly. "Forgive me, My Lord. I must take you to General Hareth."

Cassian nodded. They walked toward the center of the camp, to a white tent that was obviously larger and more ostentatious than the others.

The soldier went inside to announce him. A few seconds later, he came out and held the tent flap open.

"The General is expecting you, sir."

Cassian parted the thick flap of the tent and entered. The inside was much warmer than the outside, and the air hung heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs.

In the center stood a large table with a detailed strategy map on it.

There were empty wooden chairs around the table, but the only thing that drew attention was the old man sitting in a rocking chair at the head of the table.

General Hareth.

A massive silver sword engraved with glowing runes rested on his lap. His hands gripped the hilt of the sword tightly.

"Lord Cassian," Hareth said. His voice was full and rasping, like aged wine. "I didn’t expect to see you this early."

Hareth attempted to stand, using the rocking chair for support, but Cassian raised his hand to stop him.

"Please, do not disturb your comfort, General."

He pulled up a chair and sat near the old man, close to the roaring fire heating the tent.

He fixed his eyes on the dancing flames. His mind was still on Cecilia’s gaze from this morning.

Hareth noticed Cassian’s distracted and restless state. His experienced eyes weighed the burden on the young man’s shoulders.

"Is something wrong, son?" he asked in a fatherly manner.

Without taking his eyes off the fire, Cassian said, "No. Just... I didn’t sleep much last night."

The General smiled. He stroked the hilt of the silver sword in his hand.

His white hair, beard, and faded yellow eyes reflected on the sword’s shiny surface.

"I understand you," Hareth said. "The thrill of battle, isn’t it? I was like that in my youth. Swinging a sword, taking the field, gathering praise... My blood wouldn’t sit still in my veins. That adrenaline tasted sweeter than sleep."

He sighed deeply. "Ah, these old bones... I wish I could go back to those days."

Cassian shot a sideways glance at the old man. He had completely misunderstood the situation; Cassian was sleepless because of a girl, not the war.

But he didn’t correct him. This misunderstanding suited him. He nodded silently.

The General reached out and poured dark tea into two cups from a metal teapot brewing over the fire. He handed one to Cassian.

"Drink this, it clears the mind. We’ll be on the move by sunset," Hareth said, pointing to the map. "A special unit of 200 men I selected myself will accompany us. Unless we encounter a large-scale army, we can crush any obstacles in our path."

Cassian took a sip of the tea. It tasted bitter but warming.

"Have you ever faced them?" he asked suddenly.

It didn’t take long for the General to understand what he meant. Those standing at the top of the Obsidian Dawn.

Hareth’s hand gripping the sword tightened so much his knuckles turned white. His eyes stared into the distance.

"Once... Yes," he whispered. "I will never forget that day."

"What was it like?"

"I faced one of their leaders," Hareth said. His voice trembled. "It was a dwarf. But not the kind of dwarf you know. At first, I thought he was a mage because he held a massive staff. And hell flowed from that staff."

He narrowed his eyes, reliving the moment.

"My soldiers... My best men... They turned into fireballs in an instant. They died cooking inside their armor. That dwarf just laughed. Fire was like a limb to him, he burned as naturally as breathing."

"I tried to stand against him," Hareth said, with a painful pride in his voice.

He slowly unbuttoned his fur cloak and shirt. He set his armor aside and bared his chest.

Cassian’s eyes widened.

There wasn’t a war wound on the General’s chest, but a crater. The skin had melted and shriveled, creating a hollow deep enough to distort the shape of his ribcage. It looked as if someone had slashed his chest with a red-hot sword.

"Artifact," Hareth said, buttoning his shirt again. "It wasn’t normal fire. It took years to heal, and the pain never faded. I’m quite lucky to be alive."

They sat for a while longer. Hareth continued his story over the steam of the tea.

"I wasn’t born a general," he laughed. "I was a simple peasant boy. My father died early, my mother was sick. We needed medicine, we needed food... I had to steal. And believe me, my hands were very fast."

His eyes shone.

"But one day I was caught. Merchants in the market cornered me. They were going to cut off my wrist right there. But look at my luck, a young nobleman was wandering the market in disguise that day. Duchess Cecilia’s great-grandfather."

"He intervened," Hareth said gratefully. "He took me from those merchants’ hands. He looked at my wrist and said: ’You have quite fast hands, boy. You’d make a good swordsman instead of a thief. Serve me!’"

He tapped the silver sword on his lap. "That was the day the thief boy died, and General Hareth was born."

"I’ve been a loyal servant of the Duchy ever since. I was an ordinary soldier, then I rose through the ranks. And this sword..."

He slightly unsheathed the sword. The metal glowed with a strange blue light.

"I fought a Wyvern in my youth. I was alone. It was quite a tough battle, but in the end, I was the winner."

"When I took it down, I had this sword forged from its bones. And the Mages of the Tower inscribed the runes."

The two continued chatting like that for a while.

Cassian felt respect blossoming inside him for this old man.

Unlike the grumpy, stubborn, and selfish Aron, Hareth was a seasoned warrior who had suffered but hadn’t lost his honor. He had warmed up to this old man.

After a while, a soldier entered the tent. "My General, food is ready."

Hareth nodded. He turned to Cassian. "Come on, Son, let’s get some fresh air."

They went out together. They mingled with the soldiers gathered around a large fire in the middle of the camp.

At the soldiers’ insistence, Hareth agreed to sit on a log and drink soup with them. Cassian joined him.

Although the soldiers around them looked at Cassian with hesitation at first, his relaxed demeanor beside the General softened the atmosphere. Jokes and laughter flew through the air.

Cassian realized that the Northern people were not as cold as they appeared from the outside.

On the contrary, they were warm, cheerful, and loyal people clinging to each other in the midst of these snows.

Then the weight of reality settled on him.

Most of these people were going to die.

These smiles, these stories... Within a few days, they would blend into blood and screams.

His mood darkened. He lowered his gaze to the bowl of hot soup in his hand. He watched his own reflection on the surface of the steaming liquid. Black hair, a tired face...

As Cassian stared at his reflection, the image rippled.

Cassian’s face vanished. Another silhouette appeared in its place.

Long, snow-white hair... And blood-red eyes. The girl in the reflection was smiling at Cassian.

The girl in the reflection was looking directly at Cassian. Her lips moved. A silent scream, perhaps a warning, perhaps a name... But there was no sound. Only the movement of her lips.

SNAP!

A sudden, blinding pain stabbed into Cassian’s brain. It was as if someone were driving an ice nail into his skull.

"Ah!"

He reflexively threw the bowl to the ground. Hot soup splattered onto the snow. Cassian leaned forward, clutching his temples.

The laughter cut off.

"Lord Cassian! Are you alright?!" the nearest soldier shouted. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Hareth turned to him with concern.

Cassian took a deep breath as the headache slowly subsided.

He pulled himself together. He felt the fearful gazes of the soldiers on him.

"I’m fine," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. "Forgive me... My hand suddenly cramped. I’m still not fully used to the Northern cold. My muscles stiffened up."

His lie was convincing. The soldiers nodded in understanding immediately. One ran to fetch a new bowl of soup.

Cassian took the new bowl with trembling hands. But instead of drinking, he narrowed his single eye and stared intently at the soup. Who was that girl? A hallucination? Or was the Crown of Madness playing games again?

Just then, the sounds around him ceased completely.

It was as if someone had muted the world.

First the furthest soldiers, then those next to him... Everyone, including General Hareth, began to kneel one by one with great respect.

Cassian lifted his head.

Two figures were coming toward him.

In front was Cryomara... Her steps left no trace on the snow.

The aura she emitted was so strong that even the snowflakes in the air changed direction in fear of touching her.

And right behind her... Wrapped in white furs, with bluish-white hair dancing in the wind, came Cecilia.

Cassian looked at the soup in his hand again.

’Again?’ he thought to himself. He let out a deep, sorrowful sigh.