The Lady and the Duke: Frostbound Rebirth

Chapter 5 Northern Blade

Seraphel stood frozen, staring at the demonic bear whose glowing blue eyes were fixed on her with absolute predatory hunger. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs.

Since her rebirth, she had begun cultivating every morning before dawn, painstakingly gathering the sparse spiritual energy scattered throughout the mountain estate and guiding it through her meridians. It was enough to strengthen her body slightly and sharpen her senses, but that was all. Only a week had passed, so she wasn't a cultivator yet. Against an ordinary beast she might have stood a

chance, but against a demonic one she didn't have a hope.

Her hand instinctively moved to her waist. The small iron hunting knife Elara had given her felt reassuring beneath her fingers, though reassurance and survival were two very different things.

The bear took a step forward, its massive claws crunching through the snow. Then it leaped.

Seraphel reacted on pure instinct. Spiritual energy surged through her legs as the world seemed to slow. She twisted sharply and threw herself aside just as the bear crashed into the spot where she had been standing, sending snow and frozen dirt exploding into the air.

Without hesitation, she ran. A deafening roar erupted behind her, vibrating through her bones, while heavy footfalls thundered after her, growing closer with every stride. She weaved desperately between ancient trees as icy air burned her lungs and snow-covered branches whipped against her face. The freezing wind tore at her robes, yet no matter how fast she ran, she could still hear the beast right behind her.

A sudden shadow swept overhead. Seraphel looked up and her blood ran cold. The bear wasn't running along the ground—it was hunting from above, bounding effortlessly between tree branches with terrifying grace. Its glowing eyes never left her for even a second.

"Oh, that's unfair," she muttered as she pushed herself harder. Her muscles screamed and her lungs burned. A hidden root caught her boot, nearly sending her sprawling, but she somehow recovered and kept running.

The bear was gaining. She could hear its low, heavy, hungry breathing right behind her. Then a figure appeared ahead on the narrow forest path.

Seraphel's eyes widened. A man stood in the middle of the path, wearing layered black robes that blended almost perfectly with the growing shadows of the forest.

His long black hair was tied into a high ponytail, though several loose strands hung across his face, and a large wooden sword box was strapped securely to his back. The moment she saw it, she knew what he was: a swordsman, and an extremely dangerous one.

Unfortunately, he was also injured. Even from a distance, she could see him favoring one side of his body.

The man turned at the sound of her approach, but too slowly. Seraphel slammed directly into him, and the impact sent both of them tumbling into the snow. Pain exploded through her skull as her forehead struck his shoulder, sending stars bursting across her vision.

Beside her, the man groaned. For a brief moment neither of them moved. Then the forest suddenly darkened as a massive shadow descended from above. Seraphel looked up and saw death itself—the demonic bear was falling toward them with its jaws wide open and claws stretched forward. Its roar shook the entire forest.

Everything seemed to slow. Seraphel couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think. Then the man beside her vanished. One moment he was on the ground, and the next he was standing directly in front of her. His hand moved toward the wooden box, and a katana emerged—its silver blade reflecting the pale winter light.

The bear descended and the swordsman swung.

That was all. One simple, effortless, almost lazy swing. The blade cut through the air, and the demonic bear split cleanly in half. Its two halves crashed into the snow on either side of them as blood sprayed across the clearing. The severed head rolled several feet before stopping, its glowing eyes slowly dimming.

Silence followed. Even the wind seemed to stop.

The swordsman remained standing for a moment as a single drop of black blood slid down the katana's edge. Then his shoulders slumped, his body swayed, and he collapsed face-first into the snow.

Seraphel blinked once, twice, three times. "What…" Her voice barely worked. That had been a high-level demonic beast, one capable of tearing apart experienced cultivators, yet he had killed it with a single strike. She hadn't even seen the sword move clearly.

Looking down at the unconscious man, she noticed the sheer amount of blood soaking through his robes—far too much of it was his own. His breathing was dangerously shallow and his face was pale beneath the strands of dark hair. A Northerner. His clothing, his features, and his sword style all pointed north.

"Wow," Seraphel muttered as she rubbed her forehead. "Just wow."

She slowly climbed to her feet. The smart thing would have been to leave immediately, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

People brought trouble, powerful people brought even more, and mysterious Northerners brought disasters. She had learned that lesson well in her first life.

She turned and started walking, but after only three steps she stopped. The flower. Right—that was the entire reason she had nearly gotten herself eaten.

Her gaze swept across the clearing. Most of the Blood Flowers had been destroyed during the chase, but fortunately a single flower remained untouched beneath a nearby pine tree. Its crimson petals glowed vividly against the snow. Relief washed through her as she hurried over, carefully plucked it, and stored it inside the leather pouch at her waist.

Mission accomplished. Now she just needed to get home.

Except when she looked around, every direction appeared exactly the same—snow, trees, more snow, more trees. Seraphel slowly turned in a circle, then another, her expression growing blank. She was completely, utterly, hopelessly lost.

"…Wonderful."

With a sigh, she decided to return to where the swordsman had fallen. At the very least, she could follow his tracks. But when she arrived, he was gone—and so was the massive corpse of the demonic bear. Only drag marks remained in the snow, leading deeper into the forest toward a hidden cave where a warm orange glow flickered from within.

After a moment's hesitation, Seraphel followed the trail. The closer she got, the stronger the smells became—cooked meat, smoke, and a lot of blood. She stepped quietly toward the entrance and peered inside.

The swordsman sat beside a crackling fire. The demonic bear's corpse had already been partially butchered, and several strips of meat were roasting over the flames. The man looked perfectly relaxed, as though splitting monsters in half and collapsing from blood loss was simply part of his daily routine.

Seraphel stepped into the cave, her boots clicking softly against stone. Without even looking up, the man spoke.

"Wow. That wasn't a very nice way to repay someone who just saved your life."

Seraphel froze, then immediately composed herself. "I didn't abandon you. I went to look for help."

The man finally glanced up. Dark hair obscured half his face, but the visible eye was sharp enough to make her feel as though he could see straight through her. "Really?" There was obvious amusement in his voice as he slowly turned the roasting meat. "Or were you running around in circles because you got lost?"

Seraphel smiled politely. "It's not my fault if you refuse to believe the word of a lady."

For a second, silence filled the cave. Then the man's lips curved slightly. He pulled a piece of roasted meat from the fire. "Would you like some?"

Seraphel accepted immediately. "Thank you." She sat across from him and took a bite. The meat was rich and tender, far better than she had expected.

The man's eyebrow rose. "You accepted that surprisingly fast."

"Should I not have?"

"Most noble ladies from the Eastern Kingdom would rather starve."

Seraphel shrugged. "I was hungry."

The man laughed softly—a genuine laugh. But as she leaned closer to the fire, something caught her attention. The smell of fresh blood. Far too much of it. Her eyes lowered and froze. A massive wound stretched across the man's right thigh, so deep she could see white bone beneath torn flesh. Blood flowed steadily from the injury, pooling across the cave floor.

Seraphel's appetite instantly vanished and her face paled. How was he still alive? A wound like that should have killed him hours ago, yet he sat there calmly roasting meat, smiling, and talking as though the injury belonged to someone else.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze. The man noticed, and his smile widened slightly—not threatening, not friendly, just amused, as though he already knew exactly what she was thinking.

A chill crawled down Seraphel's spine. The North was infamous throughout the continent. Its people were stronger, harder, and different. The stories said Northerners could survive wounds that would kill ordinary cultivators several times over. Looking at the man before her, Seraphel was beginning to suspect those stories hadn't been exaggerated enough.

The fire crackled softly between them while outside, darkness swallowed the forest. And for the second time that day, Seraphel realized she had stumbled into something far more dangerous than she had originally intended.