The Last Frost Mage

2 Stranger Not Danger

Isaac lets out a scoff.

“Is this how you treat your rescuer?”

The intruder furrowed his eyebrows attempting to recall his memory. Isaac can see the man's visible confusion and takes the opportunity commanding Éclair. The walking stick dashed from the air and transformed into a longsword, the edge of the sharp blade against the man's neck.

The man flinched and turned to peek. He gasped as the sword floated in front of him, slowly pushing him back. He hit a wall and he shot the white haired man with a scowl.

“Come on, I should be the one asking questions here.” he lifts his right hand, a flow of cerulean dust materialized on his palm as the chair rushes to their direction circled by the same color. Suddenly the dust came to him next, surrounding his torso, arms and ankles as he floated onto the chair.

“Now...” The sword came to Isaac and reached for the hilt, pointing it at the intruder who bears an expression like seeing Santa Claus in flesh and blood. Isaac didn't seem to have noticed it. “Who are you, and where do you hail from?” he pressed the tip on the man's chin, lifting it up.

“Answer!” Isaac ordered.

The man swallowed. “I-I'm Lucian... Lucian Einaar, and I am from Gardania.”

“Ah, Gardania... Which part of Gardania?”

“The palace...”

“I see, you must be one of the king's lackeys. How did you find this place?”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“I...” Lucian bit his lip, his stomach stirred as memories came to him. It was something he doesn't want to talk about, however the man in front of him might possibly knock him out and leave him in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't let that happen. Not this time. He swallowed a lump and shook his head. But should he tell him everything?

Isaac raised an eyebrow wondering if he said something wrong. It wasn't much of a question was it? Or should he have phrased it better?

Lucian finally decides to speak, lifting his chin as the beginning of a memory flashes in his mind...

~ * ~

A fleet of aircrafts zoomed across Henley Palace, dropping human sized bombs over the roof. Yet all were to collide with a red sphere shielding the palace from the damage.

Servants and other nobles had left, leaving the knights to keep the palace from the invading assassin. Meanwhile warriors along with battle mages were dispatched together in the frontlines, facing head to toe against the enemy with staffs and codex against tanks and bazookas.

The field was exploding with a spectrum of bright colors and dust, a truly unusual sight to see. It was a battle between magic and firepower. A battle the world had yet to declare a victor. But, it wasn't the victory the enemy was after. No. They wanted something far more special.

Groups of white tents camped northeast from the battlefield. Though being quite far away, the overlooking view provided them a great advantage in the zone.

A man in his thirties suddenly arrives in the largest tent. Huge beads of sweat fall down from his temples as he pants. He was facing the back of an old man wearing an olive colored uniform, the five star insignia on his shoulder glinting under the sun beam through a transparent plastic window. Albeit the wrinkles on his forehead and the white hair on his temples, he possessed the build a few years younger than his age. The man swallowed and began to speak.

“Sir...” he acknowledged his arrival.

“Yes? Oh you have arrived! And still intact. Good, good, had it over here,”

The man immediately responded and brought out a well folded letter from his bag and gave it to the general.

The general snatched the letter and unfolds it, scanning through the words with an agitated look. As soon as he arrived at the last sentences, his eyes turned grim and heaved out a disappointed sigh.

“General?” Elsher, the camp assistant said, standing close by.

The general walked past Elsher and shoved the letter onto his chest and proceeded to the messenger. Elsher rubbed the sting on his chest, then adjusted his glasses and read the letter.

“Dearest General Caddel,

I am aware of the unfortunate situation the country of Neo Argos is in. However, in this predicament, I am afraid to say that the Nexus Empire is unable to partake in the battle against the Kingdom of Gardania.

I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. If you wish to know the reason, a bug happened to intrude in my palace and I've decided to take care of it peacefully.

Though I have sent a matching letter to your beloved Prime Minister as of now, you needn't worry of course. (Not everything I wrote here though. Just to say hi and an advanced appointment for our next secret meeting ;D) And before this letter ends, I would like to give you a friendly reminder as a neighboring ruler…

Gardania may be few in numbers, but their power depends entirely on stamina. And with your entire battalion, you might fulfill your country's old tale. Well that also depends on your choices. That is if you happen to capture the crown prince alive.

I will be rooting for the dearest General!

Peace, love and bouncy balls,

Emperor Ananse Van Claude ♡

Elsher gaped at the letter, feeling speechless of its contents. It wasn't like any proposal a proper ruler would write but a trickster writing a love letter. Including the calligraphy of flowing letters, starting with a dot and ending with a sharp tail instead of words in bold ones.

“What about Ederea, any news about that godforsaken land?” General Caddel questioned.

“N-negative sir. The Empress Katalina refused to stand with Neo Argos.” the messenger answers.

“Hmph, I see. What cowards.” the general clicks his tongue. “Anyway, you did well Booker. You are dismissed.”

“Yes sir.” Booker saluted and left without looking back.

As soon as Booker was out of sight, general Caddel heaved a frustrated sigh and turned to a calendar hanging on an iron bar.

Following three days were marked with a red pen as the rest of the weeks were splattered in black ink. The general flashed a grave expression but then shakes his head, pushing it away.

At this moment, Gardania isn't the real enemy, but time itself. The hands of the clock are ticking and the army isn't doing much to drive the warriors back to their hold. Few hours from now, the thing Caddel fears with his life will soon begin. Because what will soon happen shall justify all the tales he read from books. Caddel swallowed thickly.

Elsher didn't move an inch, his eyes staring cautiously at the general. He knows the general might be coming up with a plan, but with the grim atmosphere in the tent, Elsher found his own mind mumbling a prayer.

“Elsher.”

The camp assistant jolted, his heart skipped a beat. “Y-yes mister, general sir?”

“Do you believe in prophecies?”

“Prophecies sir? I am an atheist so I don't think that—” he paused, realizing what his senior just asked. “Pardon me sir, I must've misheard you.”

“No. You heard me right.” General Caddel paced to a tent corner, pushing the slit open. He squints as light greets his eyes. When it adjusted, a perfect view of a colorful battlefield was seen.

“What if I tell you the reason why the President declared war against Gardania, right here, right now.” he glanced at his camp assistant. “Would you believe it?”

“I don't know what you mean, sir.”

Caddel hummed. “Of course... Actually that's what I said when he told me about it.” his gaze return to the field.

Elsher stared at the general bewildered. His mind was swirling with information from last night, he barely had time to organize his thoughts amidst all the pressure and fatigue. And now his senior was about to throw another pile to his brain. Any man can lose their mind if exposed by continuous extreme information, yet Elsher took everything in as his responsibility, doubt was never an option. But this time he began to question both the information and his senior. Is General Caddel losing his mind? Prophecies? That's bonkers! Even though science hasn't proven the logic of magic yet, he believed it will get there.

“You can call me crazy all you want. But believe me, I felt the same way before the President told me. Afterwards, my beliefs all changed...” he sighed. “I suppose I shouldn't tempt myself to tell you. It contains change that will either bring ruin or prosperity. There is no in between.”

The general returned to his seat and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in circular motion. He practiced his breathing and calmed his quick beating heart, shoving the memory to the farthest in his mind.

Locking it away was probably the best idea for the camp assistant. He's a young man in his thirties and doesn't need his stable life to be ruined by some random hag's voodoo predictions. The details are irrelevant, there is no need to spill the truth as long as the ending can justify the means. At least that's what he believed. But somehow in any circumstances that will bring him to tell them, he fears that they will realize they've been fighting for nonsense.

Magic and divine interventions held no meaning in the country of technological advancement. They rely on data and facts that can be proven through science. Religion was an option, but oftentimes considered trivial. If the country's leader begins to spout about witchcraft and goblins during a national addressing ceremony, the room of the prime minister will be found with red paint on the carpets the following day.

Lying was the best choice. And in order to convince the whole country to believe, involving the military was the foundation. Unfortunately, a single soul was the only one who knew the real reason for the war.

Caddel sighed heavily. Until his camp assistant said something that caught him off guard.

“Sir... I am eager to know the reason for the war sir...” he asked, hands stayed firm on his sides.

The general was stunned but recovered quickly. His expression went serious and he leaned on the table with his hands pressed together.

“Have you heard of the tale of the Mad Celestial Devourer and the god of Renaissance?”