Silence weighed heavily over Tatsuma Village after the night of the confrontation.
Inside the small wooden hut, young Shimoro sat quietly, watching Grandma Kaina place cold compresses on her bruised arm. The wound wasn't severe, but the exhaustion showed clearly on her face.
Shimoro (softly, unusually calm):
"That man… he said he would come to harvest me. What did he mean?"
Kaina (exhales deeply):
"That you're a fruit not yet ripe. But he saw the seed, my boy."
Shimoro lifts the pendant beside him, its faint blue glow still pulsing gently.
Why I'm strange? Why I don't have the magical ice like them?like all the others, grandma..
Kaina:
"You're not 'like them.' You are the Origin. The Heir. The ice you possess… is the strongest there is."
From that night on, Shimoro's childhood ended.
He no longer laughed with Uncle Goro about burnt bread, and snowball fights were replaced with brutal training sessions under Kaina's strict guidance—preparation for the danger that would eventually return.
Five Years Later
In the training grounds, seventeen-year-old Shimoro—now wearing a black coat trimmed with white fur and black trousers—was soaked in sweat despite the cold. He attacked a wooden training dummy with fast, relentless strikes.
"Faster! One late move means your death!"
The harsh voice boomed from behind him.
It was Fang, Shimoro's new mentor—a towering man with a massive build, shaved head, dark brown skin that contrasted sharply with his white scarf and thick hunting coat.
Shimoro (panting):
"Fang! I've hit this dummy more than a hundred times! Isn't that enough for lunch?"
Fang (kicks the dummy, shattering it instantly):
"Lunch? Do you think Vargas will pause and say, 'Excuse me, Ice Heir, I'm late for my soup'? No slacking. Form your blade and attack me!"
Shimoro sighs, focusing. Raw ice gathers between his fingers, shaping into a perfect ice blade—one of the skills he mastered over the five years, and the source of his growing strength.
A mischievous smirk appears on Shimoro's face.
"Fine… but this time I'm using an Ice Technique, not sword fighting alone."
Fang bursts into laughter.
"Go ahead. But remember that I can sense every particle of ice energy within fifty meters. That's what you learn living as a hunter in the wild. Cheating equals… fifty extra swings on the rocks."
Shimoro mutters under his breath:
"Damn hunters and their stupid sensing tricks…"
The fight erupts—fast, loud, destructive. Every clash of Shimoro's ice sword against Fang's solid defenses sends sharp echoes across the field.
After two fierce minutes, Shimoro feints at Fang's shoulder, while secretly firing a small ice arrow from his free hand toward Fang's face—a cheating attempt.
Fang doesn't move.
Just before the arrow touches him, he casually catches it between two fingers and crushes it.
Fang (smiling coldly):
"Fifty more swings, you little cheater. And another fifty for trying to distract me with that fake innocent look."
After training, Shimoro was too exhausted to even carve a simple ice spoon for his soup.
He complained weakly:
"Why do we train this hard? Even horses don't get pushed like this…"
Fang slurped his soup loudly as he spoke:
"Because your body is a channel for eternal power. If the channel is weak, you'll die before the enemy even touches you. Also, why are you so weak to fatigue? You're supposed to be the Ice Heir."
Shimoro (annoyed):
"I'm fine with the cold—you are what's killing me! And Grandma Kaina says overtraining might prevent me from releasing my inner power!"
Kaina appears at the door carrying a plate of cakes.
Kaina:
"He's right! Fang, don't overwork him. He needs proper meals."
Fang (shaking his head):
"If he ate only what Goro bakes, he'd be the size of a polar bear. His strength comes from his tormented soul, Kaina."
Shimoro:
"My tormented soul is your fault, Master!"
Kaina laughs, placing the cakes on the table.
Moments like these were the only peace Shimoro had in his new life.
Later that afternoon, Fang stood at the village edge tightening his belt and adjusting his travel pack.
Shimoro approached him.
"Where are you going?"
Fang (wrapping his white scarf):
"A little scouting expedition. We need to know Vargas's next move. I'll be back in a month… or maybe later."
Shimoro smiled confidently, trying to look stronger than he felt.
"Alright. Take care. I'll train hard until you return."
Fang placed his large hand on Shimoro's shoulder.
"I know you will. Remember… no hesitation. And in my absence, listen to your grandmother."
Shimoro nodded.
Fang vanished into the wilderness with the fluid grace of a true hunter, leaving only faint footprints in the snow.
That evening, Shimoro and Kaina sat by the fireplace, sipping warm tea and talking about old memories and training.
Kaina (gently smiling):
"You've grown strong, Shimoro. Your body and mind are nothing like they were five years ago. But… are you ready to face the truth?"
Shimoro looked at the pendant in his hand.
"I saw the truth in Vargas's eyes five years ago. There's nothing left to fear. I am the Ice Heir… and I'll be the strongest ever! Strong enough to discover everything about myself!"
Kaina nodded—reassured, yet worried.
She gazed out the window toward the night sky, its stars shining brightly.
Then suddenly, a heavy silence fell.
Not the peaceful quiet of a sleeping village—but a strange, suffocating stillness.
Far from Tatsuma Village, in a narrow snowy pass between mountains, a silent procession moved forward.
The Black Knights.
All of them wore identical dark armor—matte black steel, helmets hiding their faces except for narrow slits over their eyes. Their movement was disciplined, deadly.
Some carried long, shadow-dark swords. Others walked with bare hands, as if their bodies alone were weapons.
At the front marched their commander, his armor slightly more polished.
Commander (in a rough whisper):
"It has been a long time… Ice Heir. Hasn't it?"
The entire squad turned toward the distant direction of Tatsuma Village.
And then they began marching across the white horizon—without hesitation.
To be continued…