Exiled Prince: I'm the Unexpected Extra in the Novel-Chapter 125: Edict of Frost and Blood

The War for the North[13]

The Glacial Hall had been buried in the silence of a deep grave following the words echoing from the confession of Varek or rather, the dark will using his body. "Harvest," "Unity with Gods," "Slaughterhouse"... These concepts were spinning in the minds of the lords around the table, shattering the reality they perceived.

No one dared to speak, or even breathe.

Eyes were fixed on Cassian standing in the middle of the room, and on Varek swaying like a puppet in front of him.

Cassian swept his gaze across the horrified faces in the room.

"Are there any questions you wish to ask?" he asked, his voice calm and clear.

No answer came. Not a whisper, not an objection.

Everyone was crushed under the weight of this terrible new knowledge. The enemy facing them was not just an invader wanting land, but a cosmic horror intent on their existence.

Cassian took this silence as an affirmation. He turned his gaze back to the man in front of him, Varek.

"Since there are no questions..." said Cassian.

Before he finished his sentence, his movement happened at a speed the eye couldn’t track.

His right hand went to the hilt of the katana he summoned. SHING!

A metallic glint drew an arc in the air.

Varek’s head separated cleanly from his torso.

That blank, meaningless expression still hung on his face. The severed head hovered in the air for a moment and fell to the ground with a thud, followed immediately by his body collapsing. Blood spread on the marble floor, bringing the smell of iron into the room.

Without even bothering to clean his sword, Cassian sheathed it with a "click."

He coolly jumped over the corpse and headed towards the empty chair at the head of the table, right next to Cryomara.

He was as relaxed as if he hadn’t just executed someone, but merely shooed away a fly. He sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned back.

Out of the corner of his eye, he pointed to Lord Baelor, Merchant Garel, and the other traitors still waiting, frozen in terror within the ice vines.

"Those..." said Cassian, turning to Cryomara. "We no longer have a need for them."

Cryomara was caressing the rim of the coffee glass on the table with her finger. Hearing Cassian’s words, she smiled slightly.

"Understood," she said.

And simply by rubbing the middle finger of her right hand against her thumb, she made a snapping sound in the air.

SNAP.

This simple sound determined the fate of the frozen bodies in the room.

The ice vines suddenly tightened and crystallized along with the bodies inside.

In a tenth of a second, Lord Baelor, Merchant Garel, and the others, like trinkets made of glass...

CRACK!

Shattered into pieces.

Flesh, bone, and ice mixed together and spilled onto the floor in thousands of tiny shards.

They were no longer human; they were just piles of red and blue ice glistening on the floor.

Everyone in the room was speechless. Baron Thorne put his hand to his mouth, feeling nauseous.

General Hareth’s eyes were wide open. This was beyond an execution; it was the erasure of existence. They didn’t know what to do or where to look. Fear had penetrated to their marrow.

"Sit in your places," said Cryomara.

Her voice wasn’t shouting, it wasn’t even raised. But that absolute authority in her tone, that ice-cold certainty, screamed that this sentence was not a request, but an order where disobedience would result in death.

No one objected. Those standing collapsed into their chairs with trembling legs. Weapons were hidden under the table. Eyes were fixed on the floor.

Cassian reached for the map on the table and unrolled the parchment showing the borders of Frosthelm.

"As Cryomara told you..." began Cassian, managing the tension in the room. "The other regions, Mooncrest, Evershade, and the rest... They have all raised armies for Frosthelm. The Imperial mercenaries are on their way. Within a week at the latest, they will be at Frosthelm’s border, under our banner."

He swept his gaze over the lords.

"As for me... You can think of me as an envoy. I am here on behalf of the other regions and that approaching great force. The words coming out of my mouth are the will of not just me, but those armies as well. The decisions I make carry a heavy burden. I hope you will take these into account in the discussion we are about to have."

At the other end of the table, Baron Thorne, whose face was pale as chalk but who was trying to maintain his dignity, took a shaky breath and spoke.

"Young man..." said Thorne, his voice weary. He gestured to the lords in the room who were in a miserable state. "We hope you see how tired, worn out, and scared we are. Just now... a massacre took place before our eyes. We are struggling to keep our sanity."

He fixed his eyes on Cassian.

"Please, get to the point. What do you want from us? What are we to do until this army arrives?"

Cassian nodded slightly. "You are right, Baron. Time is money."

He pointed to the outer regions, border fortresses, and villages on the map.

"There isn’t much to explain. The plan is simple."

He pressed his finger onto the map.

"What I want from you for now is... To evacuate your regions. Take all the people, all the supplies, everything you can carry, and abandon your walls. And let the Obsidian Dawn take those places."

The room froze for a moment. Then, it erupted like a volcano.

"WHAT?!"

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

Lord Borin jumped up, his chair toppling over noisily. His face was beet red.

"My grandfathers’ bones lie in those lands! We shed blood for three generations to protect that fortress! Now you are telling us to open the gates and say to those cannibals ’Welcome, our home is yours’?!"

"This is treason!" shouted another lord. "Land is honor! Surrender without fighting? Never! I’d rather die!"

"You are asking for everything we have!"

The hall groaned with angry shouts. To abandon those lands they had tried to protect for years, for which they had gone hungry, for which they had sacrificed their children, with a single word from this foreign boy... This felt like the greatest insult to them.

Cassian didn’t answer. He just looked at Cryomara.

Cryomara rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath and...

BOOM!

Released her aura.

The air in the room suddenly became heavy, gravity seemed to increase tenfold, pressing down on everyone’s shoulders.

The windows rattled, the glasses on the table cracked. The lords’ breath caught in their throats. Angry shouts turned into muffled wheezes.

"SHUT UP!"

Cryomara’s voice competed with the roar of an avalanche.

"And let him finish his sentence! There is no democracy here. There is a war for survival here!"

The pressure was so intense that Lord Borin had to collapse back into his seat. Everyone was forced into silence. Fear had defeated anger once again.

Cryomara signaled "Continue" to Cassian with a nod.

Cassian continued his speech without losing his composure.

"I understand your emotional reactions," he said, his voice ice-cold. "But use your logic. As you know, your lands are already about to fall. You have no soldiers to hold the walls. Your supplies are gone. Your people are dying of disease. It is a miracle that those fortresses are even still standing."

He locked eyes with the lords.

"Obsidian Dawn likes scattered targets. They are hunting you one by one. If you stay there, in a week neither those lands nor your people will remain. You will all become a part of the ’Harvest’."

He placed his hand on the capital, Winter Keep, on the map.

"Therefore, retreat. Gather the entire population, all our strength into the capital. We will narrow the defense line. Besides, when the war is over, when we win, those lands will be given back to you. But if we lose... no one will care who owns those lands or what is written on your tombstones."

Silence continued for a while. Logic was bitter, but true.

However, from the corner, a man with glasses and an intelligent but worried look—the Duchy’s head healer—spoke up.

"What you are thinking is very dangerous, young man," he said, his voice trembling. "Strategically you may be right, but... You know about the people carrying the disease. The ’Black Plague’ has spread to all border villages. Cramming hundreds of thousands of refugees into a single city, inside the walls..."

He swallowed.

"What you are doing will only accelerate the spread of the disease and our end. We will die drowning in our own filth without fighting."

This was the most valid objection in the room. The lords murmured in agreement.

Cassian smiled. He had expected this question.

"Do not worry about that," he said. "As written in the parchment Cryomara showed you... We have a cure for the diseases."

"A cure?" The Healer frowned suspiciously. "We have been trying for years. Magic, alchemy, medicinal herbs... Nothing could stop that black curse. What is different about your cure?"

"So, what is this cure?" asked someone else.

Instead of answering, Cassian stood up. He raised his right hand into the air, towards the ceiling of the room.

He closed his eyes and summoned that ancient, that forbidden power within him.

"Showtime..."

Inside his palm, first a small spark appeared. Then this spark grew, intensified, and turned into a ball of pure, golden yellow light.

[Holy Mana - Heart of Dawn]

The gloomy, cold air in the room changed instantly. That small ball of light turned into a miniature sun.

The warmth it radiated warmed the frozen faces of the lords. That pure, clean energy it radiated wiped away the smell of mold, the smell of blood, and that metallic taste of fear in the room.

The lords, the generals, all were looking at that light as if hypnotized. In this light... there was hope. In this light, there was a peace they had forgotten. The Holy Mana touched their souls, taking away their fatigue.

"This..." whispered General Hareth. "This light... What kind of magic is this?"

Cassian slowly dimmed the sun but allowed its effect to linger.

The Healer, who managed to shake off the wave of admiration in the room, blinked.

"This... Holy Magic," he said in astonishment. "But... How will you heal hundreds of thousands of people alone? Your mana will run out. Your lifespan won’t suffice. One person cannot heal a whole army."

Cassian tilted his head slightly to the side, his long hair falling over his eyes. He fixed those sharp eyes shining through his hair on the healer. An arrogant yet equally justified smile appeared on his lips.

"Who..." said Cassian, his voice echoing in the room. "Decides that?"

The Healer was speechless. The aura radiated by this young man in front of him was so dominant, so "absolute", that logical arguments stuck in his throat.

Cassian approached the table.

"Just so you know," he said, lowering his voice. "I am much more than I appear. Things you call impossible are my daily routine."

General Hareth put his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. His old eyes narrowed, weighing Cassian. This boy had the air of those legendary heroes he saw in his youth. He was either the greatest savior or the greatest disaster.

"I hope it is as you say, kid," said General Hareth, his voice raspy. "Because the North... is not in a state to handle even a single mistake, a single empty promise. If you fail, not only us, but history will be erased."

Cassian looked into the General’s eyes. Respectfully, but without backing down.

"I know as well as you do how bad a state the North is in, General," he said. "Like you, the lives of me and the people I value depend on this approaching war. We do not have the luxury to lose."

He straightened up and turned to the table to give his final order.

"When the people are gathered in the capital, Cryomara and the army you will move to the capital will protect it. Inside the walls will be safe."

He turned his gaze to General Hareth.

"As for me... Me and a small team will set out to meet that approaching support army. I need to guide them through this storm."

He asked the General expectantly.

"I hope... you will join me in guiding the approaching army to bring them to the capital, General. You know the region better than I do, and the soldiers respect you."

General Hareth paused for a moment. Then he smiled. It was like a wild wolf baring its teeth. He slightly shifted the massive sword at his side from its sheath.

"I may be old..." said the General, an old fire sparking in his eyes. "But my sword is still strong enough to cleave a mountain, kid. I’m coming with you."

Cassian nodded with satisfaction.

"Glad to hear that."

He slapped his hands on the table and ended the meeting.

"Then that is all for today. Do not waste time. Get to work as soon as possible. Send out your messengers, evacuate the villages, and gather the people in the capital. The more lives you save, the stronger we will be."

He turned his back and headed for the door.

"Soon... when the support army arrives, we can have a real meeting for that war which will determine our fate. Until then... stay alive."