Third-Rate Villain Of Fantasy Novel-Chapter 55: Merrohim

Joachim tapped his cane against the ground.

The sharp crack of wood striking stone echoed in the air, just like it had the first time he disappeared with the carriage.

A faint circle of light spread beneath our feet.

At first, it was no more than a thin white outline, but intricate patterns quickly bloomed outward—ancient symbols weaving into one another, lines bending and twisting like living things. The air grew heavy. Cold. Electric.

The same magical ritual unfolded around us.

White light began to rise from the circle, wrapping around our legs, then our waists. Joachim’s hand rested firmly on my shoulder, steady and unshaken, while Elena stood close on my other side. I could feel the tension in her posture even though she tried to hide it.

"Don’t resist it," Joachim said calmly. "Let the mana pass through you."

As if answering his words, a tremendous flow of mana surged upward.

It wasn’t painful.

It wasn’t even uncomfortable.

It was overwhelming.

The energy poured into us like a roaring river bursting through a narrow channel. My skin prickled. My bones vibrated faintly. The light intensified until it swallowed everything—Joachim, Elena, the sky, the ground.

White.

Nothing but white.

It was an inexplicable moment, but I could feel the movement of space directly within my body. Not outside of me. Not around me.

Inside.

As if my very existence had been momentarily unanchored.

For a split second, it felt like my body was scattered into countless fragments, only to be drawn back together by invisible threads. Yet I never lost awareness. I could still tell what was front and what was back, what was up and what was down.

Strangely enough...

I felt excited.

It was said that for those who experienced teleportation for the first time in novels, their stomachs churned and their heads spun. But I felt none of that. No nausea. No dizziness.

Was it because this body had already surpassed human limits?

Or was it simply my perception sharpening in response to mana?

I couldn’t continue such doubtful thoughts.

The moment was extremely short.

In the next instant, the light vanished as if it had never existed.

Cold air struck my face.

The scent changed.

Instead of the faint sweetness of Count Kraus’s gardens, there was the crisp bite of winter. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness.

The world before me was no longer Count Kraus’s estate.

Instead—

A vast courtyard stretched out beneath a dim sky. Snow drifted lazily from above, thin and delicate.

Ahead stood a magnificent white castle, its walls smooth and radiant even under the muted daylight. Behind it, rising higher than the surrounding structures, was a tall stone tower that pierced into the gray clouds.

It felt ancient.

And powerful.

"My territory."

Joachim’s voice carried quietly through the cold air.

"Welcome to Merrohim, Damian Kraus."

A small snowflake drifted down and landed softly on the tip of my nose. The chill snapped me fully back to reality.

Elena inhaled sharply beside me.

"...It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" she whispered.

It truly was.

---

"Wow."

The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

I didn’t even mean to say it out loud, but the moment the view came into sight, it felt like my chest had been pried open and filled with something too big to hold in.

I pressed my palm lightly against the cold glass of the window and leaned closer.

Outside, the city lay beneath a quiet blanket of white. Snow had settled along rooftops, clung to balconies, softened the sharp edges of streets and towers. The usual noise of the capital felt distant, muted, as if the world itself had lowered its voice out of respect for the season.

It was beautiful.

No—beautiful wasn’t enough. It felt unreal.

Even in Sarham, it snowed during winter. I had seen snow before. I had walked through it, kicked it aside, even complained about it when it soaked through my boots.

But this...

This felt different.

In Sarham, the snow always felt like a visitor—temporary, shallow, something that would melt away before you truly noticed it.

Here, in Edelweiss, it felt like the city belonged to winter. As if the snow had claimed it long ago and simply returned every year to remind everyone of that fact.

"You look like you’ve never seen snow before."

I turned slightly at the voice behind me.

"It’s not that," I said, though I didn’t take my eyes off the view. "I’ve seen it. Just... not like this."

A quiet chuckle answered me.

"It’s heavier here," Joachim said. "And it stays."

I watched as a gust of wind swept across the street below, lifting fine powder into the air. It shimmered faintly in the pale light of the afternoon sun.

As spring began to soften the cold, the snow was already thinning in some places. But I couldn’t help imagining what it must look like at the height of winter.

Would it pile up as high as the lower roofs? Would the streets vanish entirely beneath layers of white?

"I heard," I murmured, half to myself, "that if it weren’t regulated, the snow would bury half the city."

"That’s true," he replied. "The Tower of Dawn controls the accumulation."

I glanced back at him this time. "Controls it how?"

"Magic formations," he said with a shrug. "Temperature balance, wind redirection. If they didn’t intervene, the snowfall from the northern currents would be... excessive."

Excessive.

I let out a quiet breath.

If this were Kraus instead of Edelweiss, the knights would have been forced out in groups at dawn, shoveling endlessly, clearing paths until their hands blistered and their shoulders ached.

I could almost picture it—lines of armored men grumbling under their breath while snow continued to fall as if mocking them.

Just thinking about it made me shiver.

"It would be a nightmare," I muttered.

"For you, maybe," he teased. "I’d like to see you in a shovel squad."

I shot him a look. "You wouldn’t survive a day."

He laughed at that, raising his hands in surrender.

"It’s fortunate Kraus is in the South," I said more quietly.

There, winters were milder. Manageable. The snow came, yes—but it never felt overwhelming.

Beyond the city walls, my gaze drifted further, toward the horizon.

The mountain range stood tall and silent, its peaks wrapped in perpetual snow. Even now, as spring crept into the lower lands, those mountains remained untouched—frozen, eternal, gleaming white against the sky.

They looked close enough to reach, yet impossibly distant.

"So high..." I murmured.

The Lunproud Mountains stretched endlessly across Sarham, their jagged peaks cutting through the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast.

From afar, the lower slopes were alive — forests thick with towering trees, their branches woven together so tightly that sunlight filtered through in fractured gold. Even from here, I could almost imagine the scent of damp soil and pine resin, the quiet hum of insects, the hidden movement of animals beneath the canopy.

Life thrived there.

But higher up...

Higher up, everything changed.

The world turned white.

The trees thinned, then vanished. The earth disappeared beneath layers of unmoving frost. Snow covered everything in such a perfect, undisturbed sheet that it looked like an unmarked canvas — untouched, unstained, mercilessly blank. No tracks. No movement. No sound.

It was so quiet that it felt wrong.

If someone unfamiliar with this place stood beside me, they might laugh and say, There’s no way anything lives up there.

And honestly... I wouldn’t blame them.

But I knew better.

The wind that came down from the mountaintop wasn’t just cold. It was violent. It tore through clothing, through skin, through bone. It wasn’t the kind of cold that nipped at your cheeks — it was the kind that tried to claim you. Freeze you exactly where you stood. Preserve you like a sculpture carved from fragile flesh.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, though it did little good.

Even from this distance, I could feel it.

Yet there were creatures that lived there.

Monsters.

Beasts.

And something far greater.

"A dragon..." I muttered under my breath, watching a faint swirl of snow dance near the summit.

My voice sounded small against the mountain.

It had been hundreds of years since humans had stepped foot that high and returned alive. The peak remained untouched, almost sacred in its hostility. And somewhere near the highest ridge, beyond the clouds that clung to the cliffs—

It lived.

"I probably won’t meet it right away," I said quietly to myself. "But... it feels good to know it’s there."

The dragon of Mount Pelioros.

The end of the sky.

In the novel, it wasn’t portrayed as some mindless calamity. It wasn’t a tyrant that burned cities for sport. It was arrogant — of course it was. All dragons were. It possessed strength that could level kingdoms and pride that rivaled the mountains themselves.

But it wasn’t evil.

If anything, it was... righteous.

It protected the world in its own way. It despised corruption. It crushed true evil without hesitation. And though it rarely involved itself in human affairs, when it did, history shifted.

And most importantly—

It would one day become Elena’s teacher.

I let out a slow breath, watching it fog in front of me.

"Elena..." I murmured.

Five... maybe six years from now, she would climb that mountain. Broken. Desperate. Determined.

And she would meet it.

Right now, though?

It was probably asleep.

Dragons often slept for years at a time, their enormous bodies coiled within ancient caverns carved by their own claws. I could almost picture it — scales like pale silver reflecting faint moonlight, wings folded, breath slow and steady as frost gathered with each exhale.

Waiting.