The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 63 - A Presence that Shakes the Skies

After the goblin camp raid, we began our slow trek back toward camp. The storm had not relented since morning, its endless howl clawing at our ears, its bite sharp against our faces. The world around us was a blur of grey and white, the air so thick with swirling frost that even the treeline seemed to dissolve into shadow. Yet, almost as if in mockery, the hail ceased the moment we completed our business at the goblin camp.

For a brief moment, I thought fortune had turned in our favor—but no. The winds, freed from the weight of falling ice, rose in anger. They battered us with such force that one wrong step could send the boys tumbling into the snowdrifts. The forest groaned around us, its branches snapping like brittle bones under the pressure. I kept my pace deliberate, my stance firm, every step a battle against the storm’s unending push.

The raid itself had been hardly worth the effort in terms of loot. Goblins were never the type to hoard treasures worth a merchant’s smile. Their weapons were crude—warped iron and splintered handles, fit only for desperate hands. The few magical trinkets we found in the shamans’ possession reeked of the dark arts, their surfaces etched with malicious runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. They were the kind of items one did not keep, but destroy.

The only tangible gain was a small pile of silver, perhaps ten golds’ worth if sold in the right market. I could only assume it was stolen from the poor souls they had dragged away in their own vile raids.

Still, I could not call it a waste. The boys had tasted the chaos of striking an entrenched camp, and that was worth more than coin. As for myself… I had felled an orc. That alone was its own reward. All seemed well.

Or so I thought.

By the time we reached camp, the storm had worsened. The air felt heavier, as though the sky itself was pressing down upon us. The snow no longer fell in gentle drifts, but in wild, spiraling torrents.

Yet it wasn’t the intensity that unsettled me. No—there was something wrong about it. Something unnatural. I could feel it deep in my core, the same way one might sense the tremor before an earthquake.

Above, the clouds towered upon themselves, layer after layer, an unending mass of rolling black and steel-grey. They moved in a way that didn’t belong to ordinary weather, folding inward as if pulled by some unseen hand.

“…” I exhaled sharply. This was no time to stand idle.

I made my way to my tent, where I found Evelyn bent over her desk, quill in hand, her hair spilling across her shoulders as she worked. The candlelight flickered restlessly beside her, as though it too was aware of the storm.

“Oh, you’re back. How did it go?” she asked, looking up.

“It went well… but now’s not the time for that,” I replied, already reaching for her belongings.

Her brow furrowed. “W-what’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with this storm. We need to pack your things and get you out of the forest. Now.”

She glanced toward the tent flap, listening to the muffled roar of the wind. “Really? It just looks like a storm. Not that strange. I can stay.”

I stopped for only a moment to meet her gaze. “Trust me. I’ve seen every kind of storm this region can conjure. Our village lives under their shadow—storms that tear the fields bare, that flood the earth and leave nothing behind. But this… this is different.”

She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “…Okay. What about the boys? Are they coming back too?”

“I don’t know. But right now, I’m prioritizing your safety.”

With renewed urgency, I gathered the rest of her things. She slipped on her coat without further argument, and together we stepped out into the open.

The moment we emerged, the boys turned toward us, their faces dusted with snow.

“C-Captain? What’s wrong?” one of them called.

“I’m taking Miss Evelyn back to the village. You’ll stay and guard the camp. I won’t be long,” I said, my voice sharp over the howling wind.

I had expected worry or protest, but there was none. They stood their ground, ready despite the storm’s teeth.

“…I’ll be back. Keep warm. And from the looks of it, gather more firewood—you’ll need it,” I told them before turning away.

And so, Evelyn and I set out.

At first, I moved swiftly from tree to tree, covering great distances with each leap, my boots finding purchase on snow-laden branches. The forest blurred past us in streaks of black bark and white frost. But the further we went from camp, the more the urgency clawed at me. I could not risk the storm turning worse before we reached safety.

Without warning, I drew upon my core, pulling at the air around me. The winds answered, swirling in tight, invisible spirals until they took form. From my back, a pair of wings unfurled—each feather shaped from sharpened currents, translucent yet gleaming with the shimmer of ice-lit moonlight.

The moment they spread wide, the storm bent around us, the snow spiraling in our wake. I launched us upward.

Evelyn gasped, her arms tightening around me. “Y-you can fly?”

“For a short while, yes,” I replied, my voice steady over the rush of air. “Right now, I can keep it up for about an hour. With this, we’ll reach the village in minutes.”

Her eyes darted from the trees below to the roiling clouds above. “Since when could you do this?”

“It’s a recent development,” I admitted.

“Oh… that explains a lot,” she said dryly, though I could hear the strain in her voice.

“I wish I could tell you how it works, but… it just does,” I said.

“I see… j-just don’t go too high. I’m not good with heights,” she murmured, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Alright,” I assured her.

The air thinned as we climbed, each beat of my wings cutting through the storm’s currents. Snow whirled past like shards of glass in the wind, yet the gale obeyed my command, carrying us swiftly forward.

Back then, I wasn’t capable of flying…and although I did master controlling the winds, the amount of winds that I could control at that time was limited. The amount of winds that I could control relied on how much winds I was able to absorb into my core.

And not just any wind would suffice…true winds come from the storms that are alive. In other words, unnatural storms. Back then, when I first met Evelyn, when I was saving her carriage from the storm that was alive, I absorb that storm and in turn my control over the winds became stronger. To truly strengthen my control, storms like those twisters were what I need. The kind of twisters that don’t happen because of natural causes, but instead it occurs by the cause of unnatural causes.

The storms that come by our village happens every two months. And during my time training Theodore in his magic, and training the boys in my company, I was able to absorb another storm into my core.

At that time I was able to strengthen my control and in return, I was now able to use winds to unnatural levels. And this in return also strengthened my attacks that relied on the Tempest blades of the Gale.

Although my core is currently still at the third stage, absorbing storms are also another way for me to getting stronger.

As we were flying through the forest, Evelyn then spoke of another issue.

“Ah, right,” she said suddenly. “While you were away, I received a message from Desmond through one of our messenger birds.”

“What was the message?” I asked, angling my wings to ride a strong current.

“It seems my sister, Eliana, and her husband, Escanor, are coming to rest in the village.”

“What’s their reason for coming?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned. But a few weeks ago, Desmond told me that Escanor had been tasked with a mission to a count’s castle. Apparently, the Royal Family ordered him to seize the count for insubordination.”

I frowned. “A count against the Royal Family… that can’t be good.”

“Exactly. I heard the count has been mismanaging his people—rumors say he’s been selling them as slaves, and even dabbling in the dark arts. It’s been going on for months, so I suppose the king has finally decided to act.”

Her words barely had time to settle in my mind before a sound split the air above us—a sharp, unholy shriek that rattled the very bones of the storm. It was the kind of roar that felt alive, laced with something primal and violent.

Then came the first impact.

From the clouds, blocks of ice the size of trees crashed down through the sky.

“!!?” I banked hard to the left, my wings whipping up a protective spiral of wind as a massive shard slammed into the ground where we had been an instant earlier. Snow and splinters of frozen earth erupted in every direction.

Another fell—then another. Each one was large enough to crush a home outright… perhaps even level a mansion in a single strike.

“W-what’s happening?!” Evelyn’s voice was sharp with panic, her eyes wide as she watched the sky hurl death in crystalline form.

I pushed the wind harder, weaving between the falling giants. My focus narrowed to the rhythm of their descent, the gaps between each impact, the threads of safety within the chaos. One wrong movement, one fraction of hesitation, and it would be over. But I did not falter—not a single shard touched us.

Even so, I knew this wasn’t over.

“Evelyn,” I called, my voice steady despite the chaos, “don’t be afraid—but I think we need to go higher.”

“What?!”

“It’s alright. I’m not letting you go. Trust me.”

She clung tighter. “A-ah… is this going to help with… whatever this is?”

“It’s going to help us see what’s happening inside this storm.”

“What—?!”

“Hold on.”

I pulled sharply upward, wings straining against the storm’s pull. The world tilted beneath us as we climbed, trees shrinking to thin veins of green in the white landscape. The cold bit deeper here, slicing against my skin like knives.

This entire situation was unnatural. The ice, the roar, the weight in the air—none of it belonged to an ordinary storm.

Unless…

No.

My pulse quickened.

‘…It can’t be.’

Flying against the peril set before us, I was finally nearing the clouds. Slowly but surely, I could sense something looming above. The closer we drew, the more I felt Evelyn’s sharp nails digging into my skin, betraying her fear.

And then—

Fwooosh!

We broke through the clouds… and there, spread before my eyes, was a vast, twisting expanse of dark clouds stretching endlessly across the horizon.

“…W-why is it here?” I muttered, my voice tinged with dread.

“A-are we there yet?” Evelyn asked, her eyes still tightly shut.

Gradually, she opened them… and what met her gaze could only be described as divine wonder.

The clouds above swirled like a celestial ocean, magnificent and surreal.

Yet, at the very heart of it all, a lone figure with wings stood suspended in the air.

“What is that?” she asked, curiosity mingling with awe.

But even as the words left her lips, she felt a tremor ripple through her body.

When her eyes turned to Thill’s face, she saw it drained of all color, pale as snow.

It was fear—undeniable and raw.

An expression never before seen on him.

Thill had never once shown fear… until today.Before them—before Evelyn in her ignorance and Thill in his ragged breathing—stood a dragon whose wings stretched wide enough to shadow the sky itself. Each wing could have shrouded a mountain; its body was twice that in size, a living monument of power. Its head bore the expression of death incarnate, a visage no mortal could approach without trembling.

Frost-laden breath drifted from its maw, and in a voice deep enough to shake the air, it spoke a word meant for one man alone.

“Thill.”

“Haaa… it has been a while, King of Mercenaries.”

“…Glacial Dragon.”

Recognition flashed between them, and the beast’s maw curved into something like a smile.

It moved closer.

With a single flap of its colossal wings, the clouds scattered, torn away like mist before a storm. Then, with breath and magic entwined, the dragon conjured an island of ice—vast enough to bear its enormous weight—forming it from nothing in mere seconds.

Floating in the middle of the clouds, the Glacial Dragon stood like a ruler carved from ice and eternity. Its wings, vast enough to blot out the sun, moved in slow, deliberate arcs, stirring the mist into swirling halos around its colossal form. The scales that covered its body shimmered in shades of frozen sapphire and deep, ancient blue, each one edged with a razor glint like polished crystal. The air itself was colder here — not the simple chill of high altitude, but a biting, ancient frost that carried the weight of centuries.

Its eyes, like frozen orbs of pure cerulean, locked onto Thill with an authority that defied the sky and ground alike. This was no simple predator. This was a sovereign, a will incarnate.

And to his fierce presence, the Dragon called to Thill once again, its voice a deep rumble that vibrated through the marrow of the bones.

“Come. I implore you to speak to me… King of Mercenaries.”

The way it said King was not admiration — it was judgment, perhaps even a sentence. The weight of the words pressed against the air between them, heavy enough to make the clouds seem denser.

Watching it all, Thill gave his heaviest sigh. His breath steamed in the frigid air, curling upward and vanishing into the mist. With Evelyn still in his arms, he angled his wings and descended toward the Dragon.

“Did I hear that right?” Evelyn asked, still reeling. “Did he… did he call you a king?”

“…It’s not what you think,” Thill replied, his voice quieter than usual, though it carried its usual unshakable steadiness.

The moment his boots touched the uneven surface of a frozen cloud platform, he set Evelyn down. He faced the dragon without hesitation, his posture upright, his gaze unwavering. He didn’t bow — not out of disrespect, but as though such a gesture between them was meaningless.

Evelyn, still catching her breath, tried to make sense of the sight before her. The Dragon’s presence felt unreal — like something painted into the sky rather than truly existing in it. She felt like an intruder in someone else’s dream.

“I-I get it… this must be a dream, right?” she asked, turning to Thill as if waiting for him to smirk and confirm it.

“…” Thill gave no answer.

“Okay… if it’s a dream, then surely if I pinch my cheek, I won’t feel pain.”

With that, she grasped her own cheeks with both hands and pulled hard. Her skin flushed red, the sting sharp against the cold air. She didn’t stop. Pinch after pinch, the pain only deepened, grounding her more firmly in the impossible.

Thill reached out, catching her wrists before she could do any more damage.

“Stop it… this is all real,” he said.

Something in his tone — the certainty, the gravity — struck her more deeply than the stinging in her cheeks. Her eyes widened, and the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“Ah— what??”

“…Before us stands a dragon,” Thill said slowly, as though making her repeat it to herself. “A true dragon.”

She turned toward the creature again, her mind cycling between awe and disbelief.

“A dragon? Like the ones in those old fairy tales…? But they’re supposed to be rare. Legends. Why is one in front of us right now?!”

“…I don’t know,” Thill answered, though his eyes did not leave the beast.

The Glacial Dragon — the name alone carried the weight of countless unspoken stories. It was said to be the guardian of one of the ten grand ambitions of the world — monumental challenges, each promising something beyond mortal grasp. That was the legend.

But Thill knew a different truth. In the other path of his life — the one before his return — this very dragon had indeed been a guardian. It had been the greatest opponent of his mercenary reign, a battle that had taken blood, flesh and his life. And when he defeated it, his victory had set in motion a chain of events that would send him hurtling into the past.

The wish he made in the aftermath rewrote history itself. Now the records spoke of nine grand ambitions, not ten. The Glacial Dragon’s role had been erased as though it had never stood as a guardian. In the eyes of the current age, it was nothing more than a ruler of the northern mountains — a sovereign in exile from the pages of history.

And yet here it was. Unchanged. Unfaded. As if time’s erasure meant nothing to it.

Thill said nothing of this to Evelyn. She wouldn’t understand — or worse, she might draw dangerous conclusions. The fewer who knew about the fractured truth of the world, the better.

The Dragon’s gaze narrowed slightly, as if it could read the currents of Thill’s mind. “You’ve changed,” it said, though the words were meant for him alone.

Evelyn shivered, more from the voice than the cold. She clutched her arms and took an unconscious step closer to Thill. The weight of the air made her feel as though she was breathing ice. Every beat of her heart seemed too loud here.

Thill, for his part, stood steady, his hand resting lightly on the hilt at his side — not in threat, but in quiet readiness. His other hand brushed against the side of his coat where Evelyn could see it, an unspoken assurance.

The clouds shifted beneath them, revealing for a moment the sheer drop into an endless white abyss below. The sight sent a tremor through Evelyn’s stomach.

The Dragon’s next words were slow, deliberate, and edged with a strange amusement.

“Speak, King of Mercenaries. We have much… unfinished.”

Thill’s eyes flickered—just for an instant—with something Evelyn couldn’t quite place. Recognition? Regret? Whatever it was, it vanished before she could grasp it.

“…If we’re going to speak,” he said, his voice steady, “then let’s do so with everyone present.”

At those words, another figure stepped into the frozen land.

A man draped in black, his face hidden beneath a sheer veil.

Even the Glacial Dragon seemed lesser beside him. His presence was heavier, more absolute—a weight that bent the air without touching it.

He had no name, yet his role was the most exalted of all.

The keeper of vast ambitions.

The hand that rewarded those who dared reach for them.

And as he moved forward—

—time stopped again.

This time, it touched only Evelyn.

Thill’s head lifted immediately, sensing the shift. The clouds hung frozen in the sky, the winds stilled mid-roar… yet the Glacial Dragon remained as it was—majestic, unblinking, unbound.

“Okay then,” Thill said evenly, his voice cutting through the frozen silence, “why have you come for me?”

At those words alone, the Glacial Dragon’s expression shifted. The corners of his mouth curled into a slow, deliberate smile. And with that smile came a sudden, suffocating weight — a murderous intent so potent that it poured into the sky like a black tide.

“—!!?”

The very air quivered. One side of the earth itself seemed to shudder beneath its force, as if the ground hundreds of leagues away had felt the killing will of this ancient beast.

Then, just as swiftly, the pressure vanished. The smile remained, however — serene, unreadable. It was not a smile of joy, nor of mockery. It was a smile that spoke of secrets no mortal could grasp, a smile that could conceal either mercy or the promise of annihilation.

And in that moment, Thill knew he could not read him. The dragon’s gaze was an ocean without end, and he had no way of telling whether he was treading the shore… or already sinking beneath its depths.