On the northernmost part of the world, the Cold Continent, the weather was not what one would expect. It used to be so frigid that not even a blade of grass could survive the harsh conditions. But for the past few years, things had changed dramatically. The arrival of a saint-level being had transformed the environment. With their immense power, they altered the very climate of the region. Though it was still nowhere near the warmth of the Eastern Continent, the Cold Continent had become far more bearable. Snow still covered much of the land, but there were hints of greenery and patches of life, a stark contrast to its previous desolation.
Inside a modest wooden cottage, tucked away in the heart of this transformed landscape, sat an old man. His frail body slouched in a creaky chair, his face gaunt and pale. Despite his feeble appearance, his sunken eyes held a glimmer of power, a reminder of the force that still coursed through him. He appeared alone in the room, yet his lips moved as though carrying on a conversation.
"Armand, what are you saying?" the man asked, his voice raspy yet steady. It was a thin, feminine voice—a curious sound given his aged, masculine form. To an outside observer, the situation would appear bizarre. No one else was present, and yet the old man seemed to be answering someone unseen.
After a brief pause, the old man responded again, as though he had heard a reply. "An invader in the cold continent? What's that got to do with me?" His tone was dismissive, almost annoyed. Silence fell again, but the man listened intently, his expression shifting as though someone were speaking directly to him.
"You want me to check the continent?" he said at last, his voice tinged with irritation. "I don't have time or the power for that. I'm already expending most of my energy keeping the Cold Continent's climate as it is. Do you think fighting against the world's natural laws is easy? I can't waste my strength on your little errand."
The room fell quiet once more, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. Minutes passed, and then the feminine voice spoke again, though only the old man seemed to hear it. His brow furrowed, and his lips tightened into a frown.
"So, you'll help me return to the Eastern Continent?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "Is this you talking, Armand, or the force behind you pulling your strings?" He waited for a response, his cloudy eyes narrowing as though trying to discern the truth.
After another moment of silence, the old man sighed heavily. "Fine," he said, resignation evident in his voice. "I'll check and guide him—but only if you promise to get me back home. No tricks."
He leaned back in his chair, his thin frame seeming to sink further into the worn wood. "Still as creepy as ever," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
The old man, Efram, was no stranger to such strange conversations. As a saint-level expert, he had long since accepted that the world around him operated differently than it did for ordinary mortals. But even he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the deal he had just struck.
So, the invaders are making their move already, he thought, his mind racing. Should I inform the Purists about this? Perhaps they could use their influence to convince the emperor to let me return to the Eastern Continent.
The thought lingered for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it with a scowl. "No, that won't work. And I'd hate to have that boy as my enemy. Trading one fire for another... What a mess."
Frustration bubbled within him, and he let out a low groan. His situation was dire, and he knew it. Once, he had been celebrated as the Great Saint Efram, a hero who had saved the Eastern Continent from a corrupted god. But that glory was long gone. Now, he was a fugitive, banished to the Cold Continent, far from the home he had once cherished.
It hadn't always been this way. Efram's downfall had been swift and brutal, a consequence of his own arrogance. He could still remember the day that had sealed his fate. It had been an ordinary afternoon, or so he thought. He was resting in his estate in the Eastern Continent when the sound of children's laughter interrupted his peace. At first, he had tried to ignore it, but the noise grew louder and more persistent. His patience snapped, and in a fit of rage, he acted.
The slaughter was quick and merciless. It wasn't until later that he realized the gravity of what he had done. Among the children were the sons of three high-ranking nobles. But the true mistake—the one that had turned the entire continent against him—was killing the Emperor's 104th daughter. She may have been one of many, but the Emperor's wrath was absolute.
Branded a criminal and hunted by the Hycanes Empire, Efram had no choice but to flee. He sought refuge in the Cold Continent, a place no one else dared to tread. To survive there, he had to reshape the very climate, expending much of his strength to make the land livable. Even now, the effort took its toll, leaving him weaker than he had ever been.
And now, he was being dragged into the schemes of the invaders. It was humiliating, to say the least. Once a revered hero, he had been reduced to a pawn, forced to do the bidding of those who offered him sanctuary.
"Well, I'd better get this over with," he muttered, standing from his chair. His joints creaked, but he paid them no mind. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his remaining strength, and the air around him shimmered. In an instant, he vanished from the cottage.
Efram reappeared in a different part of the Cold Continent, his senses immediately attuned to the unfamiliar energy that had drawn him there. The landscape was stark but beautiful, the snow glistening under a pale sun. He scanned the horizon, searching for the presence he had been sent to find.
It didn't take long. The energy signature was strong, pulsing like a beacon. He followed it, his movements slow but deliberate, until he arrived at a clearing. In the center stood a figure, cloaked and hooded, their features obscured.
The figure turned as Efram approached, their movements fluid and purposeful. "So, you're the one they sent to greet me," the figure said, their voice calm but edged with authority.
Efram stopped a few paces away, his gaze steady. "And you're the so-called invader," he replied, his tone neutral. "You don't look like much."
The figure chuckled softly, pulling back their hood to reveal a youthful face. Their eyes gleamed with confidence, and a faint smile played at their lips. "Appearances can be deceiving," they said. "But you already know that, don't you?"
Efram's expression remained unchanged. "Let's get one thing straight," he said coldly. "I'm not here because I want to be. I was ordered to assist you, nothing more. Don't mistake this for friendship or loyalty."
The figure nodded, their smile fading slightly. "Understood. But tell me, why does someone like you—a legend, from what I hear—take orders from anyone? Surely you're not so weak as to let them control you."
Efram's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "You know nothing of my circumstances," he said sharply. "And I have no intention of explaining myself to you. My task is to guide you. Beyond that, you're on your own."
The figure held his gaze for a moment before nodding again. "Fair enough," they said. "Let's get started."
Efram sighed, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. He couldn't shake the feeling that this arrangement was just another chain, another burden tying him down. But for now, he had no choice. He would do what was asked of him, and he would endure.
For he had no other option. Plus, he felt unease he could feel the Primal power coursing through' the kid they had sent over he was a peak emperor rank expert he had to remain vigilant' Efram thought as he teleported him and his guest to his humble abode.