The carriage lumbered along the rugged path, each jostle a harsh reminder of Kenshin's captivity. Days melded into nights, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on dirt mingling with the muffled conversations of the traffickers. Their laughter, filled with the indulgence of stolen riches, contrasted sharply with Kenshin's silent suffering.
As hunger gnawed at his insides, Kenshin's thoughts drifted to the others imprisoned alongside him. He wondered about their fates, their struggles hidden behind the grim bars of their cells. The meager portions of food and stale bread barely sustained him, leaving him weak and weary.
One evening, as the carriage slowed to navigate a particularly rough patch of road, Kenshin overheard snippets of conversation between the traffickers and the guards stationed at the border walls.
**Trafficker:** (hushed tone) "What do you want? We have business with Lord Frozenfang."
Guard 1:(skeptical) "Lord Frozenfang? What business does a merchant caravan have with him?"
Trafficker:(smoothly) "We carry a shipment requested by his lordship. Valuable goods that demand his personal attention."
Guard 2:(gruffly) "Better not be wasting our time. Frozenfang doesn't appreciate delays."
The tension in the air was palpable as the guards scrutinized the caravan, eyeing the chained prisoners warily. Kenshin's heart raced with anticipation and anxiety, his senses heightened by the uncertainty of their destination.
The gates of the border walls creaked open reluctantly, allowing passage into the protected territory under Lord Frozenfang's domain. The chill in the air grew sharper, a biting reminder of the northern region's icy grip. Kenshin shivered involuntarily, the cold seeping through the cracks of his confinement.
Trafficker: (triumphant)" We're in. Onward to Frozenfang's mansion."
The carriage's creaking wheels echoed in the chilly air as it approached the foreboding gates of Lord Eirik Frozenfang's estate. Kenshin, huddled in his cramped cell, could sense the change in atmosphere. His keen ears caught snippets of conversation between the trafficker and the guards, hinting at the significance of their cargo.
As they rolled to a stop, Kenshin strained to catch a glimpse of their destination. Lord Frozenfang stood regally at the forefront of his mansion, flanked by two imposing bodyguards and his majestic wolf companion. The lord's presence commanded respect, his piercing ice-colored eyes surveying the arriving caravan with a mix of curiosity and authority.
A man of formidable stature, Lord Eirik had long white hair cascading over broad shoulders, ice-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the cold, and a black beard that spoke of wisdom and power. He wore a coat befitting his status, the fabric whispering tales of harsh winters and untold secrets.
The trafficker, seizing the moment, stepped forward with a flourish, gesturing towards Kenshin's carriage. "Lord Frozenfang, here you have your merchant and the twenty slaves as requested," he announced with a tone that bordered on arrogance.
Lord Eirik's gaze shifted to the carriage, his expression unreadable as he assessed the chained occupants within. With a subtle nod to his bodyguards, he motioned for them to retrieve a bag of silver coins, a transaction as mundane as any other in his dealings.
The trafficker, emboldened by the opportunity, interjected hastily, "But you will have to pay extra for that one. He is special, of noble blood. Guaranteed to possess magic."
A flicker of interest crossed Lord Eirik's features as he regarded Kenshin with a newfound curiosity. The notion of noble blood and latent magic stirred something within the lord, hinting at secrets and ambitions yet to unfold in the shadowy halls of Frozenfang's domain.