The white vastness that separated Border Town from the dreaded Impassable Mountain Range was not a territory for the weak.
Snow fell in furious swirls, and the wind howled like lost souls, carrying the deadly cold that froze the blood in one's veins. However, for the two travelers crossing that immensity, the journey was far from the freezing and bloody hell that the rest of the world faced.
They were traveling through the Mist World.
Nightingale's universe in shades of gray, white, and black distorted space and danger.
Around them, the physical world was just a blur; the demonic beasts infesting the path—corrupted wolves, monstrous boars, and even the glimpse of a gigantic mutant eagle—were nothing more than distorted, harmless shadows. With the sharp instincts of a former assassin and the safety of her magic, Nightingale guided William, dodging every pack with astonishing ease.
The trek that would be a continuous war in the real world became a silent stroll through the spectrum of shadows.
And there was a fascinating detail that was leaving the witch in awe. Since they entered the mist, William had been testing the limits of his own powers within her spell, and with a faint, inaudible hum in the air, the warrior's figure simply disappeared and reappeared a few steps ahead.
Thanks to his Teleportation magic, he was able to bend space even within Nightingale's parallel universe. Although not having invested any points in magical enhancement ended up limiting his jump to a short three meters away, it was still an absurd feat.
To stay connected and not be ejected from the mist independently, the two needed to maintain physical contact. From the moment they left the heavy gates of Roland's castle, William's large, calloused fingers were firmly intertwined with Nightingale's delicate, gloved hand.
When the afternoon began to give way to the elongated shadows of dusk, and the mental exhaustion of sustaining the continuous spell began to weigh on the witch's shoulders, William squeezed her hand lightly.
— "Let's stop." — his voice sounded muffled by the mist. — "You've already saved us hours of travel by dodging those beasts; we need to set up camp before it gets completely dark."
Nightingale nodded, exhausted but relieved. With a sigh, she dispelled the magic.
The transition was abrupt.
Colors burst back into reality: the blinding white of the snow, the dark green of the frozen pines, and the leaden sky. The sound of the howling wind, previously silenced, hit them with the force of a physical punch.
They were in a small natural valley, protected by a dense barrier of rocks and ancient trees that blocked the worst of the blizzard.
— "Leave it to me now." — William said, letting go of her hand with a reluctance he tried to disguise by assuming a practical posture.
Nightingale crossed her arms against the cold, leaning against a rock. She expected him to go hunting for dry firewood or try to dig a hole in the snow, but instead, William raised his right hand in front of him and slid his fingers through the empty air, as if touching an invisible parchment.
A small translucent blue screen blinked before William's eyes. He accessed his [INVENTORY].
For Nightingale, what happened next was pure magic of the highest caliber.
Without the need to exert magical flows, the air distorted and a heavy, forged-steel lumberjack's ax simply materialized in the young Commander's hand.
With heavy steps, William walked over to a thick-trunked pine tree that had dried up and died in the cold.
Planting his feet firmly in the snow, he raised the ax, and thanks to his terrifying points in strength attributes, he didn't need lumberjack technique; just pure brute strength.
CRACK! BAM!
With two casual blows, the thick trunk was split in half, falling into the snow with a crash.
In less than five minutes, he had reduced the tree to a perfect pile of firewood.
Next, his hand returned to the empty air. In the blink of an eye, he pulled from his interdimensional storage two heavy dark waxed tarps and a small cast-iron skillet. He stretched the tarps between the rocks and the trunks, tying them with impressive agility, creating a slanted tent that blocked almost 80% of the icy wind, forming a cozy, dry refuge.
William huffed, looking at his invisible interface.
— "Ten damn slots." — he grumbled to himself, shaking his head in disapproval. — "This System gave me a heavily nerfed inventory; any basic RPG game where I come from gives you at least thirty starting slots. I had to leave half my things at the castle."
He thrust his hand into the vacuum once more; from the six remaining slots he had saved, he pulled out heavy pieces of raw meat.
They were prime cuts of beef and beautiful pieces of boneless chicken. But the most impressive thing to Nightingale's widened eyes was that the meats weren't frozen by the mountain cold, nor did they exude any smell of rot, despite being stored for hours; the inventory's temporal stasis kept the food in the exact state it was stored in.
While William used some damp twigs to forge a makeshift grill over the stones he had piled up, Nightingale finally couldn't contain her astonishment.
— "You complain, but I've never seen anything like this." — she murmured, sitting on a cut log inside the shelter, protected from the wind. — "Storing heavy objects in an invisible pocket and taking them out perfectly preserved... That is incredibly useful, William. How many 'Magics' do you still have hidden in that System of yours?"
William stopped what he was doing. He looked at the interface and scratched his chin.
— "You know, I never stopped to think about it with the word 'magics', not even 'powers'. To me, they were just bad features of a stingy System." — he laughed softly, sitting across from her. — "But, considering the rules of magic, I guess you could consider these things as witchcraft."
He began counting on his fingers, enumerating his skills frankly.
— "If we consider it that way, I possess five distinct magics. The first is Teleportation, which you already know; the second is Self-enhancement: I gain invisible points that I use to permanently reinforce my physical capabilities, bones, and reflexes to superhuman levels; the third is the Spatial Inventory, this invisible pocket that holds up to ten things frozen in time; and the fourth would be immunity to the effects of the God's Stone of Retaliation. And the fifth..."
William paused, opened the System shop, saw that he now only had a few credits left over from saving militiamen from severe injuries, and sighed, spending 9 virtual credits right then and there.
— "...The fifth is the Shop. It allows me to obtain things I don't yet possess out of absolute nothingness."
The air distorted again in his hand, and a small, colorful rectangular metal object materialized: it was a modern lighter.
William pressed the button, and a small, perfect flame sprouted. He quickly lit the firewood base under the twig grill. The fire crackled, warming the small isolated shelter and casting an orange light over their faces.
Nightingale watched the fire come to life and the "magic item" disappear back into his pocket. She hugged her knees, thinking: if the Witch Cooperation Association considered Cara a respectable mentor because she could summon different types of poisonous magical snakes, William, in Nightingale's eyes, was the true master of magic.
— "If all the 'male witches' are like this, you are vastly ahead of us." — she stated, her voice tinged with a humble and sincere admiration. — "The Church wouldn't last long if you decided to march against Hermes."
— "Maybe in the future, yes, but for now we're still limited, since using Magic is physically exhausting." — William smiled, arranging the pieces of meat on the makeshift grill. The sizzle of fat dripping into the fire began to fill the air with a nostalgic and comforting aroma.
Silence descended upon the shelter.
It wasn't a tense silence, but one heavy with an unspoken intimacy. The wind howled outside the tarp, but inside that small square forged in the snow, there was only the heat of the fire and each other's presence.
Without thinking, guided only by the habit of the last few hours, William reached his hand out over his crossed legs. Nightingale, with the same instinctive naturalness, extended hers, and their hands met and intertwined once again.
William looked at their joined, icy hands; her hand was soft and smooth.
— "We've been holding hands since we left the stables this morning." — William joked, his voice low and a little hoarse, a mischievous smile curving the corner of his lips. — "At this rate, with how cold it is, our hands are going to end up freezing together."
Nightingale didn't look away to the ground, nor did she dodge with sarcasm; quite the opposite. She raised her eyes, which were now bright and intense, locking them directly onto his blue ones.
The firelight reflected on her face, giving her pale skin a warm and ethereal tone.
— "Yes..." — she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, loaded with a boldness that only love allowed. — "But I don't think that would be a bad idea."
William's smile wavered, replaced by a devoted seriousness.
The air seemed to grow thinner inside the shelter; their breathing became subtly heavier. Words and banter dried up, leaving only the invisible force of attraction that had been built over nights on guard duty on the wall, conversations in empty kitchens, and confessions of loyalty and mourning.
They looked at each other intensely. The outside world, the conspiracies of kingdoms, the demonic beasts, the supposed Demons with minds, and the snow—everything ceased to exist. Slowly, as if pulled by an inevitable magnetic force, their faces began to draw closer.
Neither of them pulled back.
The heat of the campfire paled before the heat radiating between them.
Their noses touched lightly. Nightingale closed her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering softly, and William tilted his face.
It was a quick, innocent, soft, and sweet kiss, but it carried a promise and the weight of an unbreakable oath.
Their lips touched briefly, but the emotional shock of that minimal physical contact sent an electric current through both their hearts.
They separated a few millimeters, their foreheads still dangerously close, one's breath mingling with the other's. Nightingale's cheeks were so red they seemed to reflect the embers, a small victorious and deeply embarrassed smile drawn on the lips that had just been touched.
Sizzle!
The sizzle of the meat's fat hitting the stronger flames popped their trance bubble, reminding them that they still inhabited reality.
William cleared his throat, blinking fast to regain his focus, and pulled back slightly, though his hand remained firmly gripping hers. He used his free hand to grab a small vial he carried in his doublet's inner pocket.
— "Almost let it burn." — he murmured, trying—and miserably failing—to hide his joy. He sprinkled the ready-made seasoning over the chicken and beef.
They ate in a comfortable silence, exchanging furtive glances, chewing the rustic barbecue that, in that inhospitable setting, tasted like a full banquet.
The hot food lined their stomachs and calmed their nerves, but the adrenaline that kept William on his feet began to take its toll.
The continuous effort of fighting, teleporting, and walking through deep snow sapped his immense energies.
Shortly after they finished eating and wiped their hands, William leaned his back against the log that served as a pillar for the tarp. He stared at the crackling fire, his eyelids drooping uncontrollably, and before he could warn that he was going to close his eyes for just "one second", exhaustion overtook him.
His head slumped forward and the invincible guardian passed out, falling asleep sitting up.
Nightingale noticed his breathing becoming deep and rhythmic; an incredibly affectionate smile appeared on the assassin's face.
Moving with the delicacy of a shadow, Nightingale slid along the log to get closer to him, and with extreme care, she guided William's sleeping head until it rested comfortably on her own left shoulder.
She looked at the serene face of the warrior who had come from a land so far away to change her destiny. Unhurriedly, and completely at peace with her own decisions, Nightingale went back to holding his rough hand.
Resting their joined hands on her lap, ready to spend the rest of that icy night guarding the sleep of the man who loved her.