At the word artifact, Lucian paused for a moment.
But only briefly—he soon nodded as if he understood.
The unexpectedly muted reaction made Marius blink.
"What? Not surprised? Aren't you curious what kind of artifact it was?"
"I'm sufficiently surprised. And curious, too. It's just that I was badly disappointed by an artifact-related matter not long ago, so I'm tempering my expectations. More importantly—"
Lucian broke off, then spoke with a faint smile.
"If you obtained an artifact and still felt the need to approach me, then it sounds like there's some kind of flaw with it. Am I wrong?"
"Hah. I was hoping to tease you a little, but it doesn't work at all. You're right."
The confidence in his grin quickly faded as Marius let out a deep sigh.
"Strictly speaking, what I discovered wasn't the artifact itself, but a phenomenon caused by it. The moment I reached Raugraad while fleeing my pursuers, I realized something was off about the cold here."
Enduring the bone-freezing temperatures and investigating further, he discovered that the mana around Raugraad was severely distorted.
It was an unnatural sight—as if the temporary warping of the natural environment caused by celestial-school magic had been frozen in place and made permanent.
Marius realized that, with the right approach, he could stabilize this distortion—if only temporarily.
"From that day on, I threw myself into research like a madman. If I could halt the cold even for a short time and escape beyond the snowfields, the pursuers wouldn't be able to follow."
"That's reckless. Even if you escaped beyond the snowfields, without a way to make a living you'd just starve to death."
"When a blade's already hovering at your throat, do you really worry about that? I interpreted everything in the most favorable way possible."
If someone had deliberately cut off the path, then surely someone must be living beyond it.
If he could just cross this snowfield, some way to survive would present itself.
Thinking that, Marius clung to his efforts desperately and eventually succeeded in opening a path.
It was unstable and narrow, but at least wide enough for people to pass through without freezing to death.
"I didn't look back once and headed beyond the snowfields. Fortunately, I'd prepared thoroughly in advance, so I could endure for a long time even while sleeping rough. I'd also learned quite a few useful spells."
"It's more than ten days from Raugraad to here. How did you endure that? Back then, you wouldn't have had those cabins set up."
"Endure? Hardly. I just pushed forward blindly, rested when I was exhausted, fell asleep, woke up just before freezing to death—over and over again. If I hadn't been able to use magic, I'd have died long ago."
In the end, Marius failed to cross the snowfields and collapsed from exhaustion.
If luck hadn't been on his side, he would have died there—but fortunately, a tribe living beyond the snowfields discovered him.
They, too, had come to investigate the suddenly opened path, finding it suspicious.
As he reached that part of the story, Marius closed his eyes as if recalling old memories.
"After that, so many things happened. Some welcomed me, others tried to kill me. There were those who remained wary, and others who looked at me with curiosity. The days were turbulent, but after many twists and turns, the tribe came to acknowledge my existence."
That his school—the Celestial School—proved extremely useful in the snowfields also played a major role.
In particular, astrology and magic that manipulated weather were invaluable to those living in such a land.
Thanks to the magic he'd learned from his master and a fair share of good fortune, Marius eventually became the tribe's Pathfinder.
"Pathfinder?"
"You can think of it as the chieftain's advisor—part prophet, part diviner. It's closer to an honorary position with little direct authority, but given the nature of prophecy, it carries considerable intangible influence."
"I see. That's quite a rise for an outsider."
"Rise… a rise, you say."
At Lucian's words, Marius laughed self-mockingly.
It sounded as though he was lamenting his own lot, or perhaps suffering under the weight of his own emotions.
"Yes, you could see it that way. I might have been satisfied and put down roots here. But I simply couldn't. This place was far too small to satisfy me."
Perhaps, had he never known the wider world, he might have been content.
But to Marius, this land was nothing more than a miniature garden.
Unless one were an imperial court mage, being revered as a Pathfinder in such a narrow place only bred a sense of self-loathing.
"But that didn't mean I could just leave either. If I went outside, I'd inevitably be hunted by the pursuers again. Dissatisfied or not, all I could do was keep living here."
"You don't look like someone content with their circumstances, judging by the ambition you carry."
"Some damned bastard rekindled the fire in my dying chest."
"A damned bastard?"
"Red-Axe Ivar."
Marius spat out the name, chewing on each word without hiding his resentment.
"He's the current chieftain of the Blue Dragon Tribe."
"Pathfinder!"
Gunstein shouted before he could stop himself.
No matter that Marius was the Pathfinder—insulting the chieftain crossed a line.
Yet Marius didn't so much as blink at Gunstein's outburst.
Lucian stepped in front of Gunstein and asked,
"What did the chieftain do to provoke you?"
"When he was still a greenhorn, he offered me a deal. If I made him the next chieftain, he'd give me anything I wanted. So I asked him to grant me entry to the sacred ground reserved for chieftains alone."
"The sacred ground?"
"The altar where the Dragon's Heart rests. It doesn't look like anything special, but the moment someone steps foot there without the chieftain's permission, they're executed on the spot."
The Blue Dragon Tribe was said to be safeguarding the Dragon's Heart, and only the chieftain held the authority to manage it.
Marius hadn't truly believed the claim—but if there was even a chance, he wanted to see it at least once.
If a real Dragon's Heart existed, it would mean possessing a weapon capable of standing against the Empire.
With the influence he had built up over the years, Marius willingly helped Ivar, driven by curiosity alone.
"I used every bit of influence I had to make Ivar the chieftain. And once he became chieftain, he kept his promise and allowed me into the sacred ground. And then…"
Entering the sacred ground half in doubt, Marius nearly lost consciousness.
The instant he stepped inside the altar, an explosive surge of magic power—unfelt from the outside—washed over his entire body.
There lay the genuine remains of a dragon, its heart intact, and an artifact that continued to operate using the heart's power as fuel.
It was an artifact he had never seen before, but the moment he laid eyes on it, Marius knew.
That object was the very cause of the northern climate—the reason the snowfields were sealed by endless blizzards.
"Can you even imagine the shock? As if the Dragon's Heart weren't enough—there was an artifact that ran on that heart as its fuel. An ancient relic that could manipulate the climate at will, one that could freeze even an army of a million to death!"
Lucian's eyes widened.
The blueprint of the weather-control artifact beneath the White Palace flashed through his mind.
An artifact that, if it could have been reproduced, might have ruled the entire Empire—yet could not be recreated.
And now he was hearing that such an artifact was still operating, powered by a Dragon's Heart.
A moment too late, Lucian realized his expression had slipped—but fortunately, Marius seemed too consumed by his own agitation to notice.
"I told Ivar," Marius continued, "that with the Dragon's Heart and that artifact, there was no need to remain trapped in the snowfields. That we could go to a land flowing with milk and honey, and that he could become king."
"And then?" Lucian asked. "Did the chieftain accept your proposal?"
"What do you think?"
At the chill in Marius's voice, Lucian said nothing.
From the very fact that Marius was speaking with such fervor now, the answer was obvious.
After grinding his teeth for a long while, Marius finally forced his anger down, a sigh escaping his lips.
The Blue Dragon Tribe was said to be safeguarding the Dragon's Heart, and only the chieftain possessed the authority to manage it.
Marius hadn't taken that claim entirely seriously, but if there was even a chance, he wanted to see it for himself at least once.
If a real Dragon's Heart truly existed, it would mean gaining a weapon capable of standing against the Empire.
With the influence he had accumulated over the years, Marius willingly helped Ivar, driven by nothing more than curiosity.
"I used every bit of influence I had to make Ivar the chieftain. And once he became chieftain, he kept his promise and allowed me into the sacred ground. And then…"
Entering the sacred ground with half-belief and half-doubt, Marius nearly lost consciousness.
The moment he stepped inside the altar, an explosive surge of magic—something he hadn't felt at all from the outside—swept through his entire body.
Within the sacred ground lay the true remains of a dragon and its heart, along with an artifact that continued to operate using the heart's power as fuel.
It was an artifact he had never seen before, yet the instant he laid eyes on it, Marius understood.
That object was the very cause of the northern climate—the reason the snowfields were sealed behind endless blizzards.
"Can you even imagine that thrill? As if the Dragon's Heart weren't enough, there was an artifact that ran on that heart as fuel. An ancient relic that could manipulate the climate at will—one that could freeze even an army of a million to death!"
Lucian's eyes flew wide open.
The blueprint of the weather-manipulation artifact beneath the White Palace surfaced in his mind.
It was an artifact that could never be reproduced—but if it could have been, it might have ruled the entire Empire.
And now he was hearing that such an artifact was still operating, fueled by a Dragon's Heart.
A beat too late, Lucian realized he'd failed to keep his expression in check and inwardly cursed himself.
Fortunately, Marius seemed too consumed by his own agitation to notice Lucian's reaction.
"I told Ivar," Marius went on, "that with the Dragon's Heart and that artifact, there was no need to remain trapped in the snowfields. That we could go to a land flowing with milk and honey, and that he could become king there."
"And then?" Lucian asked. "Did the chieftain accept your proposal?"
"What do you think?"
At the chill in Marius's voice, Lucian said nothing.
From the way Marius was venting his passion now, it was obvious that the proposal had been rejected.
After grinding his teeth for a long while, Marius finally managed to rein in his anger, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
If he pledged loyalty to Lucian, the renaissance of the mages would begin naturally—so why cross such a dangerous bridge?
But thinking it over again, it wasn't much different from saying I'm already too late, so let me at least watch you enjoy the good times alone.
Marius clicked his tongue softly and resumed his tale.
"So I used every means at my disposal to draw you here. I sent Helen and leaked information about the Dragon's Heart. When Gunstein's impatience reached its peak, I opened the path. And in the meantime, I spread the prophecy of a king who would unite all the tribes of the snowfields."
"So Gunstein losing his status to me was also part of your calculation?"
"Calculation? Hardly. A man aiming for the chieftain's seat without any achievements—once a path opens, isn't it obvious he'll sniff around to see if there's something he can claim? I simply assumed that if my guest showed up, he'd pounce."
The offhand way he said it struck Gunstein like a thunderbolt.
He'd thought everything was coincidence—only to realize he'd been dancing in the palm of an old prophet's hand.
Before Gunstein could say anything, Marius spoke first.
"Do you resent me?"
"Pathfinder…!"
"I ordered you to do nothing. I merely opened the path as I always do. You were the one hovering around, trying to scrape together some achievement. You were the one who picked a fight with my guest, hoping to draw me to your side."
"Tell me—whose fault is it that things turned out this way?"
Gunstein's body trembled, and he lowered his head deeply.
If someone nearby had whispered in his ear, that might be one thing—but blaming someone who hadn't even approached him was nothing short of shameless.
Just as Marius was about to continue, Lucian raised a hand to stop him.
"That's enough with the mastermind theatrics."'
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