Chương 14: 06-1: Northern Night, Campfire, and Breath

Once we crossed the pass, the northern night came down like a bucket of black water packed with ice shards, dumped straight over our heads. Cold. Not the kind that makes your nose tingle like back in Flint Town. This was the kind that found every gap in your cloak, worked its way into your bones, then spent the rest of the night slowly sharpening knives along your spine. I led Bruce at the front, breath coming in white puffs that the wind shredded before they could form.

The gravel path had leveled out somewhat on the northern side, but the mountain walls still loomed oppressively—like enormous dark shapes crouched in the night, watching our obviously-not-legitimate traveling party with patient interest.

"Half a mile more." I checked the sky, then the terrain.

"There's a leeward slope ahead where we can camp." Lucas sat wrapped in his cloak like a scroll someone had started unrolling and then abandoned. His complexion had achieved a remarkable kinship with moonlight. He managed a sound that was technically a response, though it resembled a pre-mortem death rattle more than actual words.

"I'm beginning to doubt... whether I'll survive to see sunrise..." Jessi walked beside him, still finding energy to kick loose stones.

"Relax, sickly mage." She glanced at him with complete irresponsibility.

"If you actually die, I'll pick you a spot with decent scenery."

"... Thank you, but that provides absolutely no comfort."

"You're welcome. I've always been considerate."

"Your understanding of considerate contains some catastrophic errors."

"No it doesn't." She replied with total conviction.

"At least I'm willing to pick the view." The vein at my temple began its familiar throb. I gave up on them entirely and turned to Erina on Bruce's back.

"Still holding up?" She blinked, visibly surprised I'd asked her first. She pulled her cloak tighter and nodded.

"I'm fine, milord." Her voice was soft, but steadier than when we'd left Flint Town. She was exhausted—obviously. That face of hers, already pale enough to raise questions about circulation, had gone nearly translucent in the northern cold, lips losing most of their color. But her spine hadn't bent an inch. Her posture in the saddle was somehow more correct than mine, as if someone had spent years pressing a ruler to her back and calling it education.... In its own way, that was very noble.

I was about to tell her not to push herself when Jessi drifted in from the side.

"Little lordling, that's rather unfair." My eyelid twitched.

"What's unfair?"

"You just asked if she was holding up, but didn't ask me." She laced her hands behind her head, walking through the wind with infuriating ease.

"I'm quite hurt."

"You look like you could punch a wolf until it cried. I wasn't concerned."

"That's different." She curved her eyes into that sly smile.

"Whether I can make a wolf cry and whether I want you to worry about me—those are two completely separate things."

"Right now you look less like someone who needs concern and more like someone who needs to be quiet."

"Your comebacks are getting sharper, little lordling."

"You're getting louder."

"But you're still answering me." I suddenly realized that the most dangerous thing in the north wasn't the cold wind or the treacherous paths. It was this woman's ability to always land one more precisely-calibrated comment right before my headache started to fade. We pushed forward and found shelter: a leeward slope protected on three sides by low rock walls and old pines, breaking the northern gusts. The ground was reasonably flat.

A half-frozen stream ran nearby—I had serious doubts about what drinking it would do to one's teeth, but at least tonight's meal wouldn't be dry rations chewed in miserable silence. I set down the apple crate and looked at Lucas.

"Any energy left?" He stared at the crate with the expression of a man evaluating his last hope of surviving the night.

"... If you're asking whether I have the residual energy to die standing up—yes." He paused, drawing a slow breath of frigid air.

"If you're asking about restoring the carriage... I can try."

"Good." I nodded.

"Then less talking, more doing, before I decide to bury you in the snow." Jessi immediately raised her hand.

"If we're burying anyone, I suggest checking his pockets first."

"Is there ever a moment when you're not thinking about stealing something?"

"Yes." Instant reply.

"When I'm asleep."

"That's not something to be proud of."

"But it's honest." She smiled with complete self-satisfaction, then crouched beside the crate and poked it before I could retort.

"Honestly, this magic still feels like cheating." She squinted at the box.

"An entire carriage, and now it genuinely looks like a crate of rotting apples. If I ever learned this technique—""Learn to stop applying every advanced spell to hypothetical crimes first."

"Dreams have to start somewhere."

"Your dreams have serious potential to end in a hanging."

"Then remember to come rescue me, fiancé." I choked on my own spit. Lucas was adjusting the mana crystals when those three words reached him. His hand jerked, and he nearly dropped a raw magic stone into the snow. Erina, seated beside Bruce, quietly pulled her cloak up to the bridge of her nose until only her eyes were visible—but those eyes had unmistakably widened, just slightly. A vein throbbed at my temple immediately.

"Can you just forget that word exists?"

"Nope." Jessi grinned.

"It's too useful."

"It was a lie."

"Oh?" She tilted her head up to look at me, that mischievous gleam dancing back into her eyes.

"Funny, because you agreed awfully fast back at the checkpoint."

"That's because you didn't give me any time to refuse."

"A man's first reaction to a betrothal isn't refusal—it's complaints about procedure." She clicked her tongue.

"My, my. That's a dangerous habit you've got there, young master."

"Jessi."

"Okay, okay, dropping it." She raised both hands in mock surrender, though the smile never left the corner of her mouth.

"I'll at least spare you some dignity in front of Lady Erina." Erina flinched as though her name had been called without warning. Her shoulders drew inward slightly, and she lowered her head—even in the darkness before the fire was lit, the flush creeping across her cheeks was faintly visible. … Wonderful. Now I didn't even know who to glare at first. Fortunately, Lucas chose that moment to save my life—or at least, to temporarily rescue what remained of my patience.

He finally pressed the last few raw stones into the makeshift circuit array, and began reciting a long, painfully difficult incantation string under his breath. A ring of deep violet lines rose and floated around the wooden crate. Then, as though seized by invisible hands, the space let out a familiar sound—like cloth being torn. Shrrk—— In the next instant, the crate began to stretch, twist, and expand.

The knee-high farm box elongated to half a person's height, then continued to unfold into wheels, floorboards, window frames, and a deep-blue exterior shell. Silver trim caught the darkness and lit up inch by inch, like some sleeping beast finally stretching its limbs. Within the span of a few breaths, the outrageously luxurious camping carriage stood before us once more. Even having witnessed it once already, I couldn't shake the absurd feeling that this thing had no business existing.

Jessi, for her part, made absolutely no effort to conceal her reverence.

"Still just as insane every single time." She reached out and ran her hand along the carriage door, her voice bordering on the devotional.

"This thing makes actual miracles look underwhelming." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Erina blinked softly at that, as though she wanted to say something in defense of genuine miracles—but ultimately said nothing. Lucas, meanwhile, leaned against the carriage door and wheezed through two labored breaths, wearing the look of a man who had given up on life.

"I'll say it again…" he managed between gasps.

"If I die someday… bury this carriage with me…"

"No." I refused without hesitation.

"Why not?!"

"Because it's worth more than you are." Lucas's expression crumbled into something deeply wounded. Jessi immediately dissolved into laughter, crouching down on the spot.

"Frail little mage, you just lost to a carriage."

"Am I seriously the only one in this party with a functioning conscience?"

"No." I answered, perfectly calm.

"… At least you answered fast." The campfire rose quickly. Perhaps it was because we had only just cleared the mountain pass and everyone's nerves were still wound tight. Or perhaps it was simply that this northern night was too cold, too silent—because when the first pot of soup began to billow white steam on the small rack outside the carriage, the warmth that drifted over, salt-tinged and rich with the smell of meat, carried with it a sense of security that felt almost extravagant.

I handled the smoked meat and hardtack. Lucas watched the fire. Erina murmured a quiet prayer of thanks. And Jessi was responsible for— Standing nearby, inhaling the aroma, and stealing food on the side. I slapped her hand away before it could reach the pot.

"It's not ready."

"I was just checking if it was done."

"That excuse has about as much credibility as a thief saying he was keeping the coin purse safe."

"Huh, since when do you know me this well?"

"That's not the kind of progress worth celebrating."

"I think it's kind of romantic, actually."

"I don't. At all."

"Keep telling yourself that." I gave up on the argument and dropped the last piece of smoked meat into the pot. Jessi made a small sound of protest but stopped pushing, turning instead to duck into the carriage. A moment later she came back out cradling an armful of thick blankets.

"It's way colder here than Kasho." She pressed the blankets into my hands, her tone unusually serious.

"Anyone on night watch—don't try to be tough about it. Wrap up. Freezing to death is stupid, and I'm not about to let anyone in this party die that pathetically." I looked at her.

"You actually care about people?" Jessi flashed me a grin immediately.

"Sure do. Especially valuable ones."

"Figured."

"Though you get to be a slight exception." She stepped half a pace closer and lowered her voice, as though deliberately letting the words fall directly into my ear.

"You are my fiancé, after all."

"…You are genuinely committed to annoying me to death tonight."

"Dying at a woman's hands isn't a bad way to go, is it?"

"I'd rather die in battle." She laughed hard enough that her shoulders shook—like she was extracting some form of premium entertainment from this exchange. Once the soup was ready, the four of us finally sat together for a proper meal—a real one, for the first time on this journey. Not crammed into a tavern corner. Not eating on the run. Not biting into black bread while keeping one hand on our coin purses.

Just the four of us, properly seated around the campfire beside the carriage, sharing a pot of hot soup, listening to the northern wind sweep down from the distant ridgeline. The steadiness of it made me faintly uneasy, if I was being honest. Erina held her wooden bowl in both hands and drank in small, careful sips. The steam had made her lashes faintly damp. She drank slowly and quietly—as though even this most ordinary warmth required permission before she allowed herself to truly receive it.

I watched her for a moment, then reached over and transferred the largest piece of smoked meat from my bowl into hers. She startled. Her eyes came up to meet mine.

"My lord, this—""You burned through more than usual today." I kept my voice deliberately neutral—a simple assessment, nothing more.

"Eat more. I'd rather not have the wind knock you over tomorrow." Erina looked down at the piece of meat sitting in her bowl, as though someone had just handed her something far too precious to accept. Several seconds passed before she spoke, barely above a whisper:"… Thank you." Softer than it had been in the chapel—and more real. Then I felt it. A gaze from my left, with a presence impossible to ignore. I didn't need to look to know who it was.

The moment I turned my head, Jessi was already propped on her elbow, watching me with a slow, wicked smile that carried some quality I couldn't quite name.

"Young master, that's a pretty obvious case of favoritism, you know." Before I could respond, she slid her own wooden bowl forward across the ground.

"I'm frail too," she announced, completely straight-faced.

"Spiritually."

"Your spiritual constitution could take on three thugs in a fistfight."

"But I'm wounded."

"Where?" She pressed two fingers to her chest.

"Here. Because you didn't save the biggest piece for me." Lucas nearly sprayed soup across the fire. Erina quietly lowered her head, the tips of her ears going red all over again. I was silent for two seconds. Then I reached into the pot, fished out the remaining larger piece, and dropped it into Jessi's bowl.

"Eat." She looked down at it. The smile that broke across her face was pure, unambiguous victory.

"Thanks, darling."

"Call me that again and I'm taking it back."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Where does all this confidence come from?"

"Because I won."

"Won what, exactly? Against who?" Jessi didn't answer. She just bit into the smoked meat, and the way her eyes curved at the corners was, somehow, brighter than the firelight itself. … I decided, on reflection, that this was a question best left unexamined. The real problem arrived after dinner. Sleeping arrangements. The carriage interior was spacious enough, but no matter how luxurious it was, it remained fundamentally a carriage—not a guest suite in a marquess's estate.

The bench seats along both sides could fold out into narrow beds, and there was a more secluded compartment at the rear that could theoretically sleep all four of us—provided everyone was willing to maintain a basic standard of distance and decorum. Unfortunately, those two qualities were in consistently short supply in this particular party. I turned up the interior light stone and began assigning positions.

"Erina takes the rear compartment." She looked like she wanted to say she didn't need special treatment—but after a glance at the other three of us, she quietly nodded instead. A wise call.

"Lucas, you're on the left."

"…Why am I on the left?"

"Because the right side is next to the window. It lets in the most draft at night."

"This assignment system is just revenge, isn't it."

"No. It's because you're the most cold-sensitive. Consider it exposure therapy."

"That doesn't sound anything like reassurance."

"It wasn't meant to be." Lucas pulled the expression of a man who had made peace with his own suffering, but raised no further objection. Which left the most inconvenient part. Jessi and me. A beat of silence settled over the carriage interior. Jessi leaned against the table with her arms folded, watching me with a languid, unhurried gaze.

She hadn't said a word yet—and somehow that was already enough to give me the distinct premonition that whatever came out of her mouth next would not be anything a reasonable person would say. Naturally.

"So does that mean I get to sleep next to my fiancé?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

"No." I answered too fast. Fast enough that even Erina glanced up at me briefly. Jessi raised an eyebrow, apparently delighted by the speed of it.

"Wow. Rejected with real conviction."

"Because you're not genuinely suggesting anything. You're looking for a reaction."

"You understand me so well. I'm genuinely starting to fall for you."

"That's your problem."

"And I have no intention of fixing it." I drew a slow breath and made a concentrated effort to ignore the amusement in her eyes.

"You're on the right side. I'll take first watch. You take second."

"Works for me." Jessi agreed with suspicious ease—and then added, almost as an afterthought: "Though if it gets too cold in the middle of the night and I come over to your side for warmth, you're not allowed to make a scene about it." I nearly crushed the light stone in my grip.

"Of course I'd make a scene."

"Then I'll look forward to it." Lucas silently buried his face in his blanket, clearly trying not to laugh. Erina had turned so red that even the tips of her ears looked ready to catch fire—she seemed convinced she shouldn't be hearing any of this, yet had nowhere to escape. In that moment, I finally understood something fundamental. If I stayed in this carriage long enough, the first thing to give out wouldn't be our space. It would be my life expectancy.

The Night Deepens As the night deepened, the wind outside grew harsher. Wrapped in a blanket, I sat by the carriage door on first watch. The campfire had been banked low, leaving only dark-red embers breathing faintly in the darkness. Every so often, a long, drawn-out sound drifted from the distance—half wolf's howl, half wind whistling through rock crevices—cold enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. Strangely, though, I didn't feel the complete isolation I was used to. There were people in the carriage.

Breathing. The soft rustle of someone turning over. The occasional faint creak of floorboards under shifting weight. And the lingering presence of a certain woman who apparently couldn't stop tormenting me right up until she fell asleep. I had assumed Jessi's line about "crawling over for warmth in the middle of the night" was nothing but her usual verbal sparring. Turns out— I was wrong.

Because while I sat staring at the embers, lost in thoughts of the road ahead through the north and the troubles in the capital that couldn't reach us yet, the carriage door behind me gave a soft click. I turned. Jessi stood there barefoot on the wooden floor, a blanket draped around her shoulders. She must have just woken up. Her hair was slightly mussed, and the usual sharp edge she carried had dulled somewhat.

The warm light from inside the carriage spilled from behind her, softening her outline in a way that was momentarily disorienting.

"…What are you doing?" I asked under my breath. Jessi let out a small yawn, drowsiness still clinging to the corners of her eyes.

"Cold."

"And?"

"And I'm following through on what I said earlier." Every nerve I had went on alert.

"Wait, you—" The next second, she had already settled beside me as though it were the most natural thing in the world, shook out her blanket, and draped half of it directly over my shoulders. I went completely rigid. Not because the action was dramatic—quite the opposite. It was because she sat so naturally, so close, close enough that I could catch the faint scent clinging to her: leather, cold air, and something that might have been her shampoo.

"Are you insane?" I hissed.

"There's space inside."

"There is, but it's cold." She tugged the blanket higher around both our shoulders, as if this were entirely reasonable.

"And you run warmer."

"I'm a person, not a furnace."

"Close enough." She punctuated this by deliberately bumping her shoulder against mine—like she was genuinely testing my temperature. Heat climbed straight up the back of my neck.

"Jessi, you—""Shh." She raised one finger to her lips, still smiling.

"Keep it down. You'll wake the pure little nun and our frail mage."

"So you do know this could wake people up?"

"Which is why I'm already showing incredible restraint." …This woman's standard for "restraint" was depressingly low. The night wind knifed in through the open door, ice-cold. Yet under the blanket, the added body heat was impossible to ignore. Her arm rested against mine through our sleeves—not pressed close, but nowhere near distant enough to dismiss. I forced my gaze outward, fixing it on the pitch-black slope beyond.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Jessi was quiet for two seconds. Then she rested her chin lightly on her knees, turned her face toward me, and spoke in a voice that—for once—wasn't playing around.

"Nothing much," she said.

"Just wanted to make sure."

"Make sure of what?"

"That you're really still here." I froze. Jessi's gaze drifted out toward the darkness. She still wore that faint, habitual smile, but this time it lacked its usual sharpness.

"At the checkpoint, in the pass, when those rocks came down…" She paused, her voice so soft it seemed afraid of disturbing something.

"For a moment, I genuinely thought one of us wasn't going to make it." The wind outside suddenly seemed much louder. I looked at her, and for the first time, didn't immediately snap back. Because I had felt the same thing. Whether it was those thugs at the checkpoint or the rockfall in the pass—half a step in either direction, and there would be an empty seat in this carriage right now.

And I realized, with an uncomfortable twist, that the thought of losing anyone in this particular group of troublemakers bothered me considerably more than the idea of my own death. The realization sat uneasily. I stayed quiet for a long moment. Finally, I reached over and pulled the blanket back up over her shoulder where it had slipped.

"I'm still here," I said quietly. Jessi blinked once. Then her eyes curved, and she smiled. Not the sharp, gleaming smile she wore when toying with someone. Something lighter. Briefer. Unexpectedly easy to look at.

"Good," she said simply.

"That's good." And then, as though she had gotten what she came for, she tilted her head and rested it against my shoulder. Every muscle in my body locked up at once.

"…Jessi."

"Just borrowing."

"That's not what borrowing means."

"But you just said you're still here."

"Those two things are not logically connected." She didn't answer. She just let out a muffled laugh against my shoulder, her breath brushing the side of my neck—nearly enough to make me stand up on the spot. I was absolutely certain she did that on purpose. And yet, somehow, I didn't push her away. Maybe it was because the north was genuinely that cold. Or maybe it was because this was our first real stillness since clearing the pass. The fire burned low. The breathing inside the carriage was steady.

The mountain wind moved back and forth in the distance with a long, quiet moan. And I sat there, with a sharp-tongued, fox-clever woman leaning against my shoulder—a woman who was, in moments like this, unfairly quiet—thinking that the road ahead through the north was perhaps more complicated than I had originally anticipated. And considerably harder to look away from.