The next morning, the camp was a different place. The fire and fervor of the previous night’s speech had scoured the apathy from the knights, and a palpable change had settled over them. They were no longer automatons moving through their duties. Their steps were quicker, their gazes sharper, and a flicker of fighting spirit had returned to their eyes. Some began checking their equipment with a renewed sense of purpose, while others gathered in small groups to discuss the state of the Northlands. A few even began to strategize, their minds turning to the practical matter of defending the camp. The future Arthur had painted for them still seemed impossibly distant. But it was a thousand times better than aimlessly waiting for death. A goal, however remote, was a reason to live. Of course, Arthur knew a single passionate speech was a fragile thing. Without tangible proof, that fragile morale would soon wither and die. He had to deliver on his promise immediately, to give these men a taste of real, undeniable hope. On the frozen river, the wind howled, sharp and unforgiving. The knights stared down at the thick sheet of ice beneath their boots, exchanging puzzled glances. “You really think we can catch fish in this?” one of them muttered. “The Lord commanded it. We’ll give it a try,” Gideon said, his voice firm. He was the first to act, swinging a heavy hammer down, the impact ringing out in the cold air. Many of the knights hid small, cynical smiles. Did the Lord truly believe you could just find any random river, smash a hole in the ice, and pull out a fish? He was still so young, so naive. But no one dared to disobey a direct order. The knights followed Gideon’s lead, using their own weapons to strike at the ice. Soon, a narrow fissure cracked open, and the dark, frigid water of the river churned below. A large net was lowered slowly into the depths. Every man held his breath, his eyes fixed on the crack in the ice. Suddenly, the rope pulled taut! An instant later, a flash of silver erupted from the water. A fish, thrashed wildly on the ice, its scales glittering in the morning sun. “By the gods, there really are fish!” “Quick, get it! Don’t let it get away!” A wave of excitement broke through the men. They scrambled to help, eagerly casting the nets again. Time and again, the nets descended and rose, each time pulling another Boreal Crystalperch from the river’s depths, their scales reflecting a dazzling light. When they stopped to count, there were twelve in total. Just then, a knight with a keen eye for such things cried out, his voice trembling with excitement. “These are Boreal Crystalperch! A rare delicacy from the frozen north! Their very bones can purify the blood and build a knight’s strength!” At his words, the air grew thick. The knights’ breathing quickened. They understood perfectly what “purifying the blood” meant. It wasn’t just an immediate boost in strength; it increased a knight’s potential, the very ceiling of his future power. Such treasures were a delicacy even the highest nobility might only taste a few times in their lives. If only they could have a single sip of broth… As they were lost in this impossible fantasy, Arthur’s voice cut through the air, casual and clear. “Half of these are for you. We’ll make a soup.” His words struck them like a thunderclap. It was something they would never have dared to dream of. Exiled knights, cast off and forgotten in the Northern Territories… when had they ever been shown such grace? The camp erupted. “Lord, are you serious?!” a knight called out, his voice cracking with emotion as he looked up. “This… this is Boreal Crystalperch! Southern lords would kill for a taste of this!” “Long live the Lord!” Shock, disbelief, and overwhelming joy crashed together, finally merging into a unified chorus of praise. Soon, a large cauldron was simmering over the campfire. The fish soup bubbled and steamed, filling the air with a rich, fresh aroma. The broth itself was a faint, silvery-white liquid that seemed to shimmer with an inner light, a heavenly gift rendered into sustenance. When the soup had thickened, it was ladled into wooden bowls and passed among the men. “Can we… really drink this?” a knight asked, his hands trembling as he held the bowl. It wasn’t fear that made him shake, but a profound sense of disbelief. “Less talking, more drinking,” Arthur said, raising his own bowl. He drank it down in one smooth motion. The warm liquid slid down his throat, and a wave of energy radiated from his stomach to his limbs, an invisible current washing away impurities from his very blood. Seeing their lord act, the other knights hesitated no longer. They lifted their own bowls and eagerly gulped down the soup. The moment the hot broth touched their throats, they froze. For a split second, it was as if something deep within them had been awakened. The next moment, one by one, they sat cross-legged on the frozen ground. They closed their eyes, centered their minds, and began to circulate their inner energy, greedily absorbing the indescribable power, terrified of wasting even a single drop. One man trembled as he felt a profound cleansing deep in his veins, a sense of lightness spreading through his entire body. Another gritted his teeth, enduring a burning heat that felt as if his very bones and blood were being reforged. The camp fell silent, the only sound the steady, rhythmic breathing of the men, which seemed to merge into a single, invisible resonance. Suddenly, a startled cry shattered the quiet. “My… my body…” A young apprentice knight’s eyes flew open, a strange light glowing deep within them. A faint silver aura bloomed from his body. The other knights stared, momentarily stunned, before their eyes widened in shock. “The aura of a true knight! He… he’s advanced!” The words had barely left the man’s lips when another apprentice shuddered violently, a similar light seeping from his skin. He, too, had broken through. A stunned silence fell, only to be shattered by a thunderous uproar. “It’s madness! This is absolute madness!” “He broke through just by drinking a bowl of soup?!” The way the knights looked at Arthur had completely transformed. Just a few hours ago, they were still wondering what right this disgraced, exiled lord had to lead them. Was his promise anything more than a pretty lie? Was the dawn he spoke of just a fantasy? Now, every trace of doubt had been incinerated and replaced by a boundless, fervent admiration. They had personally witnessed two apprentices ascend to the rank of full-fledged knights in the span of a few minutes. In the southern domains, such a feat would require years of cultivation and immense resources. Here, it had been accomplished with nothing more than a bowl of fish soup. And even those who hadn’t advanced felt a significant surge in their own strength. The entire affair was so incredible it felt like a dream. And Arthur had brought all this about with a single, casual gesture, as if obtaining such a priceless treasure was nothing to him. To them, it could only be a sign of divine favor. But what truly staggered them was that Lord Arthur had so generously shared the Boreal Crystalperch with them. A treasure so precious that southern nobles could only dream of it, and he had given it to them without a second thought. At that moment, an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over the knights, and they no longer harbored a single doubt about the grand future he’d described. All skepticism had been cast aside. Now, they had only one goal: to rally behind Arthur and seize the glorious future that was theirs for the taking. “Long live the Lord! Long live Lord Arthur!” the knights roared in unison, their voices echoing across the frozen, unforgiving lands of the Northlands, a promise and a prayer. They owed Lord Arthur a debt they could never repay.

Chapter 3: A Promise on Ice