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Chapter 804: An Accident at the Snow Mountain

As soon as Lightning returned to her tent, she pulled off her goggles, peeled off her gloves, and held her frozen hands over the brazier.

Her fingers began to tingle almost immediately.

Although winter had officially ended nearly a fortnight ago, the snow showed no sign of lessening. If anything, it was coming down heavier. Every time she returned from an investigation run, her hair was soaked with meltwater, and it always took a while before sensation crept back into her skin.

When her hands had warmed enough, she dragged a stool next to the brazier, worked off her soggy leather boots, and cocked her feet toward the flames. A thin wisp of white steam curled from the toes of her socks. The warmth moved through her cold feet in slow degrees. She was a little embarrassed by the smell — after wearing the same boots for this long, it was only natural.

She understood now why her father had always said that a great explorer depended on a great team behind him. If the First Army had not already set up the brazier and had hot water waiting before she returned — soaked and spent — she would have had to light a fire and boil water herself after every run. That alone would have eaten through whatever enthusiasm she’d brought to the work.

Her father had once told her, in one of his adventure stories, how difficult it was to draw a hot bath in midwinter. Damp wood, rotted leaves buried under snow, the labor of gathering it all — under those conditions, most crews only washed properly after completing their mission. But the machines His Majesty had invented solved those problems without ceremony. The campsite was not far from the riverbank, and the boilers on the three concrete boats had been running since the first day of their arrival, supplying hot water around the clock. If she needed some, she only had to take a bucket.

The same went for food. A peculiar concrete boat served as the mobile kitchen for the entire team. Its upper deck was given over to large pots of oatmeal, cooked daily with steam from the boiler, and served with dried meat and salted fish — far better than the tasteless hardtack she’d eaten on expeditions with her father’s crew.

By her father’s standard, this was the finest logistics operation in the world.

When her hands and feet had recovered, Lightning took out her notebook and began to write.

Spring, 16th. Still digging. The mountain greatly impedes Sylvie’s and Margie’s abilities — especially Margie’s. They consume large amounts of magic power to penetrate thick rock. Out of safety concerns, they must reserve enough power to return to camp before each operation. Progress is slow.

Sylvie can only pick a rough direction for Miss Fran to dig from any useful distance. By the way, Miss Fran is a very kind woman despite her unsettling appearance. She is even more frightening to watch eat than Maggie. I hope I can one day see what she originally looked like.

It had been thirteen days since they’d arrived at the foot of the snow mountain. The only thing they were certain of was the existence of a large hollow space inside — one that appeared to be connected by multiple caves. Finding the main cave where the ruin was located, let alone cutting a tunnel wide enough for the First Army, remained beyond reach.

She and Maggie could not contribute much to the tunneling itself. Their role was sentry duty at the mountain’s perimeter, and exploring the cracks and crevices the Magic Ark could not reach. The most time-consuming part of any expedition, she had learned, was never the destination itself — it was finding the correct path to get there.

Just as Father always said: an explorer is always on her way.

Lightning cupped her mouth and exhaled. The breath turned to a small white cloud in the cold air. She continued:

Latest finding of Lightning, greatest explorer in Graycastle.

We spotted a long, dark shape beneath the ice near the peak of the Great Snow Mountain. It looked like a huge fish. I cannot tell how long it took to grow so large, but I imagine it would taste excellent. It is a pity that Anna did not come with us — we could not break the ice to reach it. Maggie could only leave scratch marks on the surface with her claws; explosives are forbidden near the peak. We will probably have to wait until summer, when the snow melts.

Lightning licked her lips. She had not had barbecued fish in a long time. Perhaps she and Maggie could fly to Misty Forest before nightfall. She would need to bring something back for Wendy as well, or she’d hear about her recklessness all evening.

She wrote the last entry:

One further finding. We have observed a grouping of demonic beasts to the east of Misty Forest. They seem to be moving in a direction that could threaten the city wall, but His Majesty’s fortifications should be sufficient to hold them.

She folded the sheepskin notebook back into its waterproof bag and returned it to her pack. As an explorer, she recorded everything she saw, every day. Like a captain’s log, a journal was both a badge of honor and a guide for those who came after — especially if the author did not survive the expedition to explain it herself.

Running footsteps crunched outside the tent.

Wendy pushed the flap open, slightly breathless, something taut in her voice. “Agatha and the others are back. There’s been an accident. Fran is missing.”

“What?” Lightning was already on her feet. “Missing?”


By the time the witches at the campsite reached the end of the tunnel Fran had bored through the mountain, the First Army soldiers had already lit fires and posted guards. Agatha and the Taquila witches stood at one end, clearly arguing about something.

Lightning peered through the entrance and drew a sharp breath.

A fathomless hole opened in the stone before them, its ceiling invisible, its bottom lost in darkness. The sound of running water came from somewhere far above. Part of the tunnel’s edge had given way. The broken ground was ringed with a slick, glistening liquid.

“Did Miss Fran fall from here?”

Edith answered. “It appears so. Sylvie had located the right direction, but Fran found an opening into the large cave — and didn’t see the drop ahead. She fell before she could stop herself.”

“Appears so?” Lightning caught the particular phrasing.

Edith shrugged. “Sylvie and Margie were searching on the opposite side at the time, in a position where they could directly observe what Fran was doing. According to Sylvie, Fran’s magic signature simply disappeared. I don’t fully understand how your abilities work, but the Eye of Magic can see considerable distances — yet when they reached this spot, they could not detect anything at the bottom.”

“Couldn’t see?”

“Neither the bottom nor the worm carrier. There are two explanations.” Edith spread her hands. “Either the hole is too deep for the Eye of Magic to reach, or something has blocked her vision. Neither option is encouraging.” She glanced toward Agatha and the others, still locked in argument. “What they are debating is whether to go down immediately to look for Fran.”

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