Exiled Prince: I'm the Unexpected Extra in the Novel-Chapter 136: The Price of Duty

The War for The North [24]

General Hareth did not stop, despite the weight of shame pressing down on his shoulders.

Even though his aged body ached from the blows and spells he took in the midst of the blizzard, his will was as solid as steel.

His duty was not yet over; he might have lost Cassian, but the fate of thousands of remaining soldiers was still in his hands.

He had to welcome the Support Army and transport them safely to the Duchy’s capital.

Cryomara would decide what was to be done for Cassian.

The General was ready to pay the price for leaving the young man under his protection in the hands of the witches.

Even if that price was his life, not a single word of objection would spill from his lips.

After a journey lasting days in the merciless whiteness of the North, the sight they had been waiting for finally appeared on the horizon.

The General straightened up on his horse and squinted his eyes.

As soon as he saw that mass spreading like a giant stain of black and gray tones in the middle of the white, a deep, indescribable sense of relief rippled through him.

’The Support Army.’

Thousands of spear tips shone under the pale sun, banners waving proudly in the wind. Hundreds of tents were pitched, fires were lit.

Evershade’s storm bird, Veythral’s sword, Amberfield’s red thorny flower, Mooncrest’s crescent... They were all there.

These people, these thousands of souls, were here not just for a battle, but for the survival of the North, to be a final beacon of hope.

General Hareth and his weary unit approached the area where the massive army was camped.

Two figures stepped forward in front of the Support Army’s camp.

One was Marquis Aldren Stormvale, in all his glory and with that harsh, uncompromising expression on his face.

The other was Fredrinn, who looked like a lord of shadows in his black armor, but carried an anxious glint in his eyes.

When the horses came face to face, there was silence except for the howling of the cold wind.

Marquis Aldren greeted General Hareth respectfully. He introduced himself and Fredrinn.

In return, the general introduced himself and his soldiers with the same respect.

However, Aldren’s eyes immediately began scanning behind and beside the General.

The black-haired, black-eyed young man he expected, hoped to see, was nowhere to be found.

"General Hareth," said the Marquis, his voice deep and serious. "It is good to see you safe and sound. However..." He paused, his gaze drifting into the void again. "Is Lord Cassian not with you? We had sent him ahead to guide us."

This question was like an invisible spear thrust into the General’s chest.

Hareth squeezed the hand holding the reins so hard that the leather glove creaked. What would he answer? After overcoming all that distance, surviving all those perils, how could he say he had lost Cassian to the witches just as they were about to reach their destination?

He took a deep breath. The cold of the North burned his lungs.

"Lord Cassian..." he said, his voice coming out with suppressed anger. "Has been abducted."

This single word had the effect of a bomb on Fredrinn.

The uncontrolled and wild aura suddenly radiating from the young man’s body caused the horses to neigh restlessly and back away.

Fredrinn’s eyes darkened, the air around him grew heavy.

"What does this mean!" he asked in a calm tone, but the timbre in his voice was not a question, it was a threat.

General Hareth was a man who had spent his life on battlefields.

He had long forgotten fear. Yet, in the face of this wave of pure power radiating from Fredrinn, he felt an instinctive hesitation.

Still, the General did not break his stance.

"My lord," he said, trying to remain calm. "Can we discuss this in a more comfortable, sheltered place? The soldiers are weary from the road, and discussing this news calmly and in detail would be better for all of us, especially for our strategy."

Fredrinn gritted his teeth. Muscles in his jaw twitched.

He barely suppressed and swallowed the anger, that dark impulse inside him. He nodded sharply in approval.

While the general’s tired army quickly began setting up camp in the designated area to rest and tend to their wounds, Hareth dismounted.

Trailing behind Marquis Aldren and Fredrinn, he walked toward the massive tent set up in the center of the army, used as the command center.

The inside of the tent was warm, in contrast to the freezing cold outside.

Thick carpets laid on the ground and the fire in the center warmed the environment.

Inside, the Lord of Mooncrest, Kevin, and the Lord of Amberfield had already taken their places, waiting by the map.

Seeing the General and the others, they stood up and greeted respectfully.

General Hareth slumped into the chair shown to him. A soldier placed hot tea in front of him, but Hareth didn’t even touch the cup.

"How was your journey, General?" asked Kevin, the Lord of Mooncrest, with a polite tone. He was unaware of the tension in the room.

"Who cares how the journey was!" Fredrinn interrupted. His voice tensed the atmosphere inside the tent even more. Leaning forward with his hands on the table, he fixed his eyes on the General.

"Tell me where Cassian is. Immediately."

The Lord of Amberfield tried to intervene in surprise. "Lord Fredrinn, please mind your speech. We are all allies here and on the same side. There is no point in treating a General like this—"

Fredrinn shot him such a look that the Lord couldn’t finish his sentence.

General Hareth intervened with a deep sigh. He fixed his gaze on the map on the table.

"The witches..." he whispered. Then he raised his voice. "The witches took him."

And he recounted one by one what happened that night, that white-haired woman, how they were caught off guard, and how Cassian was taken away helplessly.

With every word, Fredrinn’s face darkened further.

When the story ended, a deep silence fell in the tent.

Fredrinn pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand, closed his eyes. Anger and regret mixed inside him.

"That idiot..." he muttered. "I shouldn’t have left him alone. Why did I let him come here, to this goddamn place, alone?"

The Lord of Amberfield stroked his beard as if wanting to soften the mood. "I don’t think we should be so pessimistic," he said in a logical tone.

"As the General said, this is just an abduction. If their goal was to kill him, they would have killed him in that forest, at that moment. They want him alive. This buys us time."

"Okay, but," asked Kevin, the Lord of Mooncrest, frowning. "Why did they go through the trouble of kidnapping Cassian? I assume everyone here knows that Cassian is not an ordinary person, not an ordinary kid. But it still seems strange. What use is Cassian to them?"

The questions hung in the air. Everyone had the same uncertainty in their minds.

Fredrinn broke the silence. He raised his head and looked at those at the table. He was the one who knew Cassian best.

He knew his pain, his past, the burden on his shoulders.

He saw him not just as an ally, but as a little brother. And there was no point in keeping secrets anymore.

"Cassian," Fredrinn said, his voice growing heavy. "Was born with a witch’s curse."

"A Witch’s Curse?" Lord Aldren asked with curiosity and astonishment. "Which witch?"

"Lilith, a primordial witch," Fredrinn replied.

The faces of the lords at the table went pale white. Lilith... The protagonist of the Empire’s darkest tales.

"But how can that be?" said the Lord of Amberfield. "That witch died hundreds of years ago. Her soul was destroyed. How can she inflict a curse on a child?"

This time, it was General Hareth who broke the silence. His eyes were distant, as if opening the dusty pages of the past.

"About this matter... I think there are things I know."

Everyone’s gaze turned to this old wolf.

"Just a rumor... Even I don’t know the exact accuracy of the information," Hareth said, choosing his words.

He took a deep breath. "But years ago, I was quite close with the former Duke of Frosthelm, Cecilia’s grandfather. There were things he told me on long winter nights, when wine loosened the tongue. Secrets spoken by no one, like dark stains on history..."

The General looked at those at the table one by one.

"The lineage of those legendary heroes who once killed Lilith... Rumor has it they are born with the curse Lilith whispered with her last breath. As you know, the Duchy of Frosthelm descends from those heroes."

"Among the people," Hareth continued, "It was said that some of the born children were born dead. Or pregnancies were hidden, claimed to be miscarriages."

He slammed his fist on the table, his voice hardened. "But in reality, it wasn’t like that. The truth was much more brutal."

"The children were not born dead. They were born cursed and they lived. But their lives were no different from torture. Their lifespan wouldn’t even exceed 10 years."

"And even if they lived... Most would go mad. Weak, sickly children constantly in pain, their minds filled with the whispers of that ancient curse... A pain that never ceased. So much so that death was the only salvation for them."

The General’s voice trembled.

"Because of this... The born children were killed by their families. And so that no one would know, so that cursed blood wouldn’t mix with the soil, they were buried in the Dark Woods, or by its other name, the Graveyard of Curses."

A deathly silence fell inside the tent. A father having to kill his child... This was heavier even than the brutality of war.

"Okay, but," said the Lord of Mooncrest, straining his logic. "Cassian isn’t a Northerner? He doesn’t come from the Frosthelm lineage."

Fredrinn spoke, his eyes fixed on the table.

"Cassian... Belongs to the Duchy of Bladehaven. The Steel Lords of the West. The son of Duke Edward..."

Marquis Aldren’s eyes widened. "Bladehaven? Are they also from the lineage of heroes! The swordmasters of the West..."

Fredrinn nodded. "I guess this explains why he was born with this curse and why he suffered so much. His family tried to kill him, but he survived."

Lord Aldren sighed deeply, leaned back. The creaking of his armor was heard.

"I had heard these rumors... But I didn’t believe they were true, that a tale, a curse could be this alive..."

He leaned towards the table. "So the curse drying up the lineage of heroes is real, huh... And throughout history, they tried to keep this hidden like a shame."

"So," said the Lord of Mooncrest, Kevin, bringing the subject back to the main issue. "How are we going to get Cassian back? We can’t just leave him in the hands of those witches, can we? That kid is indispensable for this war."

General Hareth shook his head, a helpless expression on his face.

"That is the problem," he said. "It is not clear exactly where the witches have taken residence, where their nest is. Especially after the Obsidian Dawn incident, the order in the North has broken down. Witches have been left completely loose, uncontrolled. Tracking them is like chasing ghosts in the snow."

Fredrinn ground his teeth in anger. He squeezed the edge of the table, the wood crushed under his fingers.

"So..." he said with a rasping voice. "We don’t know where he is. Therefore we can’t save him, is that it? Is this what you are telling me?"

Although the General didn’t want to accept it, he nodded silently.

The situation, painfully, was exactly that. He had an army in hand, but no enemy to attack, no target to rescue.

A short but suffocating silence descended upon the tent, like the cold breath of despair.

Only the sound of the wind outside could be heard.