Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 169: Strategy (1)

They walked.

Or hiked. Or trudged, depending on who you asked and how much sleep they'd missed.

The storm had finally backed off, though it left behind its signature move: a landscape so white it hurt to look at. The snow wasn't soft either.

It had that thin crust on top that cracked if you stepped wrong, which meant Meren was cracking it every three seconds and apologizing to no one in particular.

Ashwing trotted beside Lindarion like a cheerful shoe infestation. Every few minutes, it would sneeze. And every time it did, Lindarion flinched, because the last one had melted a patch of his scarf.

He hadn't even known scarves could melt. But now he did. And the universe was richer for it.

Ren had her hands jammed into her coat and was muttering under her breath about training dragons the traditional way. What that meant, no one asked. No one wanted to know.

Lira walked at the front again. Standard formation. Unflinching, cloak snapping behind her like a flag that dared the wind to try something.

Lindarion adjusted his pack. Again. The weight hadn't changed, but his tolerance had. The strap was starting to feel like a personal grudge.

"Remind me," he said, mostly to the air, "why we're still climbing and not, say, sleeping in a slightly less cursed cave with fewer magical scorch marks."

Ren answered without turning. "Because adventure."

"Because regret," Meren corrected.

"Because Lira said so," Ardan said from somewhere behind them. Deadpan, like he was quoting a prophecy.

Which, to be fair, he might've been.

The trail narrowed again, pushing them closer to the edge. On the left, the cliffside rose in frozen slabs. On the right, the drop fell away into white nothing.

Lindarion's boots crunched against a loose ridge of ice. Ashwing jumped ahead, then immediately flopped in a pile of snow like it had just discovered joy as a physical concept.

"You're supposed to be a dragon," he muttered. "Act like it."

Ashwing responded by sneezing again.

Another splash of heat on his boots. The smell of singed leather floated upward like a tiny, offended ghost.

'Fantastic. He's going to burn through my wardrobe one toe at a time.'

They reached a bend in the trail, and the wind cut across them with the subtlety of a thrown axe. Everyone hunched instinctively.

Except Lira. Because of course.

She pointed ahead. "There's a break in the ridge. Flat ground."

"That sounds suspicious," Meren said. "Flat ground? In this economy?"

Ren shoved him lightly. "Don't jinx it."

"I'm just saying. Last time we saw flat ground, something tried to eat us."

"That was a bush," Ardan said. "And you tripped into it."

"It was a very aggressive bush."

Lindarion didn't speak. His eyes were on the ground ahead. Not the path. The shapes just past it.

Indentations.

Not boot prints. Not claw marks either.

Circular. Deep.

Like something had landed there.

Hard.

Ashwing stopped walking. Its tiny body tensed. Wings twitching. Not scared, exactly. But alert.

Lira saw it too.

She crouched. Ran a hand over one of the impressions. Snow crunched under her fingers.

"Recent," she said. "Too deep to be old."

Ren frowned. "What makes that kind of mark?"

Lira stood slowly. Her eyes flicked to Lindarion.

"Something big."

"That narrows it down to half the mountain," he said.

She didn't argue.

Ashwing slunk back toward him. Its tail wrapped around his leg again. Comfort, maybe. Or instinct. Or maybe it just liked being inconvenient.

He didn't push it away.

The wind howled again. The kind of howl that wasn't dramatic, just cold. Straight through the layers. Into the bones.

Meren sniffled loudly. "Can we vote to turn around now?"

"No," Ardan said.

"We're a very undemocratic party," Meren grumbled.

Ren took a few steps ahead, scanning the white for motion. Her face had shifted. Still casual, but with that edge she got when something was off. The kind of look that said: if something jumps out, I'm punching it first and asking questions after.

Lindarion looked up at the sky. It hadn't cleared. Just thinned. Enough to see the shape of the sun behind the clouds. Pale. Uninterested.

Ashwing made a soft whine in his throat.

He didn't speak. But his claws dug slightly into Lindarion's boot.

Lindarion lowered his voice. "You felt it too?"

The dragon blinked slowly.

And for once, didn't sneeze.

That was probably the most ominous part.

He glanced at Lira. "Should we stop?"

"No," she said. "We're close."

"To what?"

"To something."

Fantastic.

He pulled his scarf tighter and kept walking.

The trail widened a little ahead. Just enough for a breath.

Ashwing didn't leave his side.

And Lindarion didn't make him.

—

The village looked closer now.

Which was good.

It also looked like it had a functioning gate, armed guards, and three separate watchtowers bristling with enough ballistae to take down a wyvern.

Which was bad.

Lindarion stopped just short of the final ridge and peered over the edge, scarf pulled high enough to almost pretend he wasn't breathing frost every three seconds.

Ashwing popped his little lizard head beside him and blinked at the sight like it was checking real estate value.

Below, nestled between the slope and a frozen stream, sat a cluster of sharp-roofed homes and layered stone walls. Smoke rose from the chimneys. Orange. Cozy.

The kind of smoke that suggested soup and survival.

Lindarion tilted his head.

'Soup would be good. Soup and not getting arrested for harboring a dragon.'

Ashwing sneezed again. No fire this time. Just a faint hiss and the smell of ozone.

Ren stepped beside him. "You think they have hot springs?"

"I think they have problems with security," he said, nodding at the row of archers pacing on the upper wall.

Lira crouched a few feet behind them, eyes narrowed. Watching the same walls, the same towers, the same sloped streets that curved inward like a hand protecting something important.

Meren caught up late and immediately regretted it. "I swear I was happier not seeing anything. Now I'm cold, tired, and about to be turned into soup."

"That's not how villages work," Ardan said, not looking up from the trail.

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do."

Lindarion tuned them out.

His fingers itched. Not from cold. Just instinct. Ashwing was still pressed against his shin like a shadow with claws. The dragon let out a tiny puff of air, not exactly anxious, but not thrilled either.

Yeah. Same, buddy.

"Problem," Ren said.

"No," Meren replied instantly. "I'm done with problems."

"Too bad," she said, pointing. "They have a ward barrier."

Lindarion blinked. Then squinted.

She was right. Barely visible, but definitely there, thin lines of etched magic humming faintly along the village border. The kind of thing you didn't notice until you got too close, and then suddenly you were sizzling like bacon because you brought in something the ward didn't like.

Like, say, a baby dragon.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course they do."

"Is it lethal?" Meren asked.

"Depends," Lira said calmly. "How much dragon's in your pocket."

Ashwing chirped.

"Shh," Lindarion muttered. "You're not helping."

Ren glanced over. "So what's the plan? Sneak him in under a cloak? Pretend he's a weird dog?"

"Very weird," Meren added. "With a melting problem."

Ashwing sneezed again.