“Time of death is over half a day ago. Even the Sorceress’s Antidote can’t save him now.”

Old Ray, the scholar, shook his head after examining the corpse thoroughly. At his conclusion, a sharp pain pierced Hambart’s heart, an unspeakable grief welling up inside him. Why would a good man like Old Kam meet such a terrible fate?

Hambart stared at Kammon lying on the ground, recalling the first time they’d met.

Half a year ago, Hambart had been a hunter in a small village in the northern kingdom. He’d fallen for a wolf’s trick, leading to the slaughter of his entire village. He’d survived by sheer luck, but when he’d seen the bodies scattered across his home, his heart had turned to ash. After burying his townsfolk, he’d traveled north to the Frostwall.

The Wall had just emerged from the Wolf-War, and the Legion was in desperate need of recruits. Hambart had joined easily, thanks to his masterful archery. Still reeling from the trauma, he’d been silent and withdrawn, spending his days only on drills, meals, and sleep. He hadn’t come to the Wall for honor—he’d come just to drift through life until his end.

Occasionally, he’d stand atop the Shield Citadel, gazing out at the endless snowfields beyond the Wall. In those moments, he’d swear he could see a carefree hunter stalking through the distant snow forests—the man he’d once been.

“Everyone on the Wall has suffered at the hands of wolves.”

Just as his mood hit rock bottom, Kammon had handed him a bowl of tomato bisque. “This is the edge of the world, and a place where miracles have been born. No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve been through, you’ll find a new life here. Forget the past, start over. You’ll gain new brothers, earn honor, and maybe even become a legend.”

The hot soup had chased away the cold in Hambart’s bones, and Kammon’s words had rekindled the embers of his dead heart. That night, they’d talked for hours. Kammon had told the recruit of the Wall’s heroic tales and its legendary battles. Hambart had shared his greatest regret—the mistake that had cost his village everything.

After that night, Hambart had tried to integrate into the Legion. The Frostwall was filled with talent: hunters with peerless archery, guards with unmatched combat skills, knights with masterful swordplay, demon hunters with godlike magic, dreamweavers with illusory tricks… Hambart had been the best shot in his village, but among the Legion’s elite, he’d been unremarkable.

That had only stoked his competitive fire. Finally, he’d found a new purpose: to train his archery and military skills until he became a celebrated hero of the Frostwall. Kammon had guided me back to life. Hambart had never forgotten the steward’s kindness.

Now, separated by death, his grief was overwhelming. He made a silent vow: I will avenge Kammon.

“It must be the wolves again!”

A crowd had gathered in the narrow square outside the Deephold’s iron gate, surrounding Kammon’s body. Old Ray knelt on one side, examining the corpse, while Feto the Guard knelt on the other.

“From the wound, there’s no doubt it was a wolf’s doing. But this isn’t the crime scene. There are drag marks on the body, and bloodstains lead from here through the gate into the Deephold’s corridor…” Old Ray pointed to the entrance between the two rusted, open iron gates. “The actual murder must have happened inside the Deephold.”

In the Frostwall Legion, scholars held the second-highest authority, only below the Commander. When he made his conclusion, the crowd nodded in agreement.

“I saw a large splash of blood and a bowl of spilled tomato bisque at the second fork in the first-floor corridor. That must be the crime scene Old Ray mentioned.”

Feto stood up. He was young and handsome, with sharp features and a posture straight as a pine. An oval silver shield was strapped to his right arm, its surface crisscrossed with scratches—mementos of his past battles, a testament to his honor as the Frostwall Legion’s Chief Guard.

“So Old Kam was killed inside the Deephold, then dragged here to the square.” Feto said.

“What’s the wolf’s purpose in doing that?” someone in the crowd asked.

“The wolves are sending us a message! A declaration of war!” Feto clenched his fists and shouted.

“That’s right!”

“Damn wolves! They’re so arrogant!”

Many in the crowd echoed Feto—though Hambart wasn’t one of them. This guy just loves striking poses, no real insight. All he says is obvious nonsense.

Hambart had never liked Feto. He thought the man was a show-off, lacking real skill, who’d only risen through the ranks because of his close relationship with the Commander. Instead of cheering along with the others, Hambart let out a cold snort, making his disdain clear.

“Ahem.”

A cough rang out, and the crowd fell silent. The Commander is here!

Lord Orek stepped slowly out of the Deephold. He was lean, dressed in a black robe trimmed with dark gold embroidery, which spoke to his noble lineage. But his eyes were ringed with dark circles, and his face looked haggard.

Right behind him was Lady Rae, leader of the Golden Knights. Though she was a woman, she stood tall—even a half-head taller than Orek. Her features weren’t delicate, but her skin was pale, and she cut a striking figure in her perfectly fitted, ornate armor.

The moment they appeared, all eyes turned to them. The crowd parted voluntarily, clearing a path for them to reach the center of the square.

Finally? Unlike the others, who stepped back respectfully, Hambart stood his ground. He’d been seething with anger at Orek’s delayed arrival. The Wall’s steward had been assassinated—how could the Commander take so long to show up?

“Who found the body first?” Orek asked, standing beside the corpse.

“I did.” Feto stepped forward quickly. “This morning, I came to relieve the guard at the Deephold and found Old Kam’s body here in the square.”

“Was anyone else at the scene?”

“No.”

“So that means the Deephold entrance was unguarded before you arrived?” Orek immediately spotted the problem.

Feto glanced at the two golden-armored knights standing nearby. “I was supposed to take over from them, but they left early.”

The two Golden Knights exchanged a look, and one was about to speak.

“I told them to go.” Rae spoke first, stepping in front of the knights. “During the Hour of the First Glimmer, I patrolled the Deephold and saw them on duty. I knew they had an Outer Wastes patrol today, so I told them to go back and rest early to avoid exhaustion.”

There was a gap in the Deephold’s guard! Hambart’s instincts screamed. He looked at Orek, expecting the Commander to demand accountability immediately. But Orek just touched his nose and said nothing.

“Why didn’t you notify us when you ended your shift early?” Old Ray asked, voicing the question on every Frostwall Legion member’s mind.

All eyes turned to Rae and her knights. After the Wolf-War half a year ago, the Golden Knights had come to the Wall as “allied reinforcements.” On the surface, the two groups got along, but beneath it, there was constant friction—neither side liked the other much.

“Based on the corpse, Kammon was attacked around midnight. So our early departure has no connection to the murder.”

Rae didn’t answer the scholar’s question directly, instead washing her knights of all responsibility. Her words sparked murmurs in the crowd, including clear signs of dissatisfaction from the Frostwall Legion. Damn it! This woman is washing her hands of everything!

Hambart waited for Orek or Old Ray to refute her, but the two Legion leaders remained silent—effectively agreeing with her. He couldn’t hold back any longer. “The murderer moved the body right after your men left! How can you say you’re not responsible? Damn it!”

Hambart’s outburst froze the atmosphere instantly. Everyone in the crowd looked shocked. Hambart could see that beneath their surprise, there were two layers of meaning: admiration for his bluntness, and unspoken disdain. Who do you think you are, speaking up like that?