Chapter 156: Do You Know? Snow Is Actually Delicious

In the dead of night, in the village’s wooden house.

As if sensing something, the sleeping girl on the bed twitched her lashes, revealing a pair of emerald-bright eyes.

She gazed solemnly out the window, though all she could see was a blinding white swirl of snow—yet her instinct told her a vast torrent of magic was erupting hundreds of meters away.

Even she, at the peak of the New Moon Rank, felt as feeble as a child before this surging, river-like magic.

And the master of this magic was unquestionably the Pale Witch who traveled with her.

“Could someone have angered her?”

Recalling the footsteps and knocking she had heard earlier, Dorothea’s delicate face flickered with unease.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the Lionheart Sword and quietly opened the door, stepping outside.

She did not want these villagers—so hard-won from famine—to be destroyed simply because of the witch she had brought with her.

No matter what, she must protect this village from the witch’s wrath.

The open space at the village entrance.

Beneath the snow-lit moon, the witch hovered in midair, her long hair swirling.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh.

A river-like torrent of pale white magic erupted from her, each strand beautiful as a white ribbon.

The resulting magical current shot straight into the sky like a pillar, as if tearing through the starless black night.

Before her, all the villagers of the village knelt in a long line on the ground.

At the very front of the line stood a gaunt young man, and the witch gently touched his forehead with a slender finger.

The next instant, something profoundly strange occurred.

Frost flowers spread from the man’s pupils, like countless tiny silver snakes burrowing into his skin.

His head, torso, arms, and legs were gradually submerged in frost, his entire body coated in a translucent layer of ice, transforming him into a lifelike ice sculpture.

Yet this terrifying sight did not cause panic among the villagers behind him—in fact, their expressions revealed a hint of envy and anticipation.

As if being turned into an ice sculpture was a blessing to them.

Rustle rustle rustle.

The “ice sculpture’s” eyes suddenly glowed with a pale blue light, and then he rose from the ground, ecstatically exploring his new body.

Only when another “ice sculpture” beside him cleared his throat impatiently did he snap back to awareness, bowing reverently to the witch in midair before stepping aside respectfully.

From their behavior, they were less like ice sculptures and more like living “ice beings.”

Then the witch touched the forehead of the next person at the front of the line, watching as frost slowly spread from their pupils, repeating the ritual of turning living humans into ice beings.

“This—this is?”

Hidden behind the village gate, Dorothea’s face turned pale with horror—this eerie scene sent chills down her spine.

One by one, the villagers were being transformed by the Pale Witch into humanoid monsters covered in frost.

And the strangest part? The other villagers did not fear or flee—they lined up with the devotion of believers receiving a priest’s baptism.

What an act of blasphemy! What a grotesque perversion!

Dorothea’s first thought was that the Pale Witch had enslaved these innocent villagers for some magical experiment or to create servants.

After all, for a Witch of the Radiant Moon Rank, controlling the wills of mere mortal villagers was effortless.

“What have I done?”

In that instant, Dorothea clenched her fists, her face twisted in anguish as she berated herself inwardly.

It was she who had brought the Pale Witch to the village—she alone was responsible for turning them into these grotesque monsters, condemning them to a life worse than death.

All of this was her fault!

Even if her intentions had been good, she could not deny this cruel truth.

“The mistake I have made—I will atone for it with my life.”

As she watched the very front of the line, a newborn infant—still unopened eyes—being held up by its mother toward the Pale Witch, Dorothea’s killing intent surged.

She gripped the sword hilt tightly, draining every last drop of magic from her body, the wooden door beside her trembling violently under the surge.

The moment she raised the sword, a torrent of emerald magic roared from its blade like a lion’s roar, piercing the heavens.

The air split apart; the blade extended instantly to dozens of meters, becoming a brilliant magical greatsword.

Her hair flared like burning ice flames, and the ground beneath her feet cracked under the weight of the blow.

Undoubtedly, with the resolve to die and the guilt of cleansing her own sin, Dorothea unleashed the strongest sword strike of her life.

“By this blade—I judge the witch!”

She swung downward; the greatsword tore through the air, trailing a comet-like tail of magical light as it crashed toward the hovering Pale Witch.

“What a lovely child.”

Dorothy gazed at the infant nestled in its mother’s arms, its skin still glowing faintly pink with youth—her expressionless face briefly softened with a touch of maternal tenderness.

This infant reminded her of her daughter—when she was born, she had been just as adorable. No, my daughter was even more beautiful than this child.

“Should such a tiny infant truly be turned into an ice spirit doomed to eternal cold?”

Even the usually heartless witch felt a flicker of pity before the newborn.

Yet as she observed the mother’s face—filled with desperate pleading and growing panic at the delay—Dorothy swiftly crushed this useless sympathy.

After all, in this nation ruled by famine, becoming an ice spirit who no longer needed food might well be a blessing for an infant.

Perhaps, having been transformed at birth, she would never perceive cold as pain.

Boom!

Just as Dorothy extended her finger to gently touch the infant’s forehead, a sudden instinctive warning made her turn her head.

A colossal emerald sword, dozens of meters long, stood between earth and sky—the knight girl gripping its hilt glared at her with fury and murderous intent, then swung the blade down.

The emerald greatsword roared toward her, determined to cleave the witch in two.

Tch. Quite frightening.

Dorothy smirked, instantly guessing the reason.

After all, this wasn’t the first time—it was neither worth her attention nor her explanation.

Anyone who attacked her, regardless of motive—whether out of despair or misunderstanding—would receive her full retaliation.

That was her principle as a witch.

But since she found this knight girl’s face cute and her spirit upright, she’d settle for breaking one arm or plucking out one eye as punishment.

Dorothy thought to herself, extending one finger as immense pale white magic gathered, compressed, and coalesced into a brilliant white orb.

This was a casual strike—but even a full-power Lunar Crescent Rank mage might not survive it.

If it struck, the cute knight girl would be gravely wounded—or killed.

“Stop!”

Just as the greatsword was about to fall, an ice being suddenly threw out his arms to block its path, shouting loudly.

Though his entire body was covered in frost, though his eyes had turned pale blue without pupils, Dorothea recognized him by his weathered face—Matthew, the village elder!

Even though the elder had become a monster, Dorothea still twisted the sword’s hilt to avoid spilling innocent blood.

Boom boom boom!

With a deafening crash, the greatsword struck the snow, instantly carving a narrow, dozens-of-meters-long fissure.

Simultaneously, an arm made of ice was severed and tumbled into the crack.

“Elder!”

Seeing their elder’s arm severed, the transformed villagers and those still human rushed over.

Some even glared at Dorothea with hatred as she hurried forward.

Crack!

The elder, now with only one arm, calmly slapped the man who had glared.

“How dare we look at a benefactor with hatred?” Matthew said calmly, reprimanding him.

Then he turned to face the knight girl, her face filled with guilt, and slowly knelt before her on one knee.

“Honored Knight, thank you once again for your kindness. Though old and dim-eyed, I can still tell—you swung that sword with the pure intention of saving us.” Matthew said with sincere gratitude.

Even after losing his arm, the old man’s face showed no anger—only genuine thanks.

Dorothea: “.”

“But please understand—we were not bewitched by the Pale Witch. We came here of our own free will, begging her to grant us ‘redemption.’”

“Redemption!?” The girl was stunned.

“Are you certain calling this monstrous transformation ‘redemption’?”

“Yes. Perhaps to someone noble like you, this seems an unimaginable disaster—but to us, the lowly, it is true redemption.” The old man smiled bitterly.

“Now, though we can no longer feel warmth, though all see us as monsters, though we must hide like rats... yet!”

Matthew’s voice had been filled with sorrow, but at the last moment, it surged upward with sudden fervor.

He suddenly grabbed a handful of snow from the ground and shoved it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“From now on, we can survive by eating snow,” he answered, still chewing.

On his weathered face bloomed a radiant, unprecedented smile, and two clear streams of tears, like melting snow, slowly traced down his cheeks.

“Do you know? Snow is actually delicious.”

“And we can eat this delicious thing to our hearts’ content every single day,” the elder replied, his face glowing with happiness.

Under the elder’s lead, the transformed villagers and those still human rushed to eat the snow on the ground.

“Delicious.”

“So delicious—I’ve never eaten anything this good.”

“Is this what it feels like to be full? Thank you, Witch Lady, for your grace!”

Dorothee stared blankly at this absurd scene, even wondering if she were still trapped in last night’s nightmare.

Otherwise, how could such a scene, more twisted than hell itself, exist in reality?

They are human beings!

How could humans possibly eat snow?

How could anyone, just to be full, sink so low as to become a monster!

The knight, who had trained day and night through snow and wind for ten years, had made his sword an extension of his body—yet now his hands trembled like candles flickering in the wind.

With a thud, her lionheart sword, more precious than her own life, fell into a crack on the ground.

At that moment, the girl felt as if hundreds of thousands of swords had pierced her heart, leaving it riddled with holes, shattered beyond repair.

Because she realized the Northern Lands were too vast, and too many were starving—she could never provide enough food for everyone, nor could the Prince, nor could anyone.

Perhaps, turning the Northern peasants into ice-beings who could survive by eating snow was, in truth, a kind of redemption.

The girl’s head spun dizzily; she didn’t even notice the pale witch slowly floating before her.

The witch casually pointed, and the lionheart sword buried in the crack, along with Ma Xiu’s ice-crystal arm, floated gently upward, wrapped in pale magical energy, then settled onto the ground.

The arm reattached itself to Ma Xiu’s empty shoulder.

The old village chief bowed deeply with gratitude, and at the witch’s glance, led all the villagers away in silence, leaving only the two of them alone.

“Your sword fell,” Dorothee said calmly.

“My late husband once said that for a knight, losing one’s sword is as shameful as being stabbed in the back.”

“You are an excellent knight. Do not sully your honor,” the witch said with deep meaning.

Dorothee silently took the floating lionheart sword, then—

“I, Dorothee Mason, last bloodline of the Mason family, youngest daughter of the Lion King, exile, offer my deepest apologies and utmost respect to you—a merciful witch.”

She bowed deeply before the witch floating in midair.

She had attacked the witch without knowing the reason—this was undoubtedly her fault.

Though it was possible Ma Xiu and the villagers had all been manipulated by the witch, if she could make it so real, so heart-shaking, then even if it were deception, she would accept it.

Upon hearing the surname, even the pale witch paused, her expression momentarily startled.

After all, when she had just left her castle and set foot on the path of suffering, the Lion King—who had first raised the banner of rebellion against the Glutton King—was a name that echoed throughout the land.

After hearing Dorothee reveal her identity and offer her apology, her gaze toward the knight softened considerably.

If only my daughter could grow into such a lovely child.

But she, with her heterochromatic eyes, probably still shuts herself off, hiding alone in the library reading books, just as she did last year.

Sigh. I’ll sneak a look at her once this period is over.

Too bad—due to my pact with my god, unless life or death is at stake, I cannot appear in any part of her life.

Tap. tap.

Dorothee lightly tapped her smooth forehead, suppressing her turbulent emotions, then turned her gentle gaze upon the knight before her.

“Dorothee, I admire your great deed of slaying Lu Ka to save the starving people of the Frozen Lands. I hope you will continue to forge great deeds.”

Every lord who sold the people who gave her the power of suffering to the Old Bat’s slave capital deserves to be flayed a thousand times!

But after being beaten by the Mad Wolf and the Old Bat, I could not act openly—yet this knight is clearly a very useful blade.

“Though our journey together has been brief, it has been pleasant. This is my gift to you.”

A crystal-clear snowflake gently landed in Dorothee’s palm.

“When you are in danger, crush it—I will come to you as wind and snow, and strike once on your behalf.”

“Righteous knight, I look forward to your next great deeds in the Northern Lands.”

The moment her words ended, the witch smiled faintly, then dissolved into a thousand snowflakes and vanished, leaving Dorothee standing silently in place, lost in thought.

(End of Chapter)