Border Ashes

The biting wilderness cold tore at flesh, weaving through muscle fibers and freezing blood vessels into brittle strands of glass. The snow here was far from a pristine white; it was mixed with black ash accumulated from countless ancient battles, forming a gray sludge that reeked of rusted metal.

Beneath the undercarriage of a rotting wooden wagon half-buried in the snow, a thin, frail girl lay curled up. She wore only tattered rags caked in dirt, utterly insufficient to cover her body or shield her from the sub-zero chill of this dead land.

Her slender, emaciated arms hugged her chest tightly as it heaved in ragged, shallow breaths. Every muscle in her small frame shuddered violently with every gust of wind that howled through the craggy cliffs.

Her swollen, frost-bitten fingers dug desperately into the frozen earth. She was searching for anything to fill her stomach, anything to sustain a fragile spark of life amidst looming death.

"So cold..."

she whispered, her voice raspy and dry, like two sheets of coarse sand rubbing together in a barren wasteland.

"Must live... No matter what..."

The sheer force exerted by her fingertips caused her nails to split, fresh blood welling out and smearing onto a gray, rock-hard root lying deep beneath the ice. The physical pain didn't make her flinch for a single second.

To her, pain had become a part of daily existence—a feeling so familiar it was numbing. She brought the root, covered in blood and grime, to her mouth and summoned every last ounce of her failing strength to bite down hard.

Crack.

The bitter, astringent, and metallic taste of dirty soil filled her mouth. She swallowed it down without chewing properly, accepting the violent spasm that instantly clawed at her empty stomach. The hunger was temporarily suppressed, but the true threat lay within her veins. A insidious fever burned deep within her chest, scorching as if it meant to incinerate every blood vessel.

An extremely potent magical poison—a dark, murky toxin of unknown origin—slithered through her flesh like thousands of tiny venomous worms devouring her internal organs. Her flesh burned like fire, yet her outer skin remained deathly pale from the bone-chilling cold. She collapsed her head onto the filthy black snow-ash, her heavy eyes staring blankly into the endless white void before her.

"Who... am I?"

She asked herself a question that had echoed thousands of times in her mind. Her brain was a blank void—no past, no name, no memory of a home or a warm embrace.

The only thing that existed in her mind was an endless void and a ruthless survival instinct. A instinct so fierce she was ready to tear apart any creature that stood in her way just to claim life.

She knew she had to live. At all costs. Whether it meant eating mud, drinking blood, or crawling like a crippled insect across this desolate land. Every breath drawn from her chest was a battle against death, and she had never intended to surrender.

Far beneath the layers of ash, mud, and boulders—a thousand yards below the wilderness—a remarkably slow pulse vibrated from the darkest depths.

Thump.

A heartbeat once every ten minutes. Steady, deep, and carrying an invisible pressure that faintly trembled the bedrock above. The mountain range of eternal ice encompassing this borderland was no natural formation. It was the physical body of an ancient magical creature buried deep below.

A colossal Dark Dragon lay submerged in a deep magical slumber. Because its master had suffered catastrophic injuries and had her memories completely sealed, the magical bond between them had ruptured severely. The creature was forced to freeze itself beneath the deep earth, quietly gathering its mana to await the day its master's sacred flame would be reborn.

A surge of dark mana, compressed to an intense density, hid beneath the limestone, flowing silently like a subterranean volcano primed to erupt. Yet the frail girl beneath the rotting wagon had no idea she was the very source of that power.

She merely felt a strange urge rising from deep within the earth, as though a second heart were beating in unison with her aching chest.

"What... is down there?"

she whispered, pressing her bleeding palm against the cold, ash-covered ice.

Before she could find an answer to that strange resonance, heavy footsteps crunching over the frozen snow echoed from the distance. The clinking of metal against metal, accompanied by crude curses, shattered the silence of the dead field.

"Look there! Something’s crawling under that wagon!"

A rough, booming voice called out, followed by a disgusting, mocking laugh. Out from the dense snow mist stepped three muscular men clad in ragged clothes and foul-smelling animal pelts. They were border bandits—vultures who scavenged corpses and preyed upon orphaned refugees.

The leader had a long, jagged scar running across his face, his hand gripping a rusted blade stained with dried, old blood.

"Turns out it's just a little beggar brat," the scarred man sneered in contempt, his murky eyes crawling over her slender frame hidden beneath the rags.

"Looks skinny, but that face..." The second bandit licked his lips, his eyes filled with crude greed. "Washed up, she might be usable. Strip her and let's see!"

The third bandit tucked his axe into his belt, spitting out a curse before bursting into a loud laugh. "Don't let her freeze to death before we're done! Look at her, she's shivering like a leaf!"

The girl beneath the wagon didn't move. She remained hunched in the snow, breathing out streams of icy white vapor, her hands secretly tightening around a sharp fragment of ice beneath her.

"Be a good little beggar girl, and we'll throw you a piece of dry bread when we're through." The scarred bandit stepped closer, reaching out a coarse, filthy hand to grab her tangled hair.

"Get out."

A single word escaped her throat. Cold, dry, and entirely devoid of human warmth.

The scarred bandit paused for a moment, looking down mockingly at the frail brat beneath his feet before bursting into a hearty laugh. "What did you say? Who's this dying brat telling to get out?"

"I said..."

She slowly lifted her head. Looking past her tangled hair caked in dirt and ash, her face was thin, yet her features were razor-sharp and strikingly beautiful.

And the most terrifying part was her eyes. Deep within her dark purple irises, a glowing, ancient dragon rune suddenly flared to life.

Her pupils contracted into vertical slits, burning like sacred fire igniting in the dark wilderness night. The scarred bandit flinched, instinctively taking a step back. The sheer brutality, fury, and bloodlust filling those eyes did not belong to a helpless human being.

Those were the eyes of a apex predator standing atop the food chain, looking down at lesser creatures blocking its path.

"Those eyes..." The scarred bandit stammered, his throat catching.

"What kind of monster is this?!" the second bandit screamed in terror, raising his battle axe in a defensive stance.

"Kill her! Don't let her—"

Before the scarred bandit could finish his sentence, the frail figure beneath the wagon lunged out with lightning speed. No flashy magic, no prized blade—only pure, ruthless, and remarkably precise killing instinct.

She closed the distance in a flash before he could swing his rusted sword. Her small, bloodied hand gripped the sharp ice fragment, driving it forward with all her strength.

Pfft!

The sharp ice rammed straight into the scarred bandit's throat, sinking deep to the makeshift hilt. Hot, fresh blood splattered across her dirt-smudged face. She didn't blink, ruthlessly twisting the ice shard before ripping it out.

The scarred bandit clutched his torn throat, letting out a few choked gasps before collapsing onto the ash-covered snow. His body spasmed violently on the black sludge before going completely still.

The remaining two bandits stood frozen in shock, the blood drained entirely from their faces.

"She... she killed the boss!" The second bandit trembled, stepping back in utter disbelief. "What kind of strength is this?! She's just a beggar brat!"

The girl stood amidst the black snow, her enemy's blood trailing down her slender wrists, dripping hot onto the frozen ground. Her eyes, glowing with dark purple dragon runes, swept slowly over the two survivors.

"Your turn."

Her voice was calm—terrifyingly indifferent.

"Monster! She's a monster!" The third bandit let out a terrified shriek, throwing his battle axe into the snow and fleeing blindly into the dense mist. The second bandit didn't dare stay a second longer either, sprinting away as if pursued by a demon, never once looking back at his comrade's corpse.

The girl didn't give chase. She knew her physical strength had reached its limit. The toxic fever flared up wildly within her once more, forcing her to her knees in the snow as her chest heaved violently, dripping with cold sweat.

The dark purple dragon runes in her eyes slowly faded, returning them to a tranquil, deep purple—still as a winter lake. She looked down at the scarred bandit's corpse, stooping down calmly without a shred of fear or disgust.

She unbuckled the thick, foul-smelling animal pelt coat from his body, wrapping it tightly around her thin frame to stay warm. To her, survival was paramount. Morality, pity, or disgust held no place in the mind of someone crawling at the bottom of the world.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet shuddered violently. This was no ordinary natural earthquake. It was a profound spiritual vibration originating from deep, deep beyond the border.

ROAR...

A low, deep, and brutal roar tore through the wilderness air. The cliffs of eternal ice miles away suddenly developed massive fissures. Snow from the mountain peaks avalanched violently, cascading down like white waterfalls swallowing everything in their path.

The sky, previously choked with gray ash, was suddenly dyed a brilliant, blood-red color that stretched across the heavens.

"What is this?"

She pulled the fur coat tighter around herself, lifting her cold gaze to the fiery sky.

A brutal, overwhelming aura thick with dark magic descended from the sky. It compressed the air itself, forcing every living creature within a hundred-mile radius to bow in submission. The girl's body trembled violently; she had to brace both hands against the cold snow to keep from being flattened by the terrifying pressure.

Out from the blood-red ash clouds emerged thousands of massive magical warships and knights mounted on flying beasts. Their armor and helmets gleamed with the cold, jet-black sheen of the highest grade of magical steel.

Leading this destructive conquest army was a colossal dragon clad in crimson scales as bright as fresh blood. Dark mana churned around its massive form, scorching snowflakes before they could even touch the ground.

The king's conquest army had officially descended upon the wild border.

The girl narrowed her eyes, staring up at the tall, majestic figure standing atop the Blood-Red Dragon. It was a being ruling from the top of the world, bringing destruction, death, and cold iron chains.

Her fingers tightened around the blood-stained shard of ice.

Her lips curved into a cold, bitter, and defiant smile.

"Another pack of monsters?"