Everyone knew the story. The history books of all four clans didn’t differ or sugarcoat when it came to the evil of the Clan of Vulcanus, otherwise known as the Salamanders. The Clan of Salamanders used to have a strong and prosperous khaganate, the mightiest kingdom in all the land. They were the best miners and blacksmiths, and they were the first people to master and command their mother element: fire. They were also the first humans to betray their kind and collaborate with the dragons. Salamander clansmen were considered direct descendants of Homusubi, the fire god. Together with their dragon overlords, they hewed entire mountains and smelted ores to build the stateliest castles and the most impregnable fortresses. They created hand weapons and war machines – repeating crossbows, hand cannons, trebuchets – that extended the power of the nine-headed dragon god, Kuzuryū Daimyōjin, to every corner of Pan-Terra. The exhaust of the Salamanders’ smokestacks choked the sky as far as

Aki and Temujin had decided to leave early the next day. It was disorienting not to have the sun to signal night and day but luckily for them the north was renowned for three things: lamp fuel from whale oil, fresh seafood, and the ever reliable “Angler” pocket watch, which was encased and had a spring-hinged lid that covered its glass crystal face. People sometimes joked that the technology and craft of watchmaking evolved parallel to the northern fishermen’s need to transport their catch at its optimal freshness. The heroes intended to come back as soon as possible, for Griffin and the dragon-scale armor that was still being forged by Pukkitunturi’s finest metal-worker. As promised, the town provided them with their fastest sled team of jolfrs. The same great size of crowd gathered to see them off despite their scheduled return. Mr. Olsson was wearing his most luxuriant and warmest robe yet, and their sled was a covered number that resembled a carriage more than anything and came wi

When they finally arrived at their torchlit destination, they were surrounded by another crowd, reinforcing Aki’s impression since Pukkitunturi that the Northern Province wasn’t accustomed to receiving that many visitors. Most of the first onlookers were children; something very surprising to Aki, who was used to seeing a lot of senior people around her – teachers, officials, retainers and so on. And it wasn’t just because she grew up isolated as royalty, it was because the Clan of Stork valued wisdom and experience over youth, gradually inducing an aged population. The villagers on this northernmost glacier-covered fell, Blarjokull, wore the same clothing as those in Pukkitunturi. The main difference, it appeared to Aki and Temujin, was the bronze skin and dark mono-lidded eyes of the people here. It turned out that, in the northernmost corner of the world, the people’s hair was dark and straight unlike those of the Pukkitunturians, who were not too different from Aki in appearance.

The circular arena lay in the center of the village and was made of smooth ice. It was around thirty feet in diameter and surrounded by eight stalagmite-shaped ice pillars crowned with sputtering torches. Between these pillars stretched thin, highly transparent but durable panes of ice that served as barriers through which the audience could watch. These barriers curved away from the torches and went on to meet at the top to create a twenty-foot-high bubble dome that deterred fighters from jumping too high. Temujin stepped inside the arena through an opening in one of the barriers. After him, someone froze up the hole to lock him in. He walked to the center of the ring exhaling water vapor through the filter of his mask and feeling a lot of angry Undine eyes on him. He knew Aki stood amid them watching with a very worried expression, but he couldn’t remember where he had left her and he didn’t want to look weak or nervous by looking for her now. In his right hand, he carried the scyth

“Konnichiwa!” a young Slayer stepped out of the crowd and greeted Temujin. “My name’s Aleksandr, and I’m the youngest child of Yuri Babor.” He was speaking in the pidgin language of the eastern lowlands in consideration of the foreigner. Surprisingly, out of all the denizens of Blarjokull, this Aleksandr, who was eighteen – younger than Temujin and only a little older than Aki – was one of only two who could speak the eastern tongue. Many other villagers had congratulated Temujin by shaking his hand, patting him on the back, or just calling out his name from the sidelines. The acceptance and complete reversal of attitude deeply pleased him. Who could’ve thought that he would put an end to the decades-long animosity between Salamanders and Undines? Magnar proved to be a real sportsman. He even lifted Temujin for some crowd surfing and a slight toss in the air; the second, Temujin would learn, was a taste of the northern festival custom of “blanket tossing”, in which hunters were ce