CHAPTER 117: UNCLE AND NEPHEW [I]

It was impossible for someone to get lost in the Winter Region unless they strayed into the endless snow of the Winter Expanse or somehow managed to slip through the gates and swim the freezing waters toward the Empire.

The borders of Winter were iron, sealed by frost and guarded by blood.

That was why Dante Winters could not believe what he was hearing.

The prince... had returned?

His lips tightened, his fists curling as the news echoed in his mind like a curse.

He had dealt with that boy years ago. He had seen to it himself.

In a single day, Dante had been overlooked, stripped of what he believed was rightfully his.

But fate had given him an opportunity: the boy.

Azariah’s son.

He could become chosen by the goddess next, and therefore he was a threat to Dante’s path.

He hadn’t hesitated.

He had found a slaver skulking a bit away from the gates since he couldn’t bring himself to kill his brother’s child, frostbitten but alive, desperate for coin.

Dante had given him the boy.

No questions.

No destination.

Just one command — take him far away, so far he would never return.

And with that, Dante had secured his claim.

Or so he thought.

Now the boy had come back, alive, and worse — he was strong.

Dante’s jaw flexed.

The news was probably around the city now: the boy had slain thirty arctic bears and ten ice wolves in a single Hunt.

An achievement impossible for any novice, let alone one who had only just returned.

Impossible, and yet...

Dante steadied his breath, forcing the heat in his chest to cool.

’No matter. Even if he has returned, even if he has grown powerful, the goddess will choose me. Not him. Never him.’

"Let’s go meet my brother," Dante said flatly.

The others nodded.

Together they strode toward the Patriarch’s mansion.

...

Azel lay sprawled across Medusa’s lap, her fingers combing through his silver hair with delicate rhythm.

He hadn’t expected it, but the sensation eased the tension coiled in his body.

His eyelids grew heavy, a soft yawn escaping him despite himself.

"Do you feel relaxed now?" Medusa asked quietly, as though afraid to shatter the peace.

"Mhm," Azel murmured, eyes half-closed. "Didn’t know my hair was a weak spot."

Medusa smiled faintly.

Her own cheeks flushed, though she said nothing.

The intimacy of the moment was enough.

The door opened abruptly.

Anya stepped inside, her breathing hurried, her expression taut with urgency.

She froze when she saw the scene before her — Azel resting, Medusa stroking his hair without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"My Prince," she said quickly, regaining composure, "the Furious Five have returned. The Patriarch requires your presence immediately."

Azel rose, stretching lazily, though his eyes glinted with interest.

He patted Medusa’s head, and she purred softly under his touch. "Thanks. Watch Edna and Lillia for me."

"Yes, Master," Medusa whispered.

He followed Anya out, descending the stairwell.

"Furious Five," he muttered with a smirk. "Sounds like something ripped straight from Kung Fu Panda."

The smirk faded when he entered the dining hall.

No feast lay waiting.

Instead, the room was heavy with presence, the air taut and suffocating.

At the head sat Azariah, who wasnt laughing, and then there were other people.

Their auras pressing down like avalanches, each distinct yet overwhelming in their own way.

Azel’s gaze skimmed them — four men and one woman until his eyes caught on a face that froze him in place.

A middle-aged man with silver hair bound in a short bun, crimson eyes gleaming like coals in snow.

He sat casually, even laughing as he entertained little Ellie on his knee.

But when his gaze locked onto Azel — everything changed.

Hate.

Raw, burning hatred, sharpened and direct, flooded the space between them.

Azel felt it immediately, cold as a blade pressed to his throat.

’Why does he hate me so much?’

Before he could wonder further —

[Ding]

[New Quest Detected]

[Quest: Kill Dante Winters or you will be killed by him.]

[Reward: 10 Aura Refining Pills]

Azel’s lips twitched, though his eyes hardened.

’So that’s how it is.’

He took a seat across from the man, his uncle, never breaking eye contact.

"Whoa," a voice chimed, breaking the tension. "The prince is really cute."

Azel’s eyes flicked to the speaker — a woman with flowing silver hair and golden eyes that sparkled with mischief.

She smiled at him as though she’d discovered something amusing.

"Always the same, Veyra," one of the men grunted, a scarred veteran whose broad shoulders nearly dwarfed the chair. "Control yourself here though."

"Can you blame me?" Veyra replied, resting her chin on her palm, still smiling at Azel. "He’s adorable."

"Focus," another voice cut through, sharp and cold.

A spear rested against the man’s shoulder, his posture like a drawn bowstring. "We are not here to chatter."

Azariah cleared his throat.

His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command. "Azel. These are the Furious Five. Aside from myself, they are the greatest strength the Winter Region possesses."

The room’s weight thickened.

The scarred warrior radiated brute force, his aura like a mountain of frost.

The spear-wielder was honed edge, precise and merciless.

The robed figure at the far end was half-hidden in shadow, Azel didn’t know if he was just trying to look misunderstood.

Veyra gleamed like fire amidst snow, playful yet deadly.

And Dante... Dante was venom wrapped in blood.

Dante leaned forward at last, his voice smooth but dripping disdain.

"So this is the boy. The lost prince who returns from nowhere, claiming impossible feats." His crimson eyes narrowed. "Thirty arctic bears? Ten ice wolves? On a first Hunt? Forgive me if I call that... unlikely."

The air tensed.

Azariah’s gaze sharpened. "Do you doubt the Goddess’s will, brother?"

"Of course not," Dante replied smoothly, lifting his hands as if to absolve himself. "I doubt only exaggeration. Hunters die every season fighting less than half that number. To think a boy could succeed where they fail... forgive my skepticism."

Azel leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging his lips. "You don’t have to imagine it. You could always test me yourself."

Silence.

Even Veyra’s grin faltered at his brazenness.

"I challenge you to a duel."