The familiar chill of the northern winds greeted Lucen the moment the carriage was near a little further into Stellhart.

Lucen and Sir Thalos felt more comfortable in this snowy realm as they had lived here for many years now, but surprisingly, the others were as well.

Robert had been in Ironhold for a few years now and had gotten used to the cold. In the beginning, he even used his mana to heat himself up, but now he doesn't do that.

Harlik, who had been wandering from one battlefield to another, now unconsciously regarded Ironhold as his home.

Thrall's eyes brightened at the sight of the frozen plains. Caelhart had strong sparring partners, including the Sword Duke, who crushed him utterly, but the North's cold winds were still where he felt most alive.

Daniel was happy that the bodyguard mission was finally about to end. He could finally go back and sleep comfortably under the cold air of Ironhold.

On the other hand, Milos was eager to start training even harder than before. Despite his not being able to handle the cold in the beginning, now he could even run around Ironhold while only wearing thin clothes.

Lucen, who was the only one inside the carriage, saw the expressions of the others and couldn't help but chuckle as he was able to guess what everyone was thinking at the moment.

'Heh, to think it's already been that long since I've met these guys.' Lucen couldn't help but chuckle at himself.

***

Lucen and the others arrived near Ironhold around midday. As they approached, Lucen noticed something strange.

Instead of the usual guards watching the entrance, rows of Stellhart knights stood in formation, lining both sides of the road leading up to the gate. Their armor gleamed despite the cloudy sky, their cloaks fluttering in the icy wind.

Each one stood perfectly straight, helmets tucked under their arms, swords sheathed at their sides. They were giving Lucen a knight's salute.

The knights did not say a single word, but the respect they had shown the young lord was absolute.

Once they entered Ironhold, Lucen saw groups of people, from the young to the elderly. It would seem everyone in Ironhold was present. Seeing the crowd gathering, Lucen exited the carriage.

The second Lucen came out of the carriage, the silent Ironhold exploded.

"WELCOME HOME, YOUNG LORD!"

"Glory to the Ever-Victorious!"

"The ruby-eyed monster!"

"Dragonslayer!"

"Glory to Thornefang!"

"Glory to Stellhart!"

"Glory and honor to the Thorneharts!"

Cheers rolled through the cold air like a breaking tide. Children swung wooden swords around, shouting Lucen's name.

Merchants waved from behind their stalls. Hunters thumped their chests with broad grins. Even the elderly, bundled in thick furs, nodded with pride in their eyes.

A few of the wives threw flowers that were hard to find in Ironhold. The members of Thornefang were at the back.

"Congratulations, little leader!"

"Of course, the little leader will always be victorious!"

The members of Thornefang surrounded Harlik and the others as they started sharing stories of what they had experienced.

After walking alongside the entirety of Ironhold, Lucen finally arrived at Thornehart's mansion.

In front of the gate was the ever loyal Vahn and Lucen's younger brother, Cael.

Vahn stood at the gate, dressed in his immaculate butler uniform, its black fabric sharp against the white snow. His back was straight, his hands folded behind him, and though he no longer wore armor, the aura of a former knight still clung to him like a second skin.

Beside him stood Cael. The younger Thornehart did not wave, shout, or move unnecessarily. He simply stood tall, back straight, chin lifted slightly, eyes sharp and steady. The faint frost clinging to his hair made him look like a young warrior carved from ice.

It was truly a sight to see a seven-year-old child act like this, but for a Thornehart, this was the norm.

"Welcome back, Big Brother."

"It's nice to see you well, Cael."

The two brothers looked at each other without saying another word. It was at that moment that Vahn spoke.

"Young lord, I've heard of your splendid victory in the tournament."

"That's to be expected, Big Brother can never lose." Cael suddenly commented.

Vahn blinked at Cael's sudden remark. It wasn't arrogance, just pure, unshakable conviction, spoken with the calm certainty of someone stating a fact.

Lucen let out a soft laugh. "You're making it sound like I'm invincible."

The young Cael, the prodigy of the sword, looked at his older brother with eyes that you could not believe were from a seven-year-old.

"I know that neither Father nor Big Brother is invincible, but I know no matter what, Big Brother always finds a path to victory."

When Lucen heard Cael's answer, he was struck hard. Who knew that his younger brother, whom the old him had ignored, trusted him so much. A small smile appeared on Lucen's face as he chuckled.

Lucen patted his younger brother's head. "Then I guess I must live up to that expectation. The people in the Capital did give me the nickname of Ever-Victorious."

Cael didn't react outwardly to the head pat. He only closed his eyes for half a second, barely noticeable to most people, but to Lucen, it was enough to see the rare flicker of contentment in his brother's expression.

After talking with Vahn and Cael, Lucen headed to his Father's study. The walk to the study has become very familiar to him now. Unlike before, when he went there, it was filled with anxiety; now it feels nice.

The cold stone halls echoed softly with his footsteps. He passed by the familiar frost-rimmed windows, the iron sconces, the banners of Thornehart. Everything felt unchanged.

Soon, he stood before the study doors. The grand double doors of Darkwood towered before him, their surface carved with intricate patterns of the Thornehart crest.

Silver threads were inlaid into the wood, gleaming like captured moonlight. Heavy, imposing, dignified, exactly as he remembered.

Despite only being away for a few weeks, he could not help but feel a strange sense of nostalgia settle over him.

Lucen knocked on the door, and a familiar voice spoke through. "Enter."

Lucen entered the room, and there stood his father, wearing his armor, watching out the window. Lucen looked at Vardon Thornehart's broad back, which was as solid as a fortress wall, and stood up straight.

"You've returned," Vardon spoke without turning around, still continuing to watch the sky outside the window.

"Yes, Father."

Vardon slowly turned to face him. The snowy light from the window cast sharp shadows across his stern features. His eyes, cold as winter stone, scanned Lucen from head to toe.

"Give your report."

Hearing those words made Lucen's lips curl upward ever so slightly.

"Yes, sir! I went to Caelhart and joined the Royal Academy Tournament, and as I promised, I've grabbed the victory and became the champion."

Vardon did not react immediately. He neither smiled nor nodded. He simply observed his son with a steady, unblinking gaze.

"That is simply to be expected of a Thornehart. We are men of our word. The second you said you would bring back victory, I did not expect anything less."

Vardon's voice was calm, deep, and terribly matter-of-fact. He wasn't belittling the achievement; this was simply how the Iron Duke expressed pride: through unwavering certainty.

Lucen felt a little amused when he heard what his Father said. 'As expected of Father, he fits as a kuudere, I guess.'

"But," Vardon continued, stepping away from the window. The metal of his armor shifted, the sound heavy and authoritative. "To bring back absolute victory without sustaining any major injury, that is worthy of acknowledgment."

Lucen blinked a few times. That was the Vardon version of saying I'm proud of you. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

"I'm honored to hear such praise," Lucen responded in a way he thought befitted the son of the Iron Duke.

Vardon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not in displeasure, but in approval. Lucen's posture, his confidence, the steadiness in his voice, everything about him felt like the embodiment of what it means to be a Thornehart.

"Strength without arrogance. Confidence without complacency. Resolve without recklessness." His gaze sharpened.

"You must have shown those snakes at the Capital, the claws of a true predator. Once upon a time, it was not just the four ducal houses that were true warriors, but every person in Norvaegard was one." There was a hint of longing in Vardon's stoic voice.

"Nowadays, many of the once proud warrior families have turned into scheming snakes. Slowly but surely, our honor as warriors is being corrupted. There might come a day that Norvaegard falls, but before then, we Thorneharts must protect our pride and honor. I hope your victory and your showcase of strength have reminded those fools of what they once were."

Lucen could sense that over that stoic face of his, Vardon Thornehart was feeling a sort of sadness as well as hope.

Lucen straightened. "Then I'll continue to show the people of Norvaegard the pride and honor a warrior must embody."

Lucen finished speaking, and silence settled between them. The kind of silence only warriors could share, one built on trust rather than distance.

"That's good to hear," Vardon said softly, which surprised Lucen more than anything before. Vardon then continued. "You may go now, rest well, my son."

Lucen, who was startled by the soft tone of Vardon's voice, took a few seconds to realize what was said. Lucen then gave a knight's salute and exited Vardon's study.

Lucen, who was now in the hallway, shook his head. 'Whoa, that surprised me. Heh, as expected of a kuudere, I never know when the dere will start.'