The wind howled across the Northern Plains, carrying with it the biting chill of early winter. Snow stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast, unbroken sea of white beneath the pale sky. The sun barely peeked through the thick clouds, offering no warmth, only light.
Callian sighed as he adjusted the cloak wrapped around Violet, who was currently perched in front of him on the saddle, snug against his chest.
She was bundled in several layers, her small body wrapped in fur-lined clothing, but she still sneezed every so often, rubbing her nose against his coat.
"Papa," Violet mumbled, her voice muffled by the thick scarf he had wrapped around her. "It's colder than I thought."
He chuckled, pressing a warm palm against her tiny hands. "I told you it would be."
"I thought it would be fun," she admitted, blinking up at him with large violet eyes. "Like playing in soft cotton…"
Callian raised a brow. "Snow is not cotton, Violet."
She sniffled. "It looks like it."
Beside them, Sebastian, the reluctant demonic beast-turned-butler, let out a long suffering sigh. His usually pristine purple hair was dusted with snow, and his crimson eyes held a dull, unimpressed look as Violet used him as a pillow.
For the love of all ancient beings, this was not what he signed up for.
Sebastian had lived in the Tropical Death Forest, a place of eternal heat and humidity, not this frozen wasteland. He should have been hunting terrifying creatures or basking in the sun, not acting as a heated cushion for a tiny human.
And yet, here he was, seated in the cramped carriage with his mistress (Violet), her insufferably powerful father (Callian), and a group of barely competent knights.
The so-called "carriage" was barely worthy of the name—minimalist at best, with thin coverings that barely shielded them from the wind. The knights accompanying them were mostly new recruits, inexperienced and poorly supplied, likely sent as an insult by the main family.
Callian wasn't blind to it.
'A test? A trap? A way to get us killed?'
The Ashville tradition required every family member to go on a hunt in the Northern Plains once a month. Each person's hunt was different—some did it for recognition, others for strength, and some simply to prove they were worthy of the Ashville name.
And now… it was Violet's turn.
She was too young.
She was only six.
But Damien, the Grand Duke, was absent, and in his absence, the "Mistress'" word was law.
That meant Julianna, Violet's mother, was supposed to go with her when Violet is chosen.
But—as expected—that woman hadn't even acknowledged the hunt. She had simply sent a cold, detached letter stating that Violet's name had been added—separately from her own.
Callian had barely spared it a glance.
'Not my problem.'
If Julianna wanted to erase her connection to Violet, that was her loss.
Callian had no intention of forcing that woman to be a mother.
Instead, he had looked at the System that had been reactivated since yesterday.
[QUEST UPDATE]
The Three Elders' Recognition (In Progress)
Hunt Beasts of the Northern Plain (0/2000)
Hunt the King of the Northern Plain (0/10)
'Ah.'
So this was why Violet had been forced into the hunt.
It was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing—because it aligned with his quest.
A curse—because Violet was the one being forced to do it.
Still… Callian wasn't too worried.
For now, he decided to treat it like a vacation.
Violet was enjoying herself—until she wasn't.
The first stop on their journey was a snowy clearing, where the knights needed to rest and check supplies.
Violet, full of curiosity, had insisted on jumping into the snow.
"Papa, look! I can walk on it just fine—AH!"
Her tiny legs had immediately sunk into the thick layer of snow, trapping her waist-deep.
Sebastian, with all the enthusiasm of a long-suffering servant, had pulled her out with a single hand, brushing off the snow that clung to her coat.
Violet blinked, shivering, her excitement immediately replaced with fear.
"…It's colder than I thought."
Callian sighed, kneeling to wrap his arms around her. She was trembling.
"We're warming you up," he said firmly, pulling her closer.
Sebastian, despite his obvious irritation, enveloped her in his coat, adding extra warmth.
Violet's tiny hands clung to Callian's sleeves as she buried her face in his chest, sniffling softly.
"…I don't like snow anymore."
Callian chuckled, rubbing slow circles on her back. "You were too confident."
Violet grumbled. "You didn't stop me."
"I wanted you to learn."
She pouted, but she didn't argue.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "If you're done being sentimental, can we please move? This wretched place is colder than death."
Callian snorted. "It's not even that bad."
Sebastian glared at him.
Not that bad?!
This was a nightmare!
The wind, the cold, the lack of proper servants—he was suffering!
And then, as if to make it worse—
Whispers.
The knights were murmuring among themselves.
They were supposed to be young, inexperienced, careless.
And yet, they were tense. Stiff.
Callian narrowed his eyes, observing them.
They kept glancing his way, their hands twitching toward their swords.
Ah.
They weren't worried about the cold.
They were afraid of him.
He glanced at the status window floating in the air.
[Monarch's Aura - Passive]
Exudes a noble presence, naturally commanding respect and fear. Causes clothing and hair to flow dramatically, even without wind. Speech may become unconsciously regal.
Callian blinked.
Oh.
That explained it.
No wonder his coat had been billowing for the past hour.
And no wonder the knights were looking at him like they were marching to their deaths.
Oblivious to their fear, he adjusted Violet's scarf, ignoring the fact that the simple motion made him look like a war hero tending to his beloved child.
"We should keep moving," he said, his voice calm but authoritative.
The knights flinched.
Sebastian sighed. "Could you at least try to turn that off?"
Callian raised a brow. "Turn what off?"
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. Just—don't be surprised when they start bowing to you."
Callian frowned, completely confused.
But Violet giggled, pressing a tiny hand to her mouth.
"Papa is like a king," she said, eyes shining. "So cool!"
Callian sighed.
At least one of them was having fun.
*****
Cedric had dreamed of serving the great Ashville family since he was a boy.
His father had been a mere guardsman, stationed at the Ashville estate's outer gates. Every day, Cedric had listened to stories of the family's power—the noble bloodline, the warriors who shaped the empire, the commanders who led victorious campaigns.
It was said that even the Empire's Crown Prince feared Duke Damien Ashville's might.
To serve Ashville was to be part of history.
And so, Cedric trained tirelessly.
When he was fifteen, he earned his first knighthood. When he was eighteen, he was granted a position in the Ashville ranks. When he was twenty, he was sent on his first noble escort mission.
And now, at twenty-two, he was here.
In the frozen hell that was the Northern Plains, surrounded by barely competent recruits, seemingly sent to their deaths.
Because of a commoner.
Cedric clenched his jaw.
He had expected to serve under Ashville's finest.
Instead, he was here because a bastard child of the family had been thrown into this hunt.
A six-year-old girl, born of a noble mother and a nameless father.
'This isn't service. This is a punishment.'
The moment he received his assignment, he understood.
This was not a real mission.
This was an execution without swords.
They had been given minimal supplies. The carriage was thinly reinforced. There were no experienced knights accompanying them.
The orders had been simple.
Take the girl to the Northern Plains. Complete the hunt.
Or die trying.
But even that wasn't what unsettled Cedric the most.
It was him.
The commoner.
The man who stood at the center of it all, his coat flowing dramatically despite the lack of wind.
The man who sat upon a black stallion, arms folded, golden eyes sharp, speaking with the natural confidence of a king addressing his court.
"We should keep moving."
The words were simple.
But to Cedric, they might as well have been an imperial decree.
The moment Callian spoke, a chill ran down his spine.
His instincts screamed at him.
Kneel.
Bow your head.
Submit.
And it wasn't just him.
Cedric could see it in the way the other knights stiffened. The way their hands hovered near their swords, not in defiance, but in uncertainty.
Why?
Why did this man, this commoner, radiate an aura that made even trained knights hesitate?
Cedric gritted his teeth, trying to shake the feeling.
He had trained under seasoned commanders.
He had walked through battlefields.
Yet this one man made him feel like he was standing before a monarch.
"What are you all standing around for?"
Callian's voice cut through the silence like a blade through air.
He was confused.
Why were they all staring at him like frightened animals?
Had he said something strange?
Sebastian sighed beside him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Master, perhaps you should—"
Callian ignored him.
Instead, he turned his attention to Cedric, who had been foolish enough to make eye contact.
Oh no.
Cedric's body locked up.
"You there."
Callian pointed at him.
The weight of his presence alone was enough to make Cedric's knees nearly buckle.
"What's your name?"
Cedric swallowed hard.
"…Sir Cedric Hale, my lord."
Wait.
My lord?!
He hadn't meant to say that!
Callian blinked. "I'm not a lord."
Cedric felt the world tilt.
'Then why do you sound like one?!'
The other knights exchanged glances, as if silently screaming at each other.
'Did he just deny being a noble?!'
'Then what is he?!'
'Why do I feel like kneeling?!'
Callian, oblivious to their inner turmoil, nodded. "Good. Cedric, do you know how to properly set up camp?"
"Yes, my—" Cedric bit his tongue before he accidentally called him 'lord' again. "…Yes."
Callian smiled, pleased.
"Then I leave it to you."
That simple nod made Cedric feel like he had just received the approval of the emperor himself.
His head was spinning.
The knights scrambled to set up camp, trying to process what had just happened.
Cedric worked in silence, his mind racing.
This wasn't normal.
No commoner—no matter how strong—should have this kind of presence.
Even if Callian had magic, it didn't explain the way his words carried weight.
The way every action seemed effortless, commanding.
Cedric risked another glance at him.
Callian was currently kneeling beside Violet, helping her drink warm tea.
His expression was gentle, his touch careful, and his voice soft—a stark contrast to the unshakable confidence he had just displayed.
He was… affectionate.
A loving father.
And yet…
When Callian spoke again, something in his voice made the knights' spines straighten.
"Rest well. We move at dawn."
The knights bowed their heads instinctively.
Even Cedric.
It was only afterward that they realized what they had just done.
They had just followed orders from a commoner without question.
And worse—it had felt natural
Night fell.
Most of the knights huddled together near the fire, whispering among themselves.
Cedric sat apart, his arms crossed, watching Callian.
Meanwhile, Callian was completely unaware.
Violet curled up beside him, clutching his coat, her head resting against his arm.
He hummed a soft tune, stroking her silver hair.
She mumbled something in her sleep.
"…Papa… is strong…"
Callian smiled.
Violet had always trusted him, without fear, without doubt.
He glanced at the knights, who were still staring at him like he was some mythical entity.
'Why do they look so tense?'
He shook his head.
Whatever.
Tomorrow, he'd take care of everything.
That's what a father was supposed to do.