Where the Frozen Moon Set Down

Where the Frozen Moon Descends
Chapter 01

“GRAAAH!”
The ground trembled with the roar of a beast. While the soldiers around her shrank back in fear, the woman standing at the front remained glorious , her face calm and composed.
She wore a cloak of sleek white tiger fur draped over her shoulders.
Beneath it, a tailored white uniform hugged her graceful figure, perfectly fitted and without a single wrinkle or stain.
The pristine uniform seemed completely out of place in this harsh, unforgiving land.
At the same time, it silently declared that no one dared come close to her.
The title “Queen of the Frozen Moon” existed solely for her.
A towering soldier in a jet-black uniform ran up to her and dropped to one knee, as if kneeling before a goddess. His face was lit with an almost religious devotion.
The woman rested a long rifle on his sturdy shoulder with practiced ease.
Her gaze locked onto the scope as she peered straight ahead.
For a moment, silence filled the air. Golden hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the sunlight and fluttering lightly in the wind.
Click. With a decisive motion, she pulled the pin with a firm motion,
Holding her breath for just a second, her finger delicately squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
A magical bullet blasted through the forehead of the giant beast, Talos, standing 300 yards away.
The northern tyrant, who had been readying to attack her from behind, collapsed without a sound.
Soldiers rushed in quickly to secure the fallen Talos.
Watching with detached eyes, the woman turned back toward the cliff’s edge, gazing down below.
The Fraté River raged with tremendous currents, its waters immune to freezing despite the fierce wind and bitter cold.
Resolve gleamed in her icy blue eyes as she stared at the river.
It shone clearer and brighter than the cold winter sky.
“Now… it’s my turn to save you.”
Labirus.
Her softly spoken words drifted down, carried by the icy wind to settle gently on the river below.
At the edge of the Black Forest, her story—the one the world would remember—was just beginning.

A Moonless Night
The night sky was pitch-black, with not a trace of moonlight.
The biting winter wind bristled through the air like jagged blades.
Rustle, rustle. Through the snowy path, a figure trudged toward the village blacksmith.
They scratched at their unwashed, matted blonde hair, wearing a grotesque mask.
Their ragged clothes were worse than rags,, and their emaciated frame made it impossible to tell their gender.
The faint light still flickering from the Forge pierced the suffocating blackness.
The traveler stopped before the forge, brushing off their filthy rags with their hands before pushing open the wooden door.
Of course, no amount of brushing could turn those rags into proper clothing.
But if they didn’t at least try to clean up, the forge master’s heavy hand would surely come flying.
The traveler feared such sudden violence.
So, with near-compulsive care, they straightened their tattered cloak.
“You’re late, Sel.”
The forge master was polishing a long sword with a cloth.
Sel had actually arrived earlier than agreed, but the comment about being late was clearly a ploy to haggle down the price.
Without a word, Sel dropped a bag onto the counter, their dry mouth tightening with bitterness.
Inside were high-quality enchanted pistols, swords, and traps—all in need of repair.
“You fixed the magic formulas and broken parts, yeah? You sure about that?”
Sel nodded silently.
The forge master studied Sel’s face for a moment before pulling out one of the pistols from the bag.
He aimed it at a target hanging on the wall behind Sel.
Bang! The sound echoed as the bullet pierced cleanly through the center of the target.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You really brought this wreck back to life. Heh, you’ve got some talent, that’s for sure.”
The forge master ran his rough, pan-like hands along the pistol’s body with a smirk, the corner of his mouth curling up.
Reaching into his coin pouch, he pulled out 10 rubes and tossed the crumpled bills onto the counter.
The worn bills scattered in every direction.
Sel stared at them for a moment before speaking hesitantly.
“Uh… It should be 15 rubes.”
Despite their shabby appearance, Sel’s voice was unexpectedly clear and soothing.
The forge master planted his hands on his hips and roared.
“You should be grateful I’m giving someone like you any work at all!”
“…”
“And next time, take off that nasty goblin mask! Damn thing nearly gives me a heart attack every time I see it at night!”
“S… Sorry.”
Sel shrank their shoulders, scrambling to gather the crumpled bills from the counter.
The 10 rubes weren’t nearly enough to get through the month, but there was no choice.
If this job was gone, there’d be nowhere else to turn.
Afterward, Sel stopped by a bakery just about to close, buying the cheapest bread and a small carton of milk before heading home.
Every time they looked at the paper bag filled with food, their dry mouth watered, and their weary heart felt a fleeting sense of relief.
Sel’s home was far from the village,
near the Black Forest,
where monsters roamed.
Few dared to venture that way, making it an ideal place to live unnoticed.
The new moon cast no light, making the path unusually dark.
Most would fear the possibility of encountering bandits or monsters, but not Sel.
Wearing their grotesque goblin mask, they were more likely to be mistaken for a monster or bandit themselves.
Even in pitch darkness, Sel never lost their way.
The scents of grass, trees, and tilled earth guided them like a compass through the moonless night.
The North Star their mother used to gaze at shone from the same spot as always.
After some time, the faint glow of the hut came into view in the distance.
Sel skipped forward excitedly, sliding their feet across the snowy path.
But then, amidst the familiar scents, something strange caught their attention.
A metallic tang.
Sel froze mid-step. Slowly, they looked around, sniffing the air like a wary animal.
Blood.
Sell’s heart pounded.
Could it be?
Could the person they had loved and hated so fiercely have returned alive from that forest?
The one they’d waited endlessly for—was it finally happening?
Their chest tightened with anticipation.
But Sell’s hopes shattered as quickly as thin ice underfoot.
With every step closer, the shadow of the figure grew impossibly large.
The towering figure was nothing like the woman they’d expected.
“Yeah, right. It’s been eight years. No one could survive in that forest for this long. How pathetic of me.”
Click.
Without hesitation, Sell cocked the pin of their gun.
The practiced motion spoke of someone long accustomed to shedding attachments—and blood.
It was just as they expected—a discarded corpse. The lack of movement, despite the strong stench of blood, confirmed it.
People who needed to disappear quietly were often left in this cursed black forest, known to be infested with monsters.
Sell nudged the figure’s head with the barrel of their gun.
The massive body fell to the snow with a thud, staining the glimmering white blanket with deep crimson.
“So much for that,” Sell muttered. “I’ve got enough of my own problems. No time to worry about others.”
They were pragmatic to a fault. Whatever empathy they might have once had for nameless strangers had long since withered away.
But just as Sell turned to leave, their steps faltered.
Amid the thick metallic tang of blood, a faint scent of wisteria caught their nose.
No way.
Frowning, Sell turned back to the body. Their gaze locked on the face barely visible through the darkness.
Damn it.
Swearing under their breath, Sell crouched down and felt for a pulse.
Faint, but still there.
With a grunt, Sell slung one of the figure’s massive arms over their shoulder.
The sheer weight nearly folded them in half, their back straining with the effort. Moving even a step was excruciating.
“If I hurt myself, it’s just more trouble for me,” they muttered, gritting their teeth.
But they didn’t stop.
Dragging out an old tarp from outside, they rolled the body onto it, using it like a makeshift sled.
At least the frozen ground made it easier to drag.

By the time noon rolled around, the man stirred awake with a deep breath.
He opened his eyes to find himself lying on a shabby bed.
Next to him, at a small wooden table, sat Sell, tinkering with a gun while wearing a goblin mask.
“Holy crap!” The man jolted upright, instinctively bracing for an attack.
When he realized the person was human, he let out a sigh of relief, his hand resting on his bandaged chest.
Or rather, what passed for a bandage—it was nothing more than strips of filthy cloth.
His gaze shifted between the crude bandages and Sell’s tattered clothing, quickly piecing things together.
The masked figure must have torn up their own clothes to stop his bleeding.
This wasn’t someone with the luxury of clean supplies—they were clearly dirt poor.
The man’s golden hair, barely peeking out from under his hood, was grimy and unkempt, as though it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Beneath the goblin mask, real goblin hide stitched crudely together, thin red lips peeked out.
“You awake?”
The voice, surprisingly clear and light, didn’t match the gruff appearance.
It sounded like a boy who hadn’t yet hit puberty.
“Guess I must’ve collapsed nearby yesterday,” the man muttered, his tone casual. “That usually doesn’t happen. Thanks for patching me up.”
He tugged at the makeshift bandages as he spoke, his eyes flicking over his wound.
The injury, though serious at first, had already begun to heal overnight.
His body, honed to the level of a Swordmaster, had remarkable regenerative abilities.
Frankly, he would’ve been fine left where he fell. By morning, he’d have woken up on his own.
Still, the fact that someone—this scrawny-looking kid, no less—had dragged him out of the freezing snow and treated his wounds was no small act of kindness.
To the man, it might’ve been a minor favor, but for someone like this boy, it likely cost them everything.
He studied Sell, still hunched over their work, and spoke up.
“The name’s Ravi. Don’t worry—I’ll pay you back tenfold for this.”
Ravi placed a hand over his chest in a gesture of gratitude.
“No need,” Sell replied curtly.
It seemed Ravi didn’t recognize them.
Long ago, Sell had been on the receiving end of Ravi’s help.
Not that it mattered now. They’d evened the score, and that was enough for Sell.
They lowered their head again, focusing on repairing the revolver. The cylinder had jammed after being dropped on the ice during yesterday’s ordeal.
Ravi, perched on the edge of the bed, scooted closer.
“How do you even end up like that? Do you just never bathe?” Ravi teased, wrinkling his nose.
Sell ignored him, calmly continuing to tinker.
“Impressive. You’re quick with disassembly and reassembly. Handled a lot of weapons, huh?”
“Yeah. And if you keep staring, I might just aim this one at your head.”
“Relax. Just joking.”
“Not joking.”
Click.
By the time Ravi processed the sound, Sell had already assembled the pistol and aimed it directly at him.
Ravi, unfazed, smirked.
“Do you fix weapons, too?”
“Why?”
“Even enchanted ones?”
Sell’s eyes flicked to him briefly before nodding.
Ravi grinned and pulled a heavy sword from his belt, its surface adorned with intricate mechanical components. The blade was crusted with dried, blackened blood.
“Great. Fix this for me, then.”
With a thud, he dropped the weapon onto the table.