Chapter 1

Arno Neu Haklan, the second son of the Baronial House of Haklan, was an adoptee. His story began with a brush with death; abandoned at a secluded rural orphanage the moment he was born, the infant had been so eerily silent in the midwinter chill that he had nearly frozen to death before he was found. From that first day until he turned nine, Lino—as he was called—maintained a disposition far more mature and easygoing than his peers, allowing him to live a life of tranquil peace, untouched by the petty squabbles typical of such institutions.

His name was simply Lino.

Born without parents, he had no surname to claim, and the orphanage was far too overwhelmed with the tide of children to bother with meaningful nomenclature, so he was given a name as common as the dirt beneath his feet. Yet, Lino found everything about his life to be perfectly acceptable. In fact, he considered himself quite fortunate. While being discarded in the dead of winter was hardly a standard start to a promising life, he viewed his survival itself as a stroke of immense luck. The teachers, though too busy to offer him specialized attention, were fond of his quiet nature, and even the orphanage’s most ill-tempered older boys never saw fit to torment him.

Despite the meager rations, he grew well, possessing a sturdy constitution. While there was no academic yardstick to measure him by—having never received a proper education—his love for books was undeniable. Lino was the only child to have ever read every single volume in the orphanage’s small collection.

One day, a nobleman appeared with the intent to adopt him. It was Baron Ovel Lun Haklan of the Hestin Kingdom. Lino found the frantic excitement of the director and teachers—who heralded this as a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity”—to be somewhat suffocating, but a nine-year-old was in no position to argue with the whims of the nobility. Lino, who had always believed his life was punctuated by rare moments of good fortune, tried to convince himself that being chosen by the Baron was simply another one of those lucky breaks.

However, the moment he reached out to take the Baron’s hand, a seed of doubt took root. The man’s hand was cold and withered. It wasn’t rough, but there was an unsettling quality to it that Lino found instinctively repulsive. As he hesitated, wondering if he should pull back, the director leaned in and whispered frantically into his ear, reiterating that this was his one chance at a real life. The director, sensing his reluctance, smoothed over the man’s flaws, insisting the Baron’s hand was only cold because of the winter air and that his gaunt, irritable appearance was merely the mark of a fastidious scholar.

Though they could have simply bound him and tossed him into the Baron’s carriage, the orphanage staff wanted to maintain a facade of grace to ensure the longevity and generosity of future donations. They resorted to intimidation instead, warning Lino that a commoner had no right to refuse a nobleman’s “generosity.” And so, Lino was led away. Just as he had arrived at the orphanage in the dead of winter, he departed in that same biting season to enter the Baronial House of Haklan.

***

A large world map lay spread across the thick carpet, its dimensions far too vast for any desk to accommodate. A small, pale finger traced its way through the intricate web of symbols and lines, wandering momentarily before settling on a specific territory.

The Hestin Kingdom is much smaller than I thought.

Lino had always known the orphanage was located within Hestin, but he had never grasped the scale of the country, its neighbors, or the reason why its winters were so relentlessly long. Though he had read every book at the orphanage, the literary standards of a facility that had never seen a proper patron were predictably dismal. Consequently, after arriving at the House of Haklan—a family renowned for its scholarly pursuits—it was only natural that Lino began skipping meals to bury himself in their library.

Having been denied a formal education, Lino found himself captivated by the Illustrated Encyclopedia of the Terne Continent. It was a comprehensive, if somewhat shallow, compendium covering everything from regional cultures and geography to local specialties, legends, and famous historical figures. Tapping his finger against the map, Lino couldn’t help but marvel at Hestin’s insignificance.

Hestin was a tiny nation squeezed between the Cartia Empire to the north and the Zetina Kingdom to the south. Most people, when hearing the name, would simply remark, “Oh, that bean-sized country stuck to the side of the Cartia Empire?” It was so small it was frequently omitted from world maps entirely, meaning the vast majority of the world likely didn’t even know it existed.

Lino looked up from the map and toward the fireplace, where the logs crackled and hissed. The warmth radiating from the flickering orange flames kept his study cozy, a stark contrast to the world outside. Although the house was equipped with modern underfloor heating and ceiling vents, the fireplace remained a staple for aesthetic reasons—and as a vital backup should the gas or electricity fail. While Hestin was not quite as frigid as the Cartia Empire, its winters were still formidable, making a fireplace a mandatory fixture in every home.

Outside, the wind howled with a savage intensity. Fortunately, the narrow windows and heavy, floor-length curtains prevented the chill from seeping into the room. The fabric was so thick it blocked the noon sunlight completely, making it impossible to tell whether the sun was rising or setting without checking a clock.

“Hmm…”

After a moment of contemplation, Lino rose and headed toward the attached library. True to the family’s scholarly reputation, the private collection connected to his room was the size of a small public library. He climbed a ladder with practiced ease and retrieved a picture book titled Isberg. Returning to his spot on the floor, he scanned the table of contents and flipped to a specific page.

The illustration depicted a vast plain buried under a blanket of pristine white snow, with a jagged, towering mountain range piercing the horizon in the distance. Though the two-page spread featured nothing but endless white, the small caption beneath it made Lino’s heart race with excitement.

[Isberg (Imaginary Illustration)]

It was the name of a principality bordering the northern reaches of the Cartia Empire. If the Hestin Kingdom at the southern tip of the continent was this cold, Lino could only imagine the freezing temperatures of Isberg, a place often referred to as the “Top of the World.” He took a deep breath, and perhaps because of the illustration, the very air in his lungs felt suddenly frigid.

It must be so far from here…

On the map, it was separated from Hestin by a vast distance, one so great he couldn’t even begin to fathom it in reality. The book claimed it was a month’s journey from the capital of the Cartia Empire, but since even the author had never set foot there, it was mere speculation.

The common saying—that there was nowhere a wheel couldn’t reach since the invention of the carriage—was useless when it came to Isberg. Whether by land, sea, or sky, there was no known path into that territory. Only those permitted by Isberg itself could enter or leave. Those who had attempted to cross the border out of curiosity had vanished without a trace; rumors suggested they had either frozen to death in the lethal cold or been devoured by unidentified monsters.

Thus, Isberg was known as the Forbidden Land, a name born from the fear of the unknown. While a handful of people were said to have entered, none ever spoke of what they saw or heard within its borders. Ironically, this mystery made Isberg the undisputed number one destination people wished to visit, and Lino was no exception.

I’ll get there someday, he whispered to himself, tracing the sharp peaks in the drawing. He wondered if the Haklan family might be able to secure a visit under the guise of an academic exchange. It was an absurd dream for a ten-year-old, especially considering even the most powerful men in the world couldn’t gain entry, but Lino allowed himself the pleasure of the fantasy.

However, his pleasant daydreams were quickly dampened by the reality of his current situation. To go to Isberg, he first had to escape this place.

The orphanage staff had called this adoption a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but the reality was far grimmer. It wasn’t an opportunity; it was a trap, a snare, and a prison.

Why on earth did they adopt me?

It had been a year since he arrived at the mansion. The Lino who had lived a comfortably lazy life at the orphanage had become the ten-year-old Lino who lived a comfortably lazy life in captivity. The words “captivity” and “lazy” could only coexist because of Lino’s naturally optimistic and lethargy-prone personality—and the fact that his assigned quarters were so luxurious he had no practical reason to ever leave them.

The world outside was freezing, yet his room was perpetually warm. He spent his days eating snacks he could only have dreamed of at the orphanage while reading any book he desired. Since only a year had passed, his desire to leave remained a vague, distant thought—a plan for “someday.”