Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 149: Road Ahead (3)

Even Meren made it through. Though he swore under his breath the entire time.

Lindarion reached the far edge of the dip. Looked up.

The view stretched farther now. A long slope curling around the side of the mountain, vanishing into white. The snow fell harder here. The wind pushed it straight sideways, stealing heat from every breath.

He could feel the sting against the skin beneath his scarf now.

Ren muttered something ahead. She stomped her boot down into a patch of snow and shook her hands out.

"This is ridiculous."

Ardan grunted. "You wanted the climb."

"Yeah, well. I changed my mind."

Lira looked back at them, voice sharp.

"We stop up ahead."

"How far?" Meren asked, his voice muffled.

"Far enough to still matter."

Lindarion didn’t comment.

He just kept walking.

Every step now was a conversation with his legs. Every breath was measured. The kind of cold they were in didn’t want to kill fast. It wanted to wait. Wear them down. Take the edges first, then the middle.

He refused.

His core stayed lit. Mana kept circulating. His fingers burned in the gloves, not from frost, but from heat buried too deep to surface.

He adjusted his grip on the sword once.

Not to draw it. Just to remind himself it was still there.

Still real.

Still his.

’We keep going. That’s it.’

He didn’t need to say it out loud.

They all understood.

—

Snow soaked through his boots.

It started as a slow creep. Just the edges of the soles. A faint sting at the toes. But now it was worse.

Slush pooled inside the lining. Every step felt like pressing into wet cloth and waiting for it to freeze solid.

Lindarion flexed his toes. Barely felt them.

He didn’t stop walking.

The trail was still there, somewhere beneath the snow, curving slowly around the ridge. The drop on the right wasn’t a sharp fall anymore.

Just a long slide into white. Visibility was getting worse by the minute. He could barely make out Ren’s shape ahead of him.

Meren had stopped talking.

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Lira walked just to his left now. Her coat had iced at the hem. Tiny shards clung to the fabric, glinting when the light caught them.

Her shoulders were squared. No sign of strain, but her breaths came harder now. Not loud. Not ragged. Just... deliberate.

He glanced down at her gloves.

The edges were dark. Soaked.

’She’s pushing through it too.’

He felt the wind shift again. Harder. It came down from above this time, sharp and spinning like it had forgotten what direction was supposed to mean.

His scarf whipped loose.

He grabbed it before it could snap away and yanked it back around his neck. The fabric scratched at his jaw. He didn’t care.

Behind him, Ardan muttered something under his breath. His boots crunched slower now. Less rhythm. More drag. Even he felt it.

Lindarion adjusted his pack strap again. It dug into the edge of his shoulder like it was trying to become part of him.

"Should’ve taken a lower pass," Ren said ahead. Her voice didn’t carry far. Too much snow in the air now. "This is suicide."

"No," Lira answered. "This is the only way around the gorge. Unless you want to walk straight into a landslide."

"I’d consider it," Ren muttered.

Lindarion didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. His jaw had locked up fifteen minutes ago.

He blinked hard.

The cold had started seeping into his lashes. Ice forming at the corners of his eyes. Not enough to freeze them shut. But it wasn’t far off.

He narrowed his vision, scanned the trail.

Still climbing.

Still white.

Still no end in sight.

He reached out once. Touched the rock wall to his left with one gloved hand. Just to make sure it was still there. Just to remind himself the world still had edges.

The stone burned cold through the glove.

He pulled back.

’How is it getting worse?’

He could feel his core pulsing now. Not a flare. Not a glow. Just heat moving through his chest like a second heartbeat. The system didn’t say anything. It didn’t have to. The mana was still there. Still full. Still ready.

But it didn’t solve cold.

At least not this kind.

Meren stumbled up beside him.

His face looked like it had stopped trying to be expressive. His lips were cracked. Nose red. Eyes barely open.

"Are we dead yet?" he asked.

"No."

"Good. I’d hate to think this is the afterlife."

Lindarion didn’t answer.

Ren crouched up ahead. Scraped some snow off a patch of rock with her sleeve. Looked at it. Swore softly. Kept walking.

Lira stopped at the top of the next rise. She turned, her hair flecked white now. Not frost. Snow. Wind had stuck it in place.

"We’re not far," she said.

Ardan barked a short laugh.

Lira looked down at him.

"We stop when the wall curves inward. There’s shelter there. Natural."

Lindarion said nothing. Just moved past her.

Every part of him wanted to stop.

But nothing gave in.

His fingers were too stiff. He couldn’t feel his knees anymore. His boots had become blocks of leather and ice. His breath sounded like it was coming from someone else’s throat.

But his pace stayed steady.

Not fast.

Just stubborn.

One step. Then another.

The snow thickened.

It didn’t fall fast. Just constant. Like the sky had decided to bury them slowly and didn’t want to rush the job.

Lindarion watched his breath fog in short bursts, too thin to warm the air in front of him. He kept moving. Boots dragging now more than stepping.

Every muscle ached with that dull, cold pressure that didn’t feel sharp enough to be pain. Just enough to wear him down in slow layers.

’This is ridiculous.’

His thoughts were sluggish. Not from exhaustion. Just slowed by the way his brain kept trying to turn everything into numbers. Steps left. Slope ahead. How many breaths before he’d need to stop.

He didn’t stop.

Ren had gone quiet.

She wasn’t far ahead, but her shape was harder to make out now. Just a dark blur against pale white. Her hood was up. Arms stiff. Not even tossing snow anymore. That was how he knew it was bad.

Lira still walked beside him.

She didn’t speak. Just walked with the same rhythm. Her breath visible, but slow. Controlled. Her coat looked heavier now, weighed down by frost. One glove had a tear near the thumb. She didn’t fix it.

Behind them, Ardan’s footsteps sounded wrong. Too flat. Not stumbling. Just tired.

Lindarion glanced back.

Meren was barely upright. He walked with his head down, coat pulled tight around his chin. Every few steps he muttered something, probably to himself. Or the mountain.

’We can’t do this much longer.’

He didn’t say it out loud.

They were all thinking it. Speaking it wouldn’t help.