Watching over the Fiend as he recovered near the fire in a familiar ice cave, a flood of memories drowned Percival, haunting him.

He first met the Malevolent One during his twelfth winter.

He was hunting arctic bears, giant bears at tenfold the size of a normal bear—a common existence in the North—for their hide and flesh. Even at the age of 12, Percival was the best hunter in his tribe and had already piled three corpses on his back, tightly fastened with a rope. He was on his way back when he saw a kid lying on the snow.

Outsiders aren't welcomed by the northern people, and there is no need to take care of someone who's half-dead anyway. By all logic, Percival should have let him die.

However, being a strong and capable hunter does not mean one is wise. Percival was still young and naive, and he decided to help the one clinging to life so desperately in front of him.

He was dangerously naive.

The tribe wouldn't have accepted caring for an outsider, for unwilliness to share food if nothing else, so Percival hid him in an ice cave near the village. The same cave he took the Fiend in.

He built an igloo and created a bed of fur. He fed the outsider and kept him hydrated and warm.

If it were an adult, Percival wouldn't have wasted his time. The North isn't for the weak. But the outsider was a child, one of similar age to Percival himself. From his interactions with other kids his age, he knew it wasn't possible for normal kids to survive in the cold. Not even for the tough northenfolk, not alone.

The outsider had black hair, a stark contrast compared to the lustrous silver hair Percival had, dark against light. Frostbites covered his skin, which was of a darker tone, almost golden. There was a bite mark on the left side, below the armpit. A snow leopard, he observed.

For days on end, he watched the outsider as he healed, curious about the lands beyond.

It was on the thirty-third day that the outsider had woken up.

“I'm Albert.”

That was the first lie.

The true Albert was the Master of Gravity, the first to be discovered by the Malevolent One and brutally die. He could have taken any other name, but that name was his way of mocking Albert. A classic behavior for the Malevolent One.

But the young and naive Percival didn't know that.

“I am Percival. Are you really from outside the North?”

“Yep. I am strong, so I came to see the notorious North. Pretty rough, I admit.”

“Weak people die here.”

“I'm super strong, you know!” Albert clenched a fist. “I got caught off guard by the cold. It's freezing.”

He was very friendly. He talked freely and answered any question Percival had about the outside world, giving vivid descriptions. Maybe it was because he was such a talented storyteller, but every time Albert told a story, even the silliest one, Percival became glued to it, watching every hand gesture and hearing every tone change.

Those days were very entertaining, but they did not last long.

The chief of the tribe, Roddal, found them. He trampled the igloo and confronted Percival.

“How dare you care for a stranger, Percival? You wish to risk your tribesmen?!”

He was outraged, and Percival felt himself shrinking in front of Roddal's angred shouts that were amplified by the cave's echo.

Physical strength isn't the only form of power. Status gave even someone weak authority over the lives of others. If Roddal wanted to, he could exile Percival and leave him to fend for himself, and that terrified him.

Albert stepped up. “I won't risk your people, sir. I promise.”

The bloodshot eyes were now aimed at Albert fiercely. He was a towering man with bloodred, menacing eyes. His figure cast a shadow on the two children.

“How do you speak our tongue, kid?”

The language of the northern tribe couldn't be learned anywhere else in the world, especially since no one knew of the existence of the northern tribe. No one could advance that far in the North. Albert couldn't have known the language, no matter what, but he spoke it as if it were his mother's tongue.

“I can speak with anything intelligent. That's a blessing for people like me.”

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“People like you?”

Albert enveloped himself in grayish-brown energy, a power similar to Percival. Both he and Roddal recognized that.

“I can control gravity, and I'm strong and not hostile. I promise.”

Percival coated himself with the purple energy of destruction, and Roddal... with the clear white energy of ice.

“Our great ancestor spoke of others. Comrades. But our tribe survived through the cold and winter, and we cannot be hospitable. If you wish to stay as a guest, you will have to work.”

“Please, I will do my best!”

His acting abilities were those of a god. They couldn't see past it, like blind men looking for the light.

It was decided to bring Albert to the village.

The northern tribe of the North is a closed society formed by the Master of Ice and their family. Survival was a daily challenge, especially as only one could have the element of ice at a time. Losing a baby for the cold or men for a ferocious beast was a common occurrence, and there were many tough times they faced complete annihilation.

With time, however, they had to adapt to the extreme environment. Their physiology had evolved to survive lower temperatures and compete with strong beasts. Every man and woman were blessed with superhuman strength and stamina. Common traits they developed were their glaring red eyes and silver hair.

“Welcome to our village. Percival, give him a tour while I inform our tribesmen.”

Percival nodded, and he started to show Albert around.

The village has been on the growth curve in recent years. The number of igloos built exceeded the two digits, and more land was leveled to expand the village's domain.

Using the element of ice, the tribe chiefs of the past created a durable ice wall ring, curved like a wave suspended in time before it broke. The only entrance was a small gate guarded by two gatekeepers. One of the duties the tribe chief had was to maintain this ring of protection. But since the village started to expand, Roddal created a second, larger ring. Other than that, there were no spectacular scenes, except for the looks of the tribe members, which were extraordinary and unique.

They donned the hide of arctic bears as the main type of clothing, but there were some other animals mixed here and there. Percival described every type of fur in detail, explaining the merits and demerits of each one and making some quick notes on fashion, as limited as it was.

“What's that?” Albert pointed to a pond of water.

“That's the fishing pool. We can't catch many fish, but it's connected to the sea, so we do get some from time to time.”

“Hmm, I think I can help with that.”

Having said that, Albert went to the fishing pool. Cladded in his aura, he created a gimmering sphere and placed it in the middle. Slowly, the sphere had risen up, taking the water with it to create some sort of pillar.

Almost immediately, fish rushed to the light and swam around. Some fell off and convulsed on the ground.

“What did you do?” Percival asked, impressed.

“I just shifted the gravity around the pond a little. The fish are attracted to light, so they will now come on their own, and you could see them.”

Certainly, there wasn't that much light in the North even throughout the day. The dark clouds covered the sun thoroughly, and the pond itself was shaded by the ice ring, so it makes sense to not have many fish if they're really attracted to light.

The pond was an auxiliary means. If they really wanted fish, the fishermen would embark on a journey to the sea and bring a bulk. It was a tedious process that could easily kill someone, if not all of them, and not necessarily produce the desired results. For this reason, the improvement of the pond was a tremendous help.

“But won't it go off if you don't think about it?”

“No, there is a trick. I can teach you later if you want.”

Incidentally, later never came. There were plenty of excuses, until eventually Percival forgot about it. The Malevolent One doesn't teach others anything but pain and submission.

Two years later, the betrayal came. Cold. Colder than the coldest winter.

The memory itself caused him to have daily nightmares.

Don't deprive yourself of sleep.

This seemingly caring command was made to inflict more pain. Kept for last, Percival was forced to undergo the Malevolent One's vicious attempts to break him as thoroughly as possible.

I trust you.

Remembering his own foolishness of the past, he watched over the Fiend.

When he found him, some of the organs were spilled on the ground, and there was massive bleeding. But the regenerative power of demons was nothing to scoff at, especially in their natural environment. The wounds were already closed, and his heartbeat was stable. Now all it took was for the Fiend to wake up.

“Just why did you have to survive?”

He had no beef with the Fiend. It hardly mattered if he was a good or bad person, as it was already beyond them. Now, he will be forced to convince him. To speak words without the ability to control himself. And if he succeeds, it will bring another victory to the Malevolent One.

The whole world was in danger because of the whims of a singular entity, and yet no one knows it as of now. It was laughable.

Above all, he blamed the Master of Light. Had he done his job properly, they wouldn't exist and wouldn't be forced to suffer from the embodiment of evil. Inexistence was a better option than being slaved and tortured by the Malevolent One.

But the past is the past, and Percival couldn't change it.

The orders he received were to convince the Fiend to join them, but he didn't need to make himself trustworthy. He would make sure to not let him fall as easily as the rest of them, or at least make him powerful enough to escape.

Because winning wasn't possible.

“...”

The breathing rhythm suddenly changed, and the eyelids slowly opened.

The Fiend has woken up.

“Good morning.”

He greeted him with a polite tone, with the mouth moving on its own.

It seems the order to convince him kicked in immediately. Even though Percival really wanted a break, it seems the Malevolent One wouldn't let him rest until death. Maybe not even then.

A few moments of silence ensued, then the Fiend jerked up and punched Percival, who had blocked it with his palm.

In order not to appear intimidating—at least that's what he guessed it was—since Percival couldn't control his body, he retreated several steps behind.

The Fiend was disoriented from the near-death, so Percival gave him time to recover.

Staring at him without a word, the Fiend charges at him again, this time with a drawn sword, and slashed at Percival.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Aggressive and violent. It reminded Percival of the Malevolent One's own temper, but without the sophistry, of course. The Fiend might be the one most similar to him, though the Darkness could also be similar, not that Percival knows.

Good, he thought. The more similar they were, the less likely it was for the two to get along, and that could certainly mess up the plans.

Blocking the sword with his own, he retreated again and prayed for it to fail.

With those heavy feelings, he introduced himself.

“I am Percival, the Master of Destruction.”