Cold. A biting, relentless cold was the first thing Max felt as he drifted back into consciousness. Snowflakes, driven by a fierce wind, lashed his face like tiny icy needles. Somewhere in his head, the unnaturally cheerful voice of a game show host still echoed, but the reality around him was far less welcoming than the brightly lit studio of his memories.

Max struggled to his feet, sinking ankle-deep into the snow. His worn Naruto hoodie was woefully inadequate for the freezing weather. As far as his eyes could see through the blizzard's veil, an endless snowy wasteland stretched out in every direction.

"Okay, stay calm," Max muttered to himself, trying to piece together his situation. "In any decent isekai, the protagonist gets at least a basic starter pack of abilities. There must be a status menu, or an inventory, or..."

He waved his arms clumsily, attempting to summon an imaginary menu. The storm only intensified, as if mocking his efforts.

"Status! Open menu! Settings!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the howling wind. "Come on, give me something!"

Nothing happened. No floating windows, no character stats, not even a cheap deity offering cheat powers. Just the bone-chilling cold and the sobering realization that this wasn't some anime where everything was handed to the protagonist on a silver platter.

"Hey, whoever's in charge of isekai logistics!" he thought bitterly. "I demand my standard starter abilities! At least give me basic magic or—"

A howl. A long, soul-chilling howl cut through his inner rant. Somewhere in the white haze, a shadow moved, and Max felt a sudden pang of regret for wishing for an authentic "hero's journey."

"Please don't tell me that's..."

Out of the storm emerged a wolf. Enormous, with shaggy gray fur crusted with ice. Its yellow eyes fixed on Max like he was the main course of a long-awaited feast.

"Alright, I take it back!" Max began backing away slowly. "I'll settle for smartphone cheats! I'll even take D-tier light novel powers!"

The wolf crouched low, preparing to pounce. Its bared fangs gleamed menacingly in the pale light.

"At least give me a basic running skill!" Max pleaded aloud, spinning on his heel and bolting into the snow.

The snow betrayed him with every step, collapsing underfoot and making his escape agonizingly slow. Behind him, he could hear the guttural growl and the pounding of heavy paws scattering snow in every direction. The predator was relentless, and Max was quickly running out of time and stamina.

"If I survive this," Max thought desperately, lungs burning from the frigid air, "I swear I'll never laugh at overpowered isekai protagonists again! They don't know how good they've got it!"

Every step was a struggle. His legs felt like lead, weighed down by the deep snow. The wolf was gaining on him; he could hear its labored breaths growing louder, closer.

"Think! Think!" His mind raced, fumbling for a solution. "Every good anime hero has a trick up their sleeve—what's mine?"

Suddenly, the world flickered. For the briefest moment, strange symbols appeared in the storm—a cascade of unfamiliar characters resembling lines of code. They wove through the air like translucent ribbons, forming intricate patterns.

Max stumbled to a halt in surprise, falling face-first into the snow. The wolf seized the opportunity, leaping at him. Time seemed to slow.

Panic surged through Max as he instinctively threw his hands up in a feeble defense. The symbols flared to life, glowing red as if reacting to his desperation, pulsating with an eerie energy.

"If this were a glitch, I could just..." the absurd thought flashed through his mind.

The wolf's fangs were inches from his throat when a piercing whistle sliced through the air. Something silver streaked past Max's face, and the wolf let out a chilling yelp as it was hurled aside.

"Don't move," commanded a cold, feminine voice from above.

Max froze, still sprawled in the snow. Through the storm, he saw the silhouette of a rider on a massive black horse. Her long, pale hair flowed in the wind, and a naked blade glinted ominously in her hand.

"So... I really am in a fantasy world," Max thought as exhaustion and cold overtook him. "Too bad it's not the kind with a harem..."

Consciousness returned slowly. Max felt strong arms lifting him before his world tilted—he was draped unceremoniously over a saddle like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey, take it easy!" he groaned, struggling to reorient himself. "I'm still a person, not a bag of cargo."

"Be quiet," the rider snapped coolly. "You nearly became a snow wolf's dinner. Complaining about your rescue seems ungrateful."

"Of course," Max thought, trying to shift into a less humiliating position. "Classic tsundere vibes. Except these scenes are supposed to be more romantic in anime."

He managed to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of his rescuer. Long silver hair tied in a high ponytail, sharp features, and piercing blue eyes. She wore a white and blue military uniform—something more reminiscent of a high-ranking officer in a mecha anime than traditional fantasy armor.

"My name's Max," he ventured, deciding to introduce himself. "And you are...?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Princess Arianna von Frosthart," she replied curtly, her eyes fixed on the snowy expanse ahead. "And you should focus on explaining why you're in the restricted lands of Frostmark instead of worrying about introductions."

"Frosthart? Frostmark?" Max smirked internally. "The creator of this world didn't exactly strain themselves coming up with names."

The storm began to subside, revealing the surrounding landscape. They were crossing a snow-covered plain bordered by towering mountains. Their jagged peaks pierced the leaden sky, and their slopes were blanketed in dense, dark forests.

The horse transitioned to a trot, and Max, jolted by the movement, instinctively grabbed at Arianna's coat for support.

"Hands off!" she barked sharply.

"Sorry!" Max hastily withdrew his hands. "It's just... I've never been on a horse before and—"

"This isn't a horse," she corrected, a note of pride in her voice. "It's a northern battle steed. Stronger and hardier than any ordinary horse."

"Right, of course it is," Max thought wryly. "Because why wouldn't there be special mounts? Though I'd prefer a dragon or at least a griffon..."

The road snaked down toward a valley where the capital of Frostmark, Valderia, sprawled majestically. The city was protected not only by massive stone walls but also by the natural barriers of its rugged surroundings—sheer cliffs and eternal snowfields. Rising above the snowy rooftops was the imposing Frosthart Castle, its towers seemingly piercing the steel-gray clouds.

As they approached the city gates, the guards immediately snapped to attention, saluting Arianna with military precision. Their armor bore the marks of wear and use—scuffed leather and scratched metal, evidence of frequent training or battle.

"Princess!" barked the commander of the gate guard, his gaze quickly shifting to Max. Suspicion flickered in his eyes.

"A guest," Arianna stated firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Inform the city commandant."

The gates swung open silently, operated by an unseen mechanism. For a fleeting moment, Max thought he saw the faint shimmer of symbols in the air—lines of code similar to those he had seen during the storm. But the vision vanished before he could fully grasp it.

Valderia's streets exuded an aura of strength and tradition. The stone and timber houses bore intricate carvings that resembled ancient runes. Snow never turned to slush here; Max noticed how strange markings on the cobblestones caused it to vanish as soon as it touched the ground.

The townsfolk, wrapped in heavy furs, bowed respectfully at the sight of Arianna. Yet their reverence was devoid of fear—it was the admiration reserved for a warrior, not a ruler. Many of them carried weapons, and their confident postures suggested these weren't mere accessories.

"This feels more like a Spartan polis than a typical fantasy kingdom," Max mused, his eyes catching sight of a training ground where young soldiers were sparring even in the bitter cold.

The road spiraled upward toward Frosthart Castle. Its design was clearly military, with every curve and rise engineered for defense. Noble estates lined the final stretch before the castle gates, their heraldic crests proclaiming the lineage of their inhabitants.

The castle courtyard welcomed them with a fountain whose water flowed freely despite the freezing temperatures. Statues of ancient warriors stood vigil around it, clad in weathered armor—the founders of Frostmark, the first conquerors of the northern lands.

Arianna dismounted with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. There was a subtle shift in her demeanor—gone was the cold warrior, replaced by the commanding presence of a noble heir. A groom rushed forward to take the reins, bowing deeply.

Max, inspired by countless anime scenes, decided to make a gallant impression.

"Time for a smooth dismount and a chivalrous gesture," he thought, preparing to slide gracefully off the steed and offer his hand.

Reality had other plans. As he swung down, his numbed legs buckled, sending him toppling forward. Arianna reacted instantly, stepping in to catch him—

And they ended up in a pose straight out of a romance anime. Max hovered over her, their faces mere inches apart, his hands braced against the wall behind her shoulders. Time seemed to freeze.

"Like a shojo manga," Max thought, half-dazed. "Cue the sparkles and flower petals..."

Arianna's chuckle shattered the moment. Her icy blue eyes held a glint of amusement.

"Either you're the clumsiest assassin I've ever met," she said with a faint smile, "or you really are new to riding."

Max flushed crimson, scrambling to right himself and nearly losing his balance again in the process.

"Y-your Highness, I didn't mean to—I mean, I wasn't trying to..."

"Princess," she corrected, her tone softening slightly for the first time that day. "Princess Arianna. And judging by your reaction, you're not an assassin. They usually have better balance."

"And don't blush like tomatoes," Max thought, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left.

"Captain!" Arianna's sharp command rang out as a stern officer emerged from a guard post. He straightened immediately, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Prepare the guest chambers in the northern wing," she ordered. "And summon a healer—I want to ensure our guest hasn't suffered frostbite."

"It will be done, Princess!" the captain replied crisply, though his keen eyes lingered on Max, taking in his strange attire and the unusual backpack slung over his shoulders.

"Follow me," Arianna said, turning toward the castle's heavy oak doors. They were ornately carved with depictions of ancient battles, their craftsmanship a testament to generations of skilled artisans. "It's time for you to explain yourself. And I sincerely hope your story will be worthy of these walls."

"Captain," she added, her tone abruptly steely, "make sure our guest doesn't leave the castle. And convene the war council."

Max barely registered the captain's brisk acknowledgment. His thoughts were still scattered, filled with fragments of recent events—and the faint scent of Arianna's hair, cool and fresh like a frosty morning with a trace of wildflowers. It was such an odd contrast to her fierce demeanor.

"She's like Saber from 'Fate/stay night,'" Max mused, following her down the castle's corridors. "That same icy beauty and—"

"What are you thinking about?" Arianna's sharp voice broke into his thoughts. She had turned to look at him, suspicion etched into her features.

"I... uh... was admiring the architecture!" Max stammered, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Is that so," she said, her tone colder than the mountain winds. "I hope you're not studying the guard positions or the thickness of the walls."

"Does she really think I'm a spy?" Max swallowed nervously. "Okay, sure, I probably do look suspicious. Especially after that whole falling-off-the-horse fiasco..."

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over him as he recalled their earlier encounter—their faces so close, her faint blush barely visible in the icy light.

"This way," Arianna said abruptly, pushing open a pair of heavy oak doors.

The room beyond was a large council chamber dominated by a long table. Banners and maps adorned the walls, and a grand chair near the hearth resembled a throne. Around the table sat several stern, bearded men in military uniforms, their expressions grim.

"Now," Arianna said, seating herself in the chair by the fire. The flickering flames made her eyes glow an almost menacing red. "Tell us who you are and how you came to be in the restricted lands of Frostmark."

Max opened his mouth to begin explaining, but his gaze was drawn to the wall behind Arianna. The ancient tapestries adorning it rippled as though caught in an invisible breeze. A familiar shimmer of symbols, like lines of code, appeared across their surface.

Only now, the symbols glowed with an ominous crimson light.

"Oh, crap..." was all Max managed to think before reality itself seemed to warp and twist around them.