Chapter 866

The higher they climbed, the more Rafael felt something was amiss. Thomas had described vibrant mountain flowers and rushing streams; instead, they found only bare trees and endless white snow. The waterfalls, usually abundant at this time of year, had nearly vanished, leaving the stark landscape of early winter.

The snow itself wasn't unattractive, but after a long stay at the Southern Frontier, the prince was weary of it. Flowing water and winter blooms would have greatly enhanced the scene. But there was nothing—not a single orchid. It was almost laughable.

However, to the north of Richspire Peak lay a steep slope of pristine snow, free of obstacles—perfect for sledding or skiing. Changing his tactics, Rafael, with a burst of energy and his Lightfoot Skill, dashed with Carissa to the northern slope. Reaching the peak, he caught his breath, his excitement palpable.

"Isn't it beautiful? Let's wait for sunset, then ski down! It'll be so much fun!"

Carissa looked up and nodded. The view, a striking expanse of white and bare branches, possessed a unique beauty in its grandeur and desolation. If only it weren't so cold.

The north wind whipped her cheeks like a knife, numbing her ears. Though she pulled her cloak's hood over her head, the wind still seeped in. Yet, she smiled at Rafael. "Okay, let's wait for sunset."

His enthusiasm for such an austere activity was rare; she wanted to indulge him.

It was probably around five in the evening, meaning a two-hour wait for sunset—assuming they'd even see it through the heavy overcast. She glanced at her handsome junior guild member. She trusted him implicitly, but suspected his skiing suggestion was a jest. The slope was extremely steep, and they lacked skis.

Rafael, having assessed the terrain, pressed the snow, deciding their cloaks could serve as makeshift pads if they gained enough speed. After all, he'd done this at the Southern Frontier.

Sitting together on the mountaintop, Rafael wrapped his arms around Carissa, attempting to share his warmth. The intense cold and howling wind left little room for beauty or tenderness; their focus was solely on resisting the chill.

Carissa buried her head in his embrace, realizing her folly in waiting for a sunset on such a frigid day. After a while, her body grew stiff, and she looked up at the sky.

"It doesn't look like there will be a sunset tonight. Why don't we head back down?"

Rafael stood and surveyed the heavy, oppressive gray sky. The sun, hidden behind the clouds, was stingy with its warmth. His initial hope for a fun outing deflated. All he could think about was the comfort of a fire back home.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "I'll try sliding down first. You stay put."

Carissa's eyes widened. "Are you really planning to slide down like that? The slope is too steep, and we don't have skis!"

"It'll be fine," he replied confidently. "We did this at the Southern Frontier. Many soldiers did it chasing the enemy—sliding down steep, snow-covered mountains was faster!"

He lowered himself slightly, facing Carissa, catching a mouthful of icy wind, yet still smiling. "Come on, give me a little push. Let me test the waters."

"Are you sure?" Carissa glanced down the seemingly endless, steep slope. "If you can't stop, you'll tumble straight down!"

With complete assurance, Rafael said, "Don't worry. Even if I fall, my Lightfoot Skill is like wings. Worst case, chicken wings—I'll flap around and steady myself."

Seeing his confidence, Carissa recalled their experiences at the Southern Frontier. He must have experience. Placing her hands on his back, she gave him a gentle push. He braced himself, kicked off, and shot down the slope with a whoosh.

He soared, exhilarated. Just as he planned to stop and return for her, he hit an unexpected dip hidden beneath the snow. He was sliding too fast. The dip launched him into the air. Panicked, he lost his balance, tumbling repeatedly and plummeting downwards.

Carissa stared in shock as he disappeared. Didn't he say his Lightfoot Skill was like wings? Now, he was plummeting! Wasn't that tragic?

Terrified, she quickly removed her shoes, crouched down, and tucked her hands inside them. Pressing her body against the icy surface, she followed him. Skiing was second nature; she'd been doing it for years at Meadow Ridge. While her shoes made it awkward, she could use her strength to glide straight down, holding them in her hands.