The Snow Queen Chapter 2

“Red Fox, huh,” Leopard chuckled from behind. I responded with a “Hmm” and smiled.

His struggle to navigate through the crowd was quite entertaining. His amethyst hair fluttered outside the coat hood. He glanced at me with a terrified look in his eyes. His blue pupils were empty. He quickly got up and dashed through the crowd. It was remarkable how swiftly he ran despite the ordeal he endured all night.

I cracked the whip once more. The formation was particularly chaotic today.

“You’ve been sleeping until this hour. Well, I guess we had quite a night, didn’t we?” Leopard commented, eyeing the disappearing figure of the amethyst-haired guy. Red Fox stopped in the distance, then swiftly adjusted his coat hood and hurried off. I almost burst out laughing at the sight.

What an amusing friend…

Last night, when we turned to sex, it became even more enjoyable. Leopard whispered to me, poking my ribs.

“Snake, it seems like the formation is roughly done.”

“Hmm, let’s go then.”

I jumped off the open trailer. A member opened the Jeep door and bowed. As Leopard and I got into the backseat, the Jeep started moving. Dozens of trucks and trailers carrying members followed noisily. Snowflakes began to fall gently from the bleak gray sky. In the fierce wind, the swirling snowflakes looked like fine salt sprinkling down.

The square in front of the palace gradually came into view. Black smoke rising from various parts of the square was visible even from a distance. Demonstrators marched with flags and placards, condemning the Wolfscott Guard with vividly spray-painted slogans on each placard. However, more than 95% of the demonstrators probably didn’t even understand the meaning of the slogans written on their placards.

They were the mercenaries of the Wolfscott Guard, receiving daily allowances from the elite of the city-state and rallying for them. Drug addicts, alcoholics, homeless people, gamblers, outcast thugs, delinquent youths. Nineteen out of twenty were illiterate, the dregs of society with no hope of redemption. Today’s demonstration, with an estimated 12,000 police officers, including myself, was a rare event.

“This is somewhat like street cleaning, in its own way,” Leopard muttered, gesturing toward the occupied square. His words resonated with the public opinion. However, to me, those mercenaries looked more like an arrogant feast. Just the thought of spending the whole day beating up the demonstrators already thrilled me.

For thirty years, Terence VII portrayed himself as a reforming monarch. However, the so-called ‘Golden War’, the struggle for wealth surrounding the kingdom, had been raging for over two hundred years. The influx of newcomers had dominated for more than three hundred years. The majority of the nobles did not follow the king but instead engaged in bickering.

The king in his final years was a figurehead. The decisive nail in the coffin was the deaths of the departed princes, which left many questions unanswered. The king’s sudden demise was inevitable. Like the deaths of the princes, the circumstances of the king’s demise also aroused suspicions among the public (although I can assert with certainty, having been deeply involved in the investigation of the princes’ deaths, that the king’s death was nothing more than a simple cardiac arrest).

Nevertheless, rejoicing as if favored by luck, Wolfscott and Manen quickly installed a new puppet king. Then, Wolfscott ascended to the long-desired position of ‘Japonica’ (representative of the warrior class, Orchis, and the literary class, Lotus, along with the representation of the aristocracy). Manen’s daughter was appointed as the queen, becoming Lotus. After a few rounds of turmoil, peace was finally established.

This all happened a year ago.

The next step Wolfscott took was the humiliation of ‘Lotus’ Manen. During Terence VII’s reign, the two giants were as close as lovers, but after the installation of the new king, their relationship turned sour. It was inevitable. Wolfscott was of the aristocracy, while Manen was of the literary class, so-called ‘by birth’. The kingdom’s major reformers were of the literary class. As a result, the kingdom had a long history of discrimination between the aristocracy and the literary class, starting from the law books compiled at the time. The alliance between Wolfscott and Manen was as transient as the saying, “Hospitality lasts only today, with no yesterday or tomorrow.”

It was two months ago.

“Have you heard of ‘Soul’?” Wolfscott called out to me.

Again…

I clicked my tongue.

“The one you sing to, right? Manen’s favored adviser and shaman.”

Soul.

Wolfscott referred to them as ‘Soul’. They were like urban legends that had been circulating for ages. Those who dealt with the mysterious realm beyond human reach. Their identity, known only as specially chosen, was shrouded in complete secrecy.

Wolfscott lit his pipe.

“It’s impossible. Manen seems to be stuck at home lately because of Soul’s advice. Even with the proposal I submitted recently, she somehow managed to evade it as if she had read the plans prepared here in advance.”

“I’m sorry, but may I ask one more tedious question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you believe in the existence of ‘Soul’?”

Wolfscott smiled, as if receiving a question like ‘Is ten plus ten twenty?’ However, I was serious.

Just a rumored existence. No one has seen it, and no one has encountered it. Even a ghost ship wouldn’t be so elusive. Manen calling Soul as an adviser was Wolfscott’s sole claim. My question was purely logical.

Wolfscott turned his body towards the window.

“I believe it exists. Seventeen years ago, on the ‘Day of Blood’, the former king called upon Manen to wipe out the opposition. However, instead of going himself, Manen sent a subordinate disguised as him to lead the king to kill the subordinate. Then, he turned the ambush into an opportunity. Later, he boasted that it was Soul’s advice.”

“Manen is a cunning trickster. Wouldn’t he have seen through the king’s scheme?”

“Manen told me himself.”

“I’m sorry, but as the head of the intelligence bureau, I’ve never come across information about Manen contacting a shaman. Moreover, you mentioned that Wolfscott, you, hadn’t heard Manen mention Soul for fifteen years, didn’t you?”

“That’s what’s suspicious. Would you casually brag about a treasure map to a rival?.”

“Yes, I understand. Let’s assume it exists. But what about the possibility that Soul is dead?”

“That’s impossible.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s intuition. My intuition is telling me.”

Wolfscott tapped his temple with his index finger seriously.

Ugh…

His tiresome repertoire.

I just kept my mouth shut. There was no point in further discussion. Wolfscott was as sharp about Soul as he was strange.

Wolfscott lowered the velvet curtains of the window with his hand.

“Take a look at 42nd Street. It was a place where Manen often frequented during the height of the king’s restraint. At that time, I was too busy protecting myself to find out the exact location of Soul’s hideout, but that’s the only clue we have. Make sure to find out. And remember, before you eliminate that thorn in our side, Manen, don’t forget that removing Soul is of utmost importance.”

Reluctantly, I conducted surveillance every evening. 42nd Street was an alley where prostitutes gestured provocatively at every corner.

Soul here…?

Impossible.

I scoffed. Within an hour of entering 42nd Street, I concluded that the only reason Manen frequented this place was for misinformation.

There was nothing substantial to gain from the surveillance. Furthermore, I sighed at Wolfscott’s measures, which involved deploying only two men (whom he seemed to consider elite agents) from the intelligence bureau and the bureau chief of Guiger, despite the stringent security. Wolfscott was worrying about nothing. After all, Manen’s leash was running out.

There were three giants who once competed against Wolfscott and Manen during the reign of King Terence. Terence’s uncle, Archduke Edal, Sumonin, who boasted an equal power to Wolfscott, and Edelma, who opposed Manen, all leading figures in the Golden War, had long since disappeared into history. Of course, that was all in the past. The three giants vanished from history two years ago.

Three years ago, Wolfscott appointed me as the bureau chief. From that position, I promised, “I will eliminate Edal, Sumonin, and Edelma within a year.”

And in just eight months, I kept my promise. Like Archduke Edal, Sumonin, and Edelma, I had confidence that I would soon send Manen to the annals of history. It was only a matter of time.

Captain Leopard, who was also tasked with the surveillance mission on 42nd Street, agreed with me. We abandoned surveillance after a few days. Nowadays, our tasks in Guiger consisted of nothing more than kidnapping lackeys of the nobles and dispersing or apprehending protesters. Time was plentiful. 42nd Street was a pleasure ground where prostitutes grabbed your arm from all directions as soon as you stepped in. It was only natural that we, still young, were engrossed in lascivious activities.

Once again, from early evening, we were gossiping at the regular bar on 42nd Street. Pouring vodka into a glass, Leopard said, “Do you think Soul really exists?”

I replied sharply, “I don’t think so.”

“As expected, huh?”

I lit a cigarette and took a drag.

“Wolfscott even went as far as digging up records from eighteen years ago, back when Manen first mentioned Soul. There was indeed a time when he frequented this place. It was during the eight years when relations with the king were sour. But he abruptly stopped coming here ten years ago.”

“Wow. Eight years here?” Leopard whistled.

I shrugged as I tapped the tobacco into the ashtray. “Well, isn’t it strange? Even we, who are above others, relieve stress by lashing out at nonsense. Anyway, it’s been a whopping ten years since he stopped coming here. Wolfscott also mentioned that Manen hadn’t mentioned Soul for fifteen years.”

“He either moved or went to the grave.”

“Furthermore, it’s been over a year since Wolfscott suppressed the shamans under the guise of dispelling superstitions to catch Soul. Even if Soul existed, there’s a high chance he got mixed up with the shaman crowd that was taken away. But still, finding clues on 42nd Street, does that make sense?”

“What’s the conclusion?”

“When the mind is troubled and the body is in pain, seeking women is a man’s basic instinct. Manen wouldn’t be an exception. Therefore, there’s no Soul.”

“We gays seek men instead.”

“True.”

We laughed and clinked our glasses. Leopard brought the vodka glass to his lips but then put it down.

“Snake, Snake.”

“What? Did you find a half-and-half butt?”

“Of course. And there, my Red Fox is coming in again.”

“That nickname again.”

I smirked, blowing smoke towards Leopard. While it was pathetic how Leopard gave everyone nicknames, there was a sad (?) story behind it, so I couldn’t just mock him outright.

Guiger faced severe opposition from Wolfscott’s enemies. Twelve years ago, thugs who received orders from Archduke Edal attacked the gathering place of Guiger’s bureau chiefs, ruthlessly slaughtering them. It was a birthday party, and even the families of Guiger’s bureau chiefs were present, none of them survived. Among the casualties that day were seven children under the age of ten.

After that, Wolfscott took measures to treat the personal information of the Guiger bureau chiefs as confidential. They even established work rules to prevent the chiefs from asking each other about personal matters. That’s not all. They always instructed to wear masks during work. They even put a strict embargo on revealing their workplace to neighbors. Thanks to this tearful consideration, Mr. Kruk, who had been living next door for four years, thought of me as a young entrepreneur. Even the subordinates didn’t know the faces of the chiefs. Among the chiefs, they at least knew each other’s faces, but for years, they had been addressing each other by nicknames instead of their real names.

Because of this, Leopard developed a nasty habit of giving everyone nicknames indiscriminately. And Red Fox was the nickname that Leopard had arbitrarily given to someone he fell for at this gay bar, “Snow White.”

As I extinguished my cigarette, I said, “It doesn’t suit you at all. Where did you even see a red fox in him?”

“Because I’m Leopard, so he should be Red Fox, right? Aren’t we a matching pair?”

“Stop preaching because it’s annoying.”

“Anyway! Hurry up and bring him, hurry. Someone else might snatch him. I’ll go wait outside.”

I met Red Fox at “Snow White,” a gay bar we frequented while engrossed in our carnal pleasures. Even now, it amused me to death when I remembered the first time I met him.

It was a few days after we ditched the reconnaissance on 42nd Street. That day, we were drinking vodka and chatting at Snow White.

“Excuse me, would you mind if this gentleman joined you? There’s no more room here.”

The waiter approached us apologetically. Our gaze shifted to the unfamiliar figure standing beside the waiter. There was someone strange standing there. He wore a bulky coat that went all the way down to his toes, and only his chin peeked out from under the large hood. It was like a figure from a horror movie. The first thought that crossed our minds simultaneously was, ‘How dreadful.’

We reluctantly allowed him to join us, but we didn’t exchange a single word with him throughout the hour. He just ordered a cocktail and maintained silence. The atmosphere was so dismal that we later reminisced, saying, “It felt like swallowing spit in front of a witch while waiting for a tarot reading.” That’s how gloomy his first impression was. It felt like everything was falling apart. The gloomy aura emanating from him enveloped the area around the table, and no one approached us. We were the center of attention as soon as we entered the bar. In other words, we were popular guys. It was another first for us.

Just as we started to feel bad, Red Fox suddenly felt hot and dampened his hood. The mood shifted instantly.

The auburn hair cascaded in waves. It fell down like a relentless blizzard, unnervingly long. It felt almost magical. Lost in speculation about how far those locks would descend, I unconsciously set down my vodka glass. The hair reached all the way to the floor. As Red Fox casually swept the long strands over his shoulder, Leopard fixed his indifferent gaze on his cocktail glass once again.

Leopard later grumbled, “I only realized why the bar is called Snow White after that day,” but what came to my mind was a Chinese beauty who frequently grimaced due to her heartache. The veil-like tint of faint sickness in her complexion was just as delicate.

Anyway, we were momentarily stunned. The bulky figure transformed into Clint in an instant. It would take a while to gather our wits.

“Excuse me.”

Leopard coughed awkwardly and signaled to Red Fox. Red Fox didn’t respond. He just stared at his cocktail glass without even blinking. “They say beautiful people have high noses…” I clicked my tongue.

Leopard hesitated awkwardly, his face awkward. “Since we’re already here together, how about we leave together? How about the three of us enjoy a night together? Oh, and we’re into… hardcore stuff.”

I chuckled as I lifted my vodka glass. Leopard’s clumsy attempt at fishing was pathetic. Look at that chilly expression. No way, no chance. He didn’t seem like the type to allow over 190 centimeters of muscle, let alone two, and even to hardcore sex. Absolutely not.

My intuition had never been wrong… It was when I was about to sip my vodka. Red Fox slowly raised his head. He had blue eyes.

“Okay.”

I almost spat out my vodka.

“Shall we go then?”

Leopard jumped up as if he was about to leap. We immediately headed to the hotel near the Guiger headquarters. Red Fox, who had easily accepted the proposal, was unexpectedly picky from the wrong side, but aside from that, he readily complied with various demands, and we could leave the hotel completely satisfied. We occasionally met Red Fox at the bar after that.

Red Fox usually took the initiative to approach his partner. He was always the first to make a move. A beauty is a beauty, but he was a beauty with a low nose bridge. He was often stolen by another guy at the last moment and had to rediscover his taste. Leopard complained that it was more thrilling than American football.

However, as we suspected, that day was Red Fox’s first experience with a man. The sensation I felt when I first penetrated him confirmed our suspicions. Leopard, who also enjoyed French-style sex—fellatio—said he felt something similar. Nevertheless, it was quite memorable when Red Fox’s first question after I began applying oil was, “What are you doing right now?”

Red Fox was a decent partner. His skin was fair, and his lower body was hot. His expressions as he moaned with closed eyes were exquisite. When he tilted his head back and parted his lips, he was irresistible. Plus, he had no reservations. Even after several encounters, he never asked for our names. We judged him as not the type to cling annoyingly.

We had reasons to quietly conduct our affairs in the gay bar. The fact that the executives of Guiger, who were supposed to be running around busily, frequented the gay bar in their cumbersome coats was something that would grate on Wolfscott’s ears the day he found out… Although, of course, there would be no such thing, but any noisy incidents for whatever reason were undesirable.

Today, Red Fox was once again fiddling with his cocktail glass in his heavy coat. I couldn’t help but laugh as I remembered his fidgety behavior in front of the headquarters a few days ago. The sight of him stuffing his hair under his coat hood like a bundle of luggage was also quite comical. He was a peculiar beauty in many ways.

I approached him quickly. I briefly admired Red Fox’s lips peeking out from under the hood. They were thin and small, and just imagining them coated in semen was already exhilarating.

I said cheerfully, “It’s been three days. How about spending today together?”