A burly, bearded Northerner abruptly blocked his path. The man’s face was familiar; he was the same one who had picked a fight that morning. Three of his companions flanked him.
"Well now, are you really a man?" he sneered, the brown beard covering his face quivering with every word. "That face is just too pretty."
"You look like a well-fed, well-washed noble," another chimed in. "What brings a high-and-mighty type like you to this humble place?"
"It’s obvious. He’s up to no good in the North."
Simon let out a quiet sigh. "Do you need something?"
"Hahahaha! Need something?" the first man roared. "Playing hard to get, little lady?" He jabbed a brutally developed shoulder into Simon’s. "Does being curious about the sounds you’d make in bed count as needing something?"
His friends cackled.
Vile thugs. They were so beneath him that the thought of engaging gave him a headache. Simon ignored them and started to walk away.
"Hey, just leaving like that?" the men shouted at his back. "That’s why you’re a failure, always running away! We all saw you get shot down by the Grand Duke this morning!"
They were so utterly classless. If he lost his temper and beat them to a pulp, it would just drag him down to their level. It was better to consider it stepping in filth and move on.
"Master!"
A voice called from behind him. It was Erzebet, running toward them with a bottle of wine and a bag of fruit.
"Well now, excuse me!" The bearded man lunged forward and roughly grabbed Erzebet’s wrist, causing the bag she was holding to fall. Fruit spilled across the cobblestones, and with a sharp crash, the wine bottle shattered, soaking the street in a deep purple liquid.
"Well, well. We had a real lady here after all."
"What are you doing? Let go of me!" Erzebet shouted, unable to reveal her true identity as the men surrounded her with leering grins.
"Is she that guy’s servant?" one of them sneered. "Calling a loser like him ’Master.’ The lives of southerners are truly pathetic."
"Hey, look at this," another man said, forcefully lifting the robe she was wearing. Erzebet’s revealing armor was exposed.
"This is a fucking spectacle!"
"Came to the North and decided to dress like that, huh? You’re a girl who knows how to have fun."
The man on the opposite side gripped Erzebet’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. "I like you. Why don’t you come have some wild fun with us—"
A sickening ’crack’ echoed as bone snapped.
"Huh?"
The man looked down. His hand, which had been gripping Erzebet, was bent completely backward, the back of it touching his own wrist.
"G-Guaaaaaaaah!"
He clutched his broken wrist and dropped to one knee with a thud. A black-haired boy, who had somehow appeared between him and Erzebet, was glaring with piercing eyes.
"You son of a bitch!" the man with the broken wrist shrieked, throwing a punch with his other hand. "Get him!"
With a sickening ’crunch’, Simon’s knee met his face, grotesquely crushing his nose. The man spun through the air, spraying blood, and crashed to the ground.
The man on the other side threw a wild hook, but Simon simply held out his palm, effortlessly deflecting it before closing the distance in an instant.
A pale blue flash streaked across the sky as Simon’s boot planted firmly on the man’s jaw. As the man’s feet left the ground, Simon grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the cobblestones. His eyes immediately rolled back as he went limp.
"You bastard!"
A straight punch flew at him from behind. Simon fluidly shifted his weight to his left foot and tilted his head. As he dodged, he grabbed the rough forearm extending past his eye, twisted at the waist, and slammed the man onto the ground.
The ground cracked as gravel flew into the air. In a matter of seconds, three burly men were sprawled unconscious.
"Oh? And what are you?" The bearded man who had started the fight cracked his knuckles, a look of intrigue on his face. "You look scrawny, but you know how to fight." He raised both fists as a dark energy began to flow from his hands. A peculiar light entered Simon’s eyes.
’Jet-Black?’
"That’s right! No need for words between men!"
With a sudden burst of speed, his body shot forward like a pouncing beast.
’A Jet-Black Step.’
The bearded man closed the distance in an instant and unleashed a furious barrage of punches. Simon retreated, dodging them with nothing more than slight movements of his shoulders.
’And even Jet-Black enhanced martial arts.’
He had no formal technique, but his fighting style was clearly forged in the crucible of real combat. He was systematically cornering Simon, robbing him of space.
"Hahaha! How long are you going to keep dodging like that!" he laughed boisterously. "Instead of those pathetic tricks, a real man fights prope—’Ack!"
Simon’s fist slammed into his face. The man’s body shot back like a flash of light and crashed into a wall.
Simon’s coat, which had flown up from the force of the blow, fluttered back down. The angle of his legs, the movement of his shoulders, the perfectly extended arm—he had executed a flawless straight punch. Slowly, he lowered his arm.
"You’re the one using pathetic techniques," Simon said coolly.
Seeing the dark blue power wrapped around Simon’s fist, the man’s expression turned serious. "...So you were a necromancer after all."
Amidst the rising dust, the bearded man staggered to his feet, blood streaming down his face. He swayed, the impact having been severe, then stumbled and collapsed.
"Wretch!" he spat, a glob of blood hitting the ground. He chuckled darkly and began to draw a magic circle with the blood. "Alright, alright. Let’s play for real."
As the blood magic circle activated with a sharp hum, his clothes tore apart, revealing large tattoos all over his body. The black ink turned a deep, blood-red.
"To think I’d have to use this against a person and not a monster!"
A crimson, fin-like appendage erupted from his back with a wet tearing sound, slick as blood. His eyes, too, turned red.
"Brace yourself! It’ll be over in the blink of an—!"
And it was.
’Crunch!’
An impact struck the back of his head, driving his face into the ground. The smell of dirt, mixed with the wine Erzebet had spilled, filled his nostrils.
A choked sound escaped the man’s lips. The boy stood over him, hands in his pockets as if he were out for a stroll. With an indifferent expression, he pressed his foot down on the back of the warrior’s head.
’...This isn’t right.’
"Sorry, I didn’t hear you," Simon said. "Brace myself for what?"
The bearded man’s eyes blazed with intensity. "Kuaaaaaaaah!"
The shark fin on his back grew as he violently tried to rise.
With a sickening ’crunch’, he was stomped down again.
"Uggghhh!!"
Simon rubbed his eyes as if looking at something pathetic.
"Kuaa-what? Try again. You were trying to do something, weren’t you?"
The bearded man finally realized it. He had picked a fight with someone—no, ’something’—he never should have.
"Here." Simon kindly removed his foot from the back of the man’s head and walked a short distance away. He then turned and spread his arms. "Go on. Do your thing."
A vein throbbed on the bearded man’s forehead. It had been six years since he first picked up an axe. He had never been so humiliated.
"Southerneeeeeer!"
A fin larger than ever before erupted from his back. Feeling Jet-Black surge through his body, he kicked off the ground, charged, and threw a punch. He was certain this was the best punch of his life, but—
With a soft ’tap’, his rugged fist was stopped by a single, slender index finger.
"Are you done?" Simon muttered, bored. He took his other hand out of his robe pocket, placed it on the man’s forehead, and—
’THWACK!’
—flicked it. It was a precise strike that didn’t waste a single ounce of power. The bearded man’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed, foaming at the mouth.
"N-No way...!" The other warriors, groaning on the ground, trembled in fear. To toy with a warrior who had unlocked his core like that was unthinkable.
"In the North, they say the winner can do whatever they want, right?" Simon said with a smile as he dusted off his hands. To the warriors, that smile was demonic. "I’d love to break you to pieces, but I’ll stop here out of respect for the Grand Duke. Let’s go, Erze."
Erzebet, who had been watching with a flushed face, quickly nodded. "Yes! Master!" She clung to Simon’s arm and giggled. "As expected, as expected! Thank you for saving me!"
"If you had stepped in, you would’ve cut off a limb, wouldn’t you?"
"Oh my, was I found out?"
The warriors could only stare blankly as the two walked away. Strange people had come to the North.
That evening, he rested and chatted with Erzebet. At dawn, he lit a lamp and worked on his school assignments. Just because he was taking a special class didn’t mean his Kizen coursework had stopped. There would be makeup classes when he returned, but he still had a daily quota of studying to complete.
After only a few hours of sleep, the next morning dawned. Today, the Grand Duke’s ’Legion Commander lessons’ would finally begin. Simon finished his assignment, ate breakfast at the inn, and then arrived at the inner castle.
"Welcome," greeted Butler Godric, who seemed a little kinder than on the first day.
"The Grand Duke is waiting in her office," the butler informed him.
"Thank you for letting me know."
Simon went up to the second floor and knocked on the office door. "It’s Simon."
A voice from within told him to enter.
"Then, excuse m—’Ah!"
Opening the door, Simon stopped short, startled. Though it was early, the Grand Duke was already in the middle of a strenuous workout, drenched in sweat. With one hand clasped behind her back, she was supporting her entire body on the floor with just two fingers of the other, repeatedly lowering and raising herself.
Her breaths came in sharp, controlled bursts.
With every movement, the muscles all over her body expanded and contracted. It was clearly a tremendous amount of exercise. But what truly flustered Simon was her attire.
It was the first time he had seen her without her trademark black full plate armor. In this freezing weather, where the rivers were frozen solid, she was exercising in extremely short shorts and a workout top that exposed her navel.
"You’ve arrived, insolent one," she said, springing to her feet. Her arms and thighs were covered in perfectly toned muscle, and a set of well-defined abs completed the picture. It was the result of incredible self-discipline.
Finding it difficult to meet her gaze, Simon turned his head slightly. "G-Good morning."
"Indeed." She picked up a steel dumbbell from near her desk and began her next set. "Did anything happen last night? Being an outsider, I’m sure all sorts of ruffians tried to pick a fight with you."
Her tone suggested she already knew everything. Simon smiled wryly and scratched his head. "Actually, there was a small scuffle..."
"I thought as much. The people here go beyond disliking southern nobles; they utterly despise them." She set the dumbbell down with a heavy thump. "You can beat the hell out of anyone who steps up to you. I expect they’ll back off once they see your strength, but report to me if the problem gets worse."
"Yes, ma’am."
Butler Godric, who had been waiting, brought her some water. After taking a refreshing drink, she turned to Simon.
"First, insolent one, a few questions before we begin. How long have you been a Legion Commander?"
"Not much longer than I’ve been a necromancer."
"And the Ancient Undead you possess?"
Simon held up his fingers. "I have a total of four Ancient Undead belonging to the former 7th Legion. In addition, I have an Ancient Undead-class Lich that I legionized myself. Ah, there was also a creature called ’Kal, the Beast of Pestilence,’ but its body unfortunately collapsed, so I had it absorbed into Pier’s greatsword."
"Hoh." The Grand Duke nodded in satisfaction. "Quite impressive. You’ve certainly assembled the basics in a short time."
"It was thanks to the help of many people."
"Then, the legion’s forces..." The Grand Duke’s expression sharpened as she was about to ask her next question. She whipped her head around to look out the window, stopped talking, and strode forward. "Excuse me for a moment."
"Ah, yes."
She picked up a bow that was leaning against the wall. The bow itself was a strange and wondrous thing. Instead of a bowstring, it was wreathed in what looked like living Jet-Black flames. It had an aura similar to Pier’s ’Greatsword of Ruin,’ leading Simon to guess it was an Administrator’s exclusive weapon.
"Godric. Window number ten."
"Yes!"
Now that he looked, Simon saw that the Grand Duke’s office had an incredible number of windows. The office was in a separate annex of the castle, and there were more than twenty windows, including those on the ceiling.
With a sharp ’clack’, Butler Godric scurried over, opened the window, and dropped flat on the floor. The Grand Duke held out her palm.
A wail of ghosts filled the air as Jet-Black swirled around her. When she clenched her outstretched palm, the dark energy transformed into the shape of an arrow. Without even glancing at her target, she simply nocked the arrow and let it fly.
The air tore with a deafening roar. For a moment, the surroundings distorted into blackness as something incredible shot through the sky. Yet she acted as if nothing had happened, setting her bow down again and looking at Simon.
"Now, back to our original topic. The legion’s forces are..."
"W-Wait a minute! What did you just do?"
"It was nothing special." Her lips curled into a smile. "An assassination."

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