As the battle against the Northern God loomed, Simon’s training pressed on. Clad in Pier’s armor, he stood with his eyes closed, the Greatsword of Ruin held ready.
"Hah!"
His eyes snapped open as he swung the greatsword in a massive arc.
’Kal Original - Venomous Hounds.’
With a series of guttural barks, hounds forged from pure venom erupted from his swing and soared into the air before descending. In one fluid motion, Simon spun and unleashed a second slash, perfectly timed to meet the falling creatures.
’Kal Original - Venomous Blast.’
This time, a crescent of sword energy shot forward, striking the hounds and shattering them mid-air. Poison splattered across the training ground, melting nearby trees into grotesque, twisted shapes.
"Ugh." Simon lowered the greatsword. "This is harder than I thought."
Managers of a legion under direct contract lacked a special Geheim. In Pier’s case, he instead held the power of ’Kal, the Plague Demon Beast,’ which had been absorbed into the Greatsword of Ruin. Simon was training to master that very power.
[Kehehe! Don’t be so hasty, boy! It took Kal himself time to perfect this technique.]
"Yes, sir!" Simon declared, hoisting the Greatsword of Ruin once more.
After a few more swings, the session concluded. As he wiped the sweat from his hair with a towel, Simon gazed up at the sky. ’Still not enough. I need more. More.’
The Northern God itself possessed no combat abilities. Some argued that without its Three Brothers, it was nothing, but Simon disagreed. In the past, a Grand Duke had managed to defeat the Three Brothers, but none had ever defeated the Northern God. Even his father, Richard, had ultimately chosen to protect the North rather than eliminate the God. This was going to be a brutal fight.
’I have to get stronger.’
Just as he steeled his resolve, a faint chittering sound reached his ears. A single corpse spider came waddling toward him, shuffling its feet and shaking its rear. Understanding the signal, Simon removed Pier’s helmet.
"A messenger, it seems. I’ll go see who it is." Since he had already informed Godric the butler of his presence, there was no need to pretend to be the Grand Duke.
Simon walked to the edge of the training ground to wait. Soon, a messenger on horseback galloped into view.
"A report! I have a report!" the messenger panted, then recognized Simon. "Ah, the Grand Duke’s disciple."
"The Grand Duke is currently training inside. If you have a message..."
"It’s an emergency!" the messenger shouted, sweat beading on his brow. "The Kingdom’s army has made the first move! They’ve already marched into the Frost Field!"
"What?!" Simon’s expression hardened instantly. "I’ll be right there!"
A crisis that threatened to shake the entire North had erupted. In the dead of night, while the castle slept, Commander Romario had led the Kingdom’s army out to march. Chronos had shrouded their encampment and route in an illusion curse, while Count Voldmont had secretly opened the gates. It had all happened in the blink of an eye.
The merchants who first discovered the scene confirmed the trail of footprints leading away from the castle. The North was thrown into an uproar, and an emergency meeting was immediately convened at the Grand Duke’s castle. Nearly a hundred people—generals, elders, administrators, standard-bearers, and even a few residents—gathered in the hall. Simon, of course, was seated beside the Grand Duke, observing the tense proceedings.
The meeting hall was in chaos. Enraged that the Kingdom’s army had stolen a march on them, the warriors jabbed fingers at one another, their faces flushed and the veins in their necks bulging as they roared in fury.
"We have to catch up to those damn bastards right now!" bellowed Ganiro, the Great General and the North’s second-in-command. "They’re undoubtedly after the Northern God! We did the hard work of killing the Three Brothers and paving the way, and now they’re trying to snatch the glory for themselves!"
Ganiro slammed his hand on the round table, his blazing eyes sweeping over the assembly. "If the Kingdom’s army destroys the Northern God, the Kalos Kingdom will claim rights to much of the North’s territory, including the Frost Field. We must summon our forces and pursue them at once!"
"Calm yourself, Great General," an elder of the North interjected. He looked ancient and frail, but his broad shoulders and powerful frame spoke of his younger days as a warrior. He had, in fact, once been a Great General himself. "What we are about to wage is a war, not a dogfight. We are not ready."
"Sir!"
"The merchants are bringing weapons, arrows, and supplies in two days. The warriors guarding the outer territories will also return in two days, and it will take two days to shear the sheep for winter clothing. Most importantly," the elder said, his gaze shifting to the Grand Duke, "Her Excellency’s 2nd Legion has just returned from the Frost Field."
"I would prefer months to prepare, but since the Grand Duke insisted on settling this within two weeks, we’ve set the absolute minimum timeframe. To chase after the Kingdom’s army in a fit of passion, completely unprepared, is..." He placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "A suicide mission."
"What are you talking about, Sir!" Ganiro glared, his eyes bloodshot. "Look at the situation! The North has fought the Northern God for centuries! Are you just going to hand it over to them?"
"I am saying we must not act rashly, my young Great General."
"We Northerners can survive for weeks in the Frost Field without your damned supplies! You did the same in your day! You ate monsters to survive...!"
"And then," the elder said, his voice dropping. He lifted his leg and placed his knee on the table with a dull ’thud’. Below it, there was nothing. "I ended up like this."
The words died in Ganiro’s throat.
"I survived by eating the flesh of my comrades who had frozen to death," the elder continued, his voice heavy with memory. "If we had been properly prepared, those sacrifices would have been unnecessary. And, Great General, you have overlooked one crucial detail." He raised a pipe to his lips. "They do not know the way to the ’Abyss,’ where the Northern God resides. They may have rushed ahead in their impatience, but it was a fatal miscalculation."
"What if," a new voice cut in.
Every head in the room turned. The man bold enough to interrupt the exchange between the Great General and the Elder was none other than the blue-haired boy.
"What if that information was leaked?" Simon asked. "Shouldn’t we consider that possibility?"
The elder’s expression froze. Ganiro scowled. "Impossible. The only ones present were Her Excellency the Grand Duke, myself, the Elder, Butler Godric, and General Blota. Only the five of us. You may be the Grand Duke’s guest, but if you insult the solidarity of the North..."
"The outsider isn’t necessarily wrong, you know," another voice interjected, silencing the room.
A young man with dark gray hair strode forward, the flag of the North slung over his shoulder. He gave Simon’s arm a light tap and a wink.
Ganiro’s scowl deepened. "Step back. This is no place for a standard-bearer."
"Ha, bullshit," the young man shot back. "Since when did we care about that crap in the North? The one who fights best is the boss, right?" He swaggered forward and plopped himself down on the edge of the round table. "I just came from Count Voldmont’s mansion."
Everyone fell silent, their eyes fixed on him.
"The Count is gone," he announced. "Only the riff-raff are left. His soldiers and his most cherished family members have vanished without a trace. The bastard has sided with the Kingdom’s army." He shrugged. "You all know what kind of rat he is. He talks a big game about being for the North, but he only ever sides with whoever benefits him most."
He glanced at Simon, noting that eighty percent of the current distrust toward outsiders was Voldmont’s fault. "And now that rat has joined the Kingdom’s army. What does that mean?"
With a great ’whoosh’, the standard-bearer’s flag swung violently, stopping inches from the table. The force of it made the surrounding generals’ hair stand on end. "It means the Count knows the way to the Abyss! The information was leaked to that bastard." His eyes darted between Godric, Ganiro, the Elder, and General Blota—the only ones besides the Grand Duke who had been at the meeting. "It means one of you four is a traitor."
A wave of murmurs swept through the hall, the atmosphere growing even more hostile. Veins throbbed on Ganiro’s temples, and the elder heaved a long sigh.
Just then, a voice cut through the noise. "Enough!"
The Grand Duke had finally spoken. The buzzing hall was plunged into a silence so profound you could hear a pin drop.
"Get a grip, you pathetic fools!" she commanded, her eyes flashing with cold fire. "We are discussing a war with the Northern God. Will you allow us to be torn apart by infighting on the eve of the final battle?"
The fiery spirit of the warriors instantly cooled. With a charismatic flick of her wrist, she crossed her legs and rested her chin in her hand. "Great General, your counsel."
"Yes, Your Excellency." This was his final chance to speak. Ganiro bowed his head respectfully. "If the route to the Abyss has been leaked, then we have even less time to waste! We must gather whatever forces we can and pursue them immediately!"
The Grand Duke turned her head. "Elder, your counsel."
"Will rushing uncooked rice make it cook any faster?" the elder countered. "The two-day deployment was already the bare minimum. The foundation that creates our warriors’ strength is just as important as the strength itself. The Kingdom’s army will stumble in their haste. I believe we should remain unshaken and proceed with the scheduled deployment."
Having heard both arguments, the Grand Duke slowly closed her eyes. A heavy silence once again descended upon the hall. The fate of the North hung on her decision.
"Disciple."
This time, she called on Simon. Startled, he sat bolt upright. He never imagined she would call on him at a moment like this.
"Ah, yes!"
"Speak."
More than a hundred pairs of eyes bored into him. ’Tell her to pursue them. Tell her to wait.’ He could feel the crushing weight of their conflicting desires. Swallowing hard, Simon gathered his thoughts.
"Our greatest strength right now," he began, looking directly at the Grand Duke, "is Haite and the 2nd Legion. You, Your Excellency, are the one who knows their condition best."
The faces of Ganiro and the other warriors twisted in displeasure, but they couldn’t refute his point. A broad, clear laugh erupted from the Grand Duke, echoing through the silent hall.
"I have made my decision." She rose from her seat, her presence commanding the room. "For centuries, we of the North have endured, waiting for the day we could finally slit the Northern God’s throat. Do you truly mean to tell me we cannot wait two more days?"
Ganiro bowed his head in defeat, while the elder stroked his beard in satisfaction.
"We will not be swayed by the Kingdom’s army," she declared. "We will use these two days to prepare, and we will face the Northern God at our absolute peak. The 2nd Legion will also complete its preparations within that time. Generals, see to every detail with meticulous care. Leave nothing to chance. That is all."
The generals rose as one. "Yes, Your Excellency!"
The final battle was set for two days’ time. A decision, once made, would not be changed. Now, they all had to move as one. The crowd quickly dispersed to begin their preparations.
"If only..." As he turned to leave, Simon overheard the elder murmuring to himself. "I just hope they aren’t too weak."
Simon paused, blinking in confusion.
"Insolent boy," the Grand Duke’s voice cut in. She approached and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You’ve bought us a little time. Now, go and train."
"Ah, yes!"
"And don’t worry about the Kingdom’s army." Her sharp, hawk-like eyes slowly closed, accentuating the alluring beauty mark beside them. She shared the elder’s sentiment. "They have dug their own graves."

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