When the blood her father shed had not yet dried, the girl, dressed in black mourning clothes, walked out of the castle gate.
It was the greatest crisis in the North’s history. The Legion Commander had died in battle against the Northern God, the Administrator Hate had weakened, and the most powerful Ancient Undead that had supported the North for generations had been annihilated. Over ninety percent of the 2nd Legion’s forces had been lost. The Northern army was decimated.
The day was overcast, a cold, drizzling rain falling steadily.
Facing the undead army swarming toward the city of Vilkenos, the young girl in her mourning clothes stepped outside the castle and stood alone.
The rain fell harder, a relentless downpour. In her hand, she clutched a small kitchen knife. Rainwater trickled down the spine of the blade, dripping to the ground. Her black hair, which her father had praised endlessly, was soaked through, her clothes clinging to her small frame.
Despair. In the face of such overwhelming power, the pride of the North was meaningless.
Vilkenos was empty. Only she remained.
Just before he died, her father had passed the title of Legion Commander to her. She had to do something. Anything.
But no subordinate stood by the side of a child commander who had yet to earn the Administrator’s acknowledgment and could not control a single undead.
Nevertheless, the girl did not run. She could not.
"—Planning to fight alone?"
Suddenly, a voice came from behind her.
The downpour that had seemed poised to pierce her body vanished, replaced by the soft patter of rain on fabric. Her vision darkened, and the girl saw a man holding an umbrella over her. He seemed to be on the cusp between boyhood and manhood, with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the umbrella. A thin beard, the upturned corners of his mouth, and curious eyes gave him a strange air.
Her father had said that Legion Commanders could recognize each other on sight. The girl now knew he was right.
And she also knew why he had come.
"—Are you going to kill me?" she asked, thrusting forward the kitchen knife she held so tightly.
The man spoke as if it were nothing. "Wouldn’t that depend on your answer?"
The girl fell silent for a moment before replying, "I’m going to fight."
"Oh?"
As if a switch had been flipped, the man’s eyes suddenly lit up, and he leaned in close. "And how are you going to fight? Has it even been a day since you opened your core? You don’t seem to have the Administrator’s acknowledgment, and I doubt you can even feel Jet-Black. What a state of affairs. That old man was really something else. Passing on his legacy was more important than what happened to his daughter, was it?"
"Don’t insult my father!" the girl shouted. Stepping back out from under the man’s umbrella, she gripped the kitchen knife. "My father died protecting the North! And I’ll die protecting the North, too! That is..." A rough, determined voice erupted from her lips. "The destiny of an Arscalt!"
The rain intensified. Her frail body, no older than four or five, trembled violently from the cold. She had come to stop a massive army, yet she could not even withstand the rain falling from the sky.
But the man did not laugh. He slowly placed a hand on his chest, a puff of white breath escaping his lips.
He took a step forward. The girl retreated. He advanced, she retreated. But the difference in their strides was too great. She was quickly cornered. Feeling threatened, she let out a small shriek and lunged with the knife.
He caught her wrist with ease. Crouching down, the man looked her in the eye and said, "Insolent, but I like your spirit."
Then he took the kitchen knife from her. Into her now-empty hand, he placed the umbrella.
"Let’s negotiate, little miss."
The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide and dazed. "Nego... tiate?"
"Is that too big a word for you? Just think of it as a deal," the man said, scratching the back of his head with an annoyed expression. "Honestly, I came here to collect the 2nd Legion before it was wiped out. But if I did that, Lady Nephthys would probably chain me to the Kalos North and tell me to fulfill my duty."
He grinned and winked. "Of course, Northern women aren’t bad, but being stuck in a backwater like this would be too great a sorrow for the women of the continent, don’t you think?"
"Uh?"
"Ah, I guess you’re not old enough for jokes like that. The terms are simple."
The Northern God’s undead forces were now close enough to be seen clearly. The two of them stood on the plains before Vilkenos, as vulnerable as a candle in the wind. But the man remained perfectly calm.
"I’m going to annihilate the Northern God’s forces right now," he declared.
"Huh!"
"I’ll even leave my Ancient Undead behind to make sure they can’t move for the next five years. But I’ll only protect you for exactly five years." He held out his hand, fingers spread. "Within those five years, you must grow strong enough to unite the North, rebuild the legion, and stand on your own two feet. In the meantime, I’ll announce to the world that I am protecting the North. But if you fall short of my expectations, I’ll have no choice but to collect the 2nd Legion."
He grinned and held out his hand. "So, deal?"
She looked up at the man, her eyes dazed. She did not fully understand what he was saying, but that grin... She thought it looked warm.
She slowly approached and took his hand with her own, which was as small and delicate as a fern frond.
"Good. The negotiation is complete, youngest Legion Commander!" he announced. "Alright then."
The man stood up, stepping out from under the umbrella and into the falling rain. He spread his arms wide like a bird.
"[Come.]"
A deep rumbling shook the earth.
The girl could not believe her eyes. On both flanks of the Northern God’s advancing army, pitch-black waves of undead were crashing in. They were all from the 7th Legion.
Skeletal bones flew toward the man, attaching themselves to his body until he was covered from head to toe in seamless Bone Armor. He raised his sword, a cape of pure Jet-Black fluttering behind him, and turned toward the enemy.
"W-Wait!" the girl cried, running after him, still holding the umbrella. "Your name! Please, tell me your name!"
The man turned and grinned. "Yona. Yona of the 7th Legion."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I’ll be stronger in five years!"
"Alright."
"And!" ’Marry a strong man.’ Recalling the words her father always used to say, she yelled, "After that, I’ll take you as my husband!"
At those words, Yona stopped dead in his tracks. After a moment of stunned silence, he burst out laughing. "Puhahaha! I think even fifteen years would be too soon, let alone five! Well, fine, fine."
He pressed the skull helmet firmly onto his head.
"See you again, little Arscalt."
With a final nod, he charged toward the enemy lines, his cape billowing behind him. That was the last she ever saw of him.
Lost in reminiscence, the Grand Duke slowly opened her eyes and turned her head. On a shelf in the corner of her office sat an old black umbrella.
’That boy was Yona’s son?’
She could not have imagined it. She had assumed Yona was dead.
He had kept his first promise. Yona had truly annihilated the Northern God’s forces, and for several years, the North had been safe from invasion while its enemy recovered. But Yona had failed to keep his second promise.
’See you again, little Arscalt.’
He never appeared in the North again. The last she heard of him was ’the incident.’ To save a Priest—an enemy—he had betrayed the Dark Alliance and his comrades, turning his legion’s blades against his own allies. As a result, the 7th Legion was disbanded, and the Dark Alliance announced that Yona, the traitor, had been executed.
When she heard the news of his death, the young Grand Duke had cried until her eyes were swollen shut. The shock was greater than when her own father had died. She could not remember ever feeling such despair.
And yet...
’He had a son.’
The Grand Duke stared blankly at the ceiling, his voice echoing in her mind.
’Of course, Northern women aren’t bad, but being stuck in a backwater like this would be too great a sorrow for the women of the continent, don’t you think?’
Considering Yona’s words and actions, he was the type to have spread his seed around, whether he was dead or alive.
’That boy... is Yona’s son...’
When she’d first heard about the new 7th Legion Commander, she had assumed Nephthys had kept the Administrator sealed away, waiting to bestow it upon one of her most outstanding students. After erasing the stain of betrayal, she would use that Legion Commander as a powerful pawn for the Dark Alliance. Displeased that Yona’s legion would be used in such a way, the Grand Duke had been lukewarm about Nephthys’s offer to mentor him.
’But...’
The truth was different. Nephthys had silently waited until Yona’s son grew up and enrolled in the academy, then made him the 7th Legion Commander.
The dazed Grand Duke shot to her feet, ready to rush out of the office. But her steps halted at the door.
’Yona has a son... Simon is Yona’s son. Yona’s son.’
She wanted to run and confirm the truth immediately, but for some reason, her feet would not move.
’Knock, knock.’
A knock came from the door. She jumped back, startled.
"It’s Simon. I’m coming in."
"W-What? Wait!"
Simon opened the door and peeked his head inside. "How are you feeling?"
She was already in the middle of a one-handed push-up, her other hand held behind her back. Simon chuckled. "Training again, at a time like this?"
"W-Why are you laughing!" she snapped, leaping to her feet.
"Butler Godric asked if you would give the next speech. Will you be alright?"
The Grand Duke stared intently at Simon.
’Why didn’t I realize?’ she thought, feeling an urge to gouge out her own eyes. ’He looks so much like him! How could I not have known!’
Was it because she had convinced herself Yona was dead? Was it because she had tried so hard not to think about him to avoid the pain? Now that she knew, the resemblance was undeniable. She could not believe she had not noticed it right away.
"It’s not good to exercise too hard after drinking," the boy who looked so much like Yona said with a warm smile, beginning to close the door. "I’ll explain things to Godric. Please rest."
"W-Wait!" she called out, raising her arm. Simon stopped.
"Is there something you want to say?"
"That is..."
’Are you really Yona’s son? Is Yona alive? And... who did he marry?’
’Why can’t I ask?’ This had never happened before. She could not understand her own turbulent emotions, her own hesitation.
At that moment, Simon said, "I’m sorry. Excuse me for a moment."
He strode over and placed a hand on her forehead. "It’s not the alcohol. I think you’re running a bit of a fever."
The Grand Duke’s body froze.
’This boy.’
’He’s definitely Yona’s son.’
Simon removed his hand, his expression worried, and sighed deeply. "I think you should go to your bedroom."
Her body stiffened like iron ore. "...What did you say?"

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