Chapter 671
Ever since the Three Brothers were destroyed, the relentless undead attacks that had plagued the North every day disappeared.
-It seems even the North Star is now gathering his remaining forces and preparing for a defensive battle.
That was the Grand Duke’s analysis.
Of course, the threat had not completely vanished.
After the hive units—the Three Brothers—were annihilated, the undead under their command scattered across the North. Among them, some even formed new groups of their own.
They could attack humans at any time. It was a dangerous situation. Above all, before the North Star made contact with them and pulled them into his forces, they needed to be swiftly crushed one by one.
This time, Simon toured the North with Akemius and Herseba at his side.
Kiiiiiiiik!
While the Skullwings soared through the sky, tearing apart the undead, Simon stood at the rear giving commands, his gaze drifting toward Akemius.
‘I’m curious about Akemius’ Geheim… but still…’
Simon thought Akemius was harder to understand than even Erzebet or Prince.
Akemius was the most loyal undead of the Legion, and the reason he followed Simon was simple: loyalty.
That was all. Their wills and interests aligned, and if a Geheim truly existed, it should have already manifested.
“...Akemius.”
[Yes, Young Master.]
A relationship of lord and vassal.
There was no bond as simple as the one between Akemius and Simon.
But what if there was something more? What if some conditions had yet to be fulfilled?
“Why do you follow me, Akemius?”
He started with the most fundamental question.
In response, Akemius smiled.
[Loyalty does not require a reason.]
Blind loyalty.
It was the kind of answer Simon expected from Akemius. But still—
‘Even if it doesn’t require a reason, there must have been something that made him swear such blind loyalty to me.’
Simon already had an idea of what that “something” was.
Because he was the 7th Legion’s Commander?
No.
Because he radiated the charisma of a lord worth serving?
No.
“…It’s because I am my father’s son, isn’t it?”
Akemius never called Simon lord.
He called him Young Master.
Simon remembered their very first meeting. Akemius had clasped him with trembling hands, scrutinizing his face with tears of emotion.
—You look exactly like Lord Richard.
—Forgive my disloyalty, Young Master! This humble servant Akemius is shamefully late in joining the 7th Legion.
The shadow of Simon’s father, Richard, lay heavily across his life.
Richard had been such an extraordinary figure as a Legion Commander.
That legacy sometimes brought Simon fortune and new allies, but at other times, it was an obstacle.
Which was it, in Akemius’ case?
[You are the son of the lord I once served. Moreover, you are the rightful heir who inherited command of the 7th Legion.]
Akemius knelt on one knee, lowering himself to Simon’s eye level. In his gaze burned a fierce light of loyalty.
[There is no deficiency in you, Young Master, to be the one I devote my life and soul to serve.]
“……”
Simon closed his eyes.
Akemius’ loyalty was blind and immense. Once he chose someone to serve, that decision would never waver.
But then—when Akemius said he followed Simon because he was his father’s son—was that loyalty truly directed at Simon? Or was it still aimed at Richard?
Kiiiiiiiieee!
[Young Master! The enemy on the right flank is slipping away!]
Simon never got the chance to ask.
[Why I stick around with you?]
This time, while returning from cleaning up the remnants of the undead with Herseba’s Mummy Troop, Simon posed the same question to her.
Floating above the ground on her autonomous staff, the woman of golden sand laughed brightly.
[Well, obviously because you’re the brat who created me! Or should I say resurrected me? That’s why I’m with you.]
“Mhm.”
[Why ask something like that all of a sudden?]
“Ah, no reason, really…”
Simon scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
Looking back, his encounter with Herseba had been nothing more than a childish gamble back in his first year.
He had boasted to Professor Aron of Summonology, that he would create a Lich. And if he was going to make one, he decided to make it properly.
He spent a staggering 25,000 gold on a heart for the process, went through the steps of legionization, and after a chain of coincidences and luck, the result was the Herseba of today.
But technically, though she commanded a unit, Herseba was not truly an Ancient Undead. She hadn’t even existed for a full year, let alone a hundred.
‘Could someone like Herseba even use a Geheim?’
With that thought lingering, Simon spoke up.
“Herseba. Do you remember anything from before you became an undead?”
Herseba burst into laughter.
[Do you remember what happened right after you were born, brat? Who was around you, how you came to be?]
“…No.”
[Same here.]
She shrugged.
[Though, bits and pieces come back to me.]
“!”
Simon immediately leaned forward, listening intently. Seeing his reaction, Herseba spread her arms wide, amused.
[I was a king! I ruled over many people as their king!]
“Oh-ho.”
[But how I became king, what I was before that, why I stood in that place—I remember none of it. I only remember reigning. Then suddenly, everything went dark.]
She frowned, thinking hard.
[I must have died. Because when I opened my eyes again, I was nothing but bones. And then I saw your face. That’s all.]
Herseba had once been a Dungeon Master before her death.
That explained why her heart and skull had cost such a ridiculous price.
[Still, I like things better now!]
She giggled.
[Becoming undead and joining the Legion—it’s noisy, every day is ridiculous, the comrades around me are fun. Yeah, I like it this way.]
“I see. You don’t… have any worries, then?”
[Nope!]
Simon scratched his head again.
‘This is difficult. I can’t grasp it at all.’
No wonder Erzebet and the Prince had been “resolved” so quickly.
Compared to them, more recently-joined members like Akemius and Herseba might simply need more time for Simon to truly understand.
* * *
Simon quickly wrapped up the North Star’s remaining undead remnants, and then rejoined the Grand Duke, who had simultaneously crushed the undead on the opposite front.
After they handled only the most urgent matters, the Grand Duke’s lessons in Legion command began.
However—
[…]
Throughout the lesson, the Grand Duke’s condition was strange.
In fact, she had been like this ever since that morning.
The Grand Duke became a demon whenever lessons began. The moment Simon made a mistake, she would smash the back of his head with the scabbard, kick his legs out from under him, or send him sprawling. She used a brutal training method unthinkable in Keyzen, where most of the noble heirs were taught.
But today, she never laid a finger on Simon.
‘Ah, I missed it!’
Simon turned pale when he saw undead slipping away due to his failure to properly hold the formation. He braced himself—expecting a scabbard to crash against the back of his head, or a flying kick to land squarely on his back.
But…
[…]
The Grand Duke, standing some distance away, remained in her plate armor, arms crossed. Without a word, she simply sent her Phantom Dullahans forward with a thought, neatly covering for Simon’s mistake.
By this point, Simon was even more terrified.
‘She must really be furious…’
Since that morning, she hadn’t met his eyes, barely spoke, and didn’t even hit him. Whenever he looked her way, she quickly turned her head aside.
‘Is it because I met Count Voldemont? No, but I told her everything honestly, and she said it was fine…’
Simon’s mind spun furiously, but he could not figure out the reason.
As he tiptoed around her, the remnants of the undead were wiped out by the 7th Legion’s zombie troops. Simon approached her.
“Grand Duke, it’s finished.”
She merely nodded, turning her helmeted gaze away. Simon flinched, then bit his lip lightly.
[Let’s return.]
“Was there anything wrong with my command this time?”
[There was not.]
“What about the mistake earlier…”
[Was that your first mistake? Come.]
This icy atmosphere was unbearable. Simon clenched his fists and shouted:
“Then just hit me like usual!”
The Grand Duke jolted.
Then immediately stepped back with a startled motion.
[W-What nonsense are you spouting?!]
“You keep avoiding my eyes, acting unlike yourself…”
But she no longer heard Simon’s words.
—Hit me!
He was asking her to hit him!
What kind of demand was that? Just like the ridiculous thing about her bedroom yesterday—he truly was Yona’s son.
‘Ahem.’
Ever since she realized he was Yona’s child, she had struggled to maintain her composure. Every time she saw his face, Yona’s face overlapped with it. Every little action or word connected back to Yona.
She wanted to just ask outright.
Are you truly Yona’s son? Who was your mother? Is Yona still alive?
But the words refused to leave her mouth.
[Once again, you have done nothing wrong.]
“Then…”
[It’s only your imagination. Let’s go.]
The Grand Duke and Simon mounted their horses and rode on.
Normally, they would have exchanged jokes or small talk. The Grand Duke might have fired the Bow of Tempest for fun. But now, with the North Star’s undead driven off, there was nothing to shoot, and the silence stretched endlessly.
[Hmph.]
Finally, the Grand Duke gathered her courage and spoke first.
[Who is your father?]
“…What?”
Simon blinked at the sudden question. But he was glad she was finally speaking to him again, so he answered readily.
“Richard Follentia. A baron of the Baldwin Kingdom.”
From within her helmet, the Grand Duke’s eyes gleamed sharply.
‘So Yona’s real name was Richard Follentia… No wonder “Yona” felt odd. Of course it must have been an alias.’
She etched the name Richard Follentia into her memory and asked again:
[Then…]
“Grand Duke!”
A messenger on horseback burst onto the road, cutting her off. The Grand Duke yanked her reins to stop.
[What is it?]
“A-a disaster!”
The messenger’s face was pale as death.
Hearing his report, both the Grand Duke and Simon turned white. Without a word, they spurred their horses into a full gallop toward Bilkenos.
* * *
Thud!
The ground trembled.
Thud! Thud!
Spears clashed in rhythm.
Overhead, countless banners snapped in the wind, while the sound of marching boots thundered across the earth.
A colossal army pushed through sleet and snow, leaving countless footprints across the vast frozen plain.
“So this is the North, eh?”
At the head of the force, a black-skinned man clad in gleaming armor astride a massive warhorse surveyed the land.
His name was Romario, supreme commander of the Carlos Kingdom’s Northeastern Front.
“Damn, it’s cold. How can anyone live in a place like this?”
Grumbling atop an undead mount, his body covered in tattoos and piercings, was another man—Carlos Kingdom’s infamous war necromancer, Chronos.
The massive host of Carlos Kingdom was marching straight for Bilkenos.
And at Bilkenos, the gates of the fortress city stood wide open. From them, someone strolled out to meet the invaders.
“You must have had a hard journey.”
The Watcher of the North.
Count Voldemont spread his arms wide, a smirk curling his lips.
“Welcome to the North.”
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