Chapter 676
A secret land forbidden to mankind.
Frost Field.
Through the raging blizzards and biting cold, an army was pressing across the ridgeline.
“Uwahahaha! This is fun! Fun indeed!”
Chronos, riding atop a massive undead crab, burst into wild laughter. Each time he shook his body with mirth, the undead crab clicked its claws in response.
“By now, the Northerners must be in an uproar, right? Just imagining the rotten face of the Grand Duke makes my heart race with excitement!”
“Sir Chronos.”
Count Voldemont walked up beside him and spoke.
“The soldiers are exhausted and freezing to death. Don’t you think we’re marching too hastily?”
“Hah! Don’t make a fuss over a soldier or two, Count!”
Chronos laughed cheerfully and spread a new magic circle on his palm.
“You say you’re worried the Grand Duke’s pursuit might catch us? That’s why we have to hurry up, catch the North Star, and claim Frost Field for ourselves. Hup!”
He admired the freshly drawn circle, then flicked his wrist to toss it skyward.
Like a floating balloon, the magic circle drifted upward. The Count’s gaze naturally followed.
Gogogogogogo!
Above the marching Royal Army, a massive magic circle spread out like an artificial sun. Chronos’ circle attached itself into an empty slot of the colossal one, and its circuits connected.
The inscriptions began to shift as though parts of a great machine were interlocking.
“A little gift for you, boys!”
Chronos shouted back.
“I just numbed most of your pain receptors! Now you won’t even feel the cold!”
The circle glowed an even deeper crimson. A reddish aura spread over the soldiers’ bodies, and their movements grew swifter.
“But I’ll admit, Count, I’m a little surprised.”
Chronos turned to Voldemont with a grin.
“I despise the nuisance of fine-tuning curses. By default, I cast them on all humans except myself and Romario. So how is it you’re walking around unaffected?”
“These are thanks to artifacts imbued with curse resistance.”
The Count spread open his coat, revealing countless ornaments dangling from within.
“I came prepared for meeting Sir Chronos.”
“Hahahaha! Thorough as the rumors said! I’ve been had, haven’t I?”
The Count’s eyes gleamed with seriousness.
“When this is over, as promised, the governance of the Northern Fiefdom will be mine.”
“Of course. That’s exactly what ‘Watchers’ are for.”
Chronos stroked his chin, then turned back to glance behind.
“Still, by now the pursuit should be coming, shouldn’t it~?”
“The Grand Duke won’t come.”
Up ahead, Commander Romario spoke in a low tone.
“She isn’t the type to ruin matters by moving recklessly. We must focus on destroying the North Star.”
“True, true.”
Count Voldemont unfolded his map, checked the compass, and pointed forward.
“It’s right there.”
The Royal Army crested the summit at last and looked down below. Romario’s and Chronos’s eyes widened simultaneously.
“Chilling.”
Romario muttered.
“Exhilarating.”
Chronos countered.
Watching their opposite reactions, the Count bowed politely.
“There lies the dwelling of the North Star, ruler of Frost Field for over a thousand years. ‘Abyss’.”
What they saw below was a blood-red basin floor.
The Abyss stretched across a hollow depression in the Frost Field mountains. Countless undead nests sprawled across it, with creatures scuttling rapidly out of them. And at the very center, a gaping hole pierced the ground.
A pit so deep and dark its end was unknowable.
“So that’s where the North Star hides, eh?”
Chronos licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, snickering. At that moment, Romario, still gazing at the Abyss, quietly turned.
“They’re coming.”
“Huh? What is? The Grand Duke’s pursuit?”
“No.”
Kuuuurururung!
The entire mountain quaked. Avalanches poured down from the ridges like painted strokes on a canvas.
But these avalanches moved with intent, steering themselves toward the Royal Army.
Srrrng!
Romario drew his sword.
“It’s the army of the North Star.”
Indeed, within the avalanches, large and small eyes gleamed. Chronos chuckled, spreading circles over both palms.
“Let’s put on a show!”
He launched the circles skyward, fusing them into the overhead array. Crimson light flared even stronger, igniting the soldiers’ eyes.
“Behold, the way I—Chronos, Necromancer of Armies—deal with an ambush!”
* * *
The North did not pursue the Royal Army. Instead, they moved according to their planned schedule.
During these two days, the Grand Duke scarcely had time to oversee Simon’s training. She had to devote herself to restoring Hate and rebuilding the power of the 2nd Legion.
Simon too began personal training. Before leaving to restore the 2nd Legion, the Grand Duke had carefully drafted a detailed schedule for him. Simon simply had to follow it.
And in the spare moments between, whether during breaks or on rest days, he focused on locating the Ancient Undeads’ Geheim.
[You’ve been spending a lot of time with me lately, kid.]
Herseba spoke. A woman with long hair of sand sat cross-legged on the floating staff above him.
[So what are we training today? Controlling Mummies? Or shall we open the World of Sand for old time’s sake?]
“That drains too much power. The campaign’s soon.”
Simon stopped walking, sat on a boulder, and rummaged through his bag.
“Today isn’t about training. I want to talk.”
[Talk about what?]
“About your life before you became undead.”
From his bag, he pulled out drawing tools.
He unfolded the tripod legs with a clack and set a canvas on top.
“And about the place you once lived.”
[I told you before, didn’t I? I barely remember!]
“Then this is the perfect chance to take it slow and recall.”
Simon picked up some pigments.
[Wait, you’re gonna draw?]
“Sort of. Don’t mind me.”
This canvas had originally been for Keyzen’s Monarch Studies class, used for practicing foreign calligraphy. But Simon had bought paints too, being more interested in pictures than penmanship.
He wasn’t especially skilled, but back during his leisurely days in Leshill, he had tried sketching landscapes now and then.
[So you want to draw and hear my story?]
“Both.”
Simon quickly brushed a rough undercoat onto the white canvas.
“You said before you once reigned as a king before becoming undead, right?”
[Of course! I ruled over countless subjects!]
Herseba began to chatter cheerfully.
In her past life, she had been a ‘Dungeon Master’. Yet she remembered nothing of why she had been in a dungeon, nor how she became its sovereign.
Perhaps because of that, whenever asked about her past, she showed a shy, reluctant reaction. She claimed she barely remembered, that they weren’t good memories anyway, and asked why he kept prying.
But Simon sensed a subtle emotion hidden in her voice.
It was longing.
And he believed he must not overlook it.
“How long had you been king?”
[I don’t know. Back then I had no sense of time… but it felt like I ruled for a very, very long time.]
“I see. And how did it feel to be king?”
Since she didn’t remember events clearly, Simon asked instead about her emotions.
[Hmm…]
She pondered deeply before answering.
[Lonely?]
“Lonely?”
Simon paused mid-brush, startled.
“But a king rules many people. Usually there’s no time to feel lonely, right?”
[Well…]
She scratched the side of her head in embarrassment.
[My memory is hazy, but— our people were a bit… strange.]
“What do you mean?”
[They didn’t react. Like machines, I guess? They never did anything on their own for me. They just stiffly carried out their tasks.]
Her voice weakened.
[If I asked them to play with me, they played. If I asked for a hug, they hugged. Only when I gave explicit orders would they move. They never once approached me first.]
“……”
[That’s why I like things better now.]
She lifted her head toward the blue sky.
[I get scolded by Feer, fight every day with Erzebet, build sandcastles with Prince, and even Akemius, though blunt, is kind. Even when I stay still, they come to me first. They do things I never asked for, things I never expected. Sometimes it annoys me—]
Her lips curved upward.
[But I like it. This new life.]
Simon smiled warmly.
“That’s a relief.”
Simon kept urging her to tell more of her past. Herseba retraced her memories, speaking whatever fragments came to mind.
Simon got a clear impression.
When she spoke of her city, the emotions she conveyed were unmistakably longing, wistfulness, and yearning.
‘Yet at the same time, she did not seem satisfied with her life as Dungeon Master. She longs for and yearns for it, yet she wasn’t satisfied?’
That doesn’t add up.
The more he listened, the stronger a peculiar impression grew. Until finally, Simon realized—
It wasn’t the Dungeon Master’s life she yearned for.
‘Something further back.’
Though he didn’t know why she became Dungeon Master, there had been some kind of life even before that.
It made sense if you thought about her ability.
She possessed a power to reconstruct the life she longed for out of sand. The reason her subjects never responded to her might have been because she herself had built them with that ability.
[Ridiculous, isn’t it?]
She gave a bitter smile.
[That I would yearn for a shred of a dream I can’t even remember.]
She wasn’t sure if that life was something she had truly lived, or merely a fiction born from her imagination.
So she found herself absurd, being shackled to a life she couldn’t even recall.
“The question of whether it’s real or not doesn’t matter.”
Simon’s lips curved into a smile.
“What matters is what you think of it, what meaning you give it. That’s why I’m even more curious about your story.”
Tak.
At last, Simon put down his brush. Then, a little shyly, he lifted the canvas and showed it to Herseba.
[Ah.]
Her eyes went wide.
It was the golden city Herseba had once crafted with her World of Sand.
But—
“I painted your imagined hometown… with a little more color.”
The golden city had always been entirely of sand, monotone.
But Simon’s painting was different.
Treehouses and brick houses coexisted. Grass and trees grew. People were smiling.
[Ah.]
Honestly, the result wasn’t particularly well-drawn. But the effort and sincerity showed.
Her body trembled.
[Aaah.]
She—
She thought she was crying.
Though a body of sand could shed no tears, the emotion was there. If she’d had flesh, tears would have come.
Then Simon reached out and gently wiped the corner of her eye.
She felt joy.
That someone would acknowledge and respect something that might not even exist.
[Th… thank you.]
As though reflecting her emotion, Darkness began to surge from Herseba’s body.
Kugugugugugugugu!
She was casting Golden Transmutation. She was trying to recreate the city Simon had painted.
Simon flinched and stepped back, a strange elation washing over him.
It felt—
‘Just like when Prince uses Corpse Explosion…!’
Kugugugugugugugugugugu!
Herseba’s Golden Transmutation rumbled, and from it rose the largest city she had ever manifested outside her World of Sand.
[Aaaaaah!]
Watching the buildings soar, Simon felt certain.
‘This is it.’
This was Herseba’s Geheim.
[Ah!]
Kuurururung!
In the next instant, with her shrill cry, the city collapsed like a sandcastle before the tide.
Simon, watching, gave a wry smile.
‘Still a long way to go, it seems.’
[Agh!]
She writhed in frustration.
“Why did it fail all of a sudden?”
[Not enough imagination! I can build the central city, but I don’t know how to make the outskirts!]
“That much is fine.”
Simon rolled up his sleeves and sat before the canvas again.
“I can draw as much as you need. Let’s try again! Anything else come to mind about the city?”
And so, after long attempts—
On the eve of war with the North Star, Herseba’s Geheim was finally prepared.
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