Secret. (2)

Winter's frontier, the Phairden dynasty was an independent kingdom. The ninth nation named Phairden.

However, due to the expansion of the untamed lands and the harshness of the north, the dynasty didn't last long. Three hundred years ago, when the Kingdom of Krevaim proclaimed itself an empire, it was incorporated under the pretext of the "Allied Nations."

Thus, Phairden became the cornerstone of the empire.

"...Those damn fools say the empire's spoils made the north weak, or that without imperial support, the north would have fallen long ago."

Zeit explained northern history to the young ones. Karos and Leo listened with sparkling eyes.

"But the north has always protected the capital. While the empire waged war against kingdoms, the north fought blood battles against mana beasts. You can't forget that. The central bastards might not know, but you must... And back when I was a kid, mana beasts were the size of houses. I especially remember this whale bastard called 'Behemoth.' That one was a real pain to take down."

Northern history was a chain of wars and struggles, so even the study-hating kids seemed intrigued.

"...So, where's your boss?"

Zeit, mid-ramble about "back in my day" for the umpteenth time, suddenly asked. Leo answered.

"Ganesha?"

"Yeah, that twin-tailed tomboy."

"Tom...boy? Uh, dunno what that means, but Ganesha stepped out for a bit!"

Zeit nodded, then glanced sideways, gauging reactions.

Julie, Sylvia, Premien. Their gazes bored into him—siiiiizzzzling hot.

"...Spit it out if you've got questions. Don't just stare. Huh?"

Julie jumped in like she'd been waiting.

"Patriarch. Why have you come up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠here all of a sudden?"

"Scouting. Checking how Recorak's doing under Deculein. But more than that..."

Zeit pointed at Sylvia.

"Why's the lady of Ilayde here? You a spy or something?"

"I have business."

Sylvia replied coolly, unflinching.

Feeling awkwardly embarrassed, Zeit chin-nodded at the ponytail bureaucrat beside her.

"What about you, central pencil-pusher?"

"On duty. Can't disclose details."

Premien's curt response. Zeit shook his head, visibly dissatisfied.

"Central folk always got so many secrets."

"Doesn't Phairden have plenty of its own?"

"..."

For a split second, Zeit's pupils dilated. The relay station's air chilled instantly.

A monstrous pressure surged. Teacups shattered, convection currents went wild. An aura like a hammer blow.

Premien withstood his hostility and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

"Don't be too angry. I'm from the north too."

"...You got sponsorship from Father."

"Yes."

Premien's short reply. Zeit's lips twitched before he burst out laughing.

"Hahaha! Shoulda said so sooner. Almost misunderstood ya!"

Thwack! Thwack! His massive hand clapped her shoulder.

Premien wobbled like a paper doll.

"Touch me again and I can sue for assault."

"Hahaha! This one's got humor. Anyway, you're north-born alright. Carrying that certificate so long shows loyalty... Man, how'd Father spot you? He had an eye for people—climbing to a central post proves it..."

Zeit rambled on.

Julie sighed, gazing out the window. The blizzard still raged.

"Patriarch."

"...Huh?"

Julie looked at Zeit, deadly serious.

"Why are you here?"

"..."

Zeit's face hardened. Sylvia and Premien watched the two. Pretending nonchalance, but gauging.

Zeit took a small breath.

"You don't need to know."

Zeit had private business with Deculein. Something Yuseffin had "inferred."

"...Yes, sir."

Julie replied curtly. Zeit smirked.

"Sulking, huh."

"No. Do you still see me as a child?"

"What child? That face from back then is exactly the same."

Seventeen years ago? The face when she'd briefly set aside her sword due to injury.

"...Mind your own business."

"Fine."

Zeit tuned Julie out. She usually listened well to such...

But this time, another kid stared intently.

The one called "Lia."

"Kid. You got something to say?"

"..."

Lia swallowed hard, mustered courage.

"Could you... maybe take a look at my martial arts? Pleeease?!"

Bold request from the kid. Watching, Julie realized the unease she'd felt.

She resembled her.

The woman Deculein once loved.

"...Martial arts?"

"If it's too much, it's fineee...!"

Even as she spoke, she assumed master-disciple pose. Knees bent back, arms extended flat—classic northern courtesy.

So cute, Zeit laughed.

"Alright. I'll check it out. You from the north too?"

"No! I'm from the southern seas!"

"Oh~ Southern seas? Rare one. Fine. All three of ya—once the blizzard ends, I'll take a look."

"Yay! Thank you!"

Julie watched Zeit and the kids a bit longer. Her gaze especially stuck on "Lia."

Night at the relay station.

"..."

Yuseffin, who followed Zeit, perched on a tree branch, gazing at the soundly sleeping Julie.

Her sister visible through the window. Even in sleep, her face wasn't peaceful.

"...Poor Julie."

She murmured softly, lost in thought.

"Rumors are swirling in the palace..."

Yuseffin had many worries lately.

The palace rumor: Sophien's poisoning attempt. Backed by Phairden's former patriarch... their father.

"Deculein probably knows..."

And Deculein knew. Or must know. All evidence pointed there.

He'd investigated madly, mobilized every shadow for inference.

Sophien pressuring him publicly? Nothing special.

She'd always been deeply political.

"But dear husband probably loves you, so... Oh."

Yuseffin tapped her mouth. Voice too loud.

Of course, if Julie woke, she'd detect breath alone—but caution never hurt.

"...Anyway."

Yuseffin closed her eyes,organizing her thoughts.

Professor Deculein still loved Julie, stepped aside for her. Now, enduring Sophien's pressure to protect her.

Falling from grace meant certain death.

"..."

Opening her eyes, Yuseffin looked skyward.

Deculein, man with purest heart. Beautiful inside, unlike his exterior.

Perhaps loving Julie more than she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did.

"But... until you heal, it's a secret."

Yuseffin clasped hands in prayer. Wishing for the Julie inside.

Please, get better soon.

Heal healthy, fly happy.

The morning after the blizzard cleared, the advance began early.

Teams geared up, conscripting prisoners as porters. First "culling."

—Opening the gate!

With the shout, grinding gears roared—kiiigigigik. Recorak's massive barrier parted.

Beyond it, Julie, Ifrin, Drent, Allen—named ones set out with varied expressions.

"..."

I watched from midway up the mountain wrapping Recorak's right flank. Not everyone needed to go; base defense too.

Plus, northern mana density was thick. Trees everywhere amplified it.

Ideal for mana training.

"...Hoo."

I conjured a chair mid-mountain, sat, breathed deep.

The training called "mental method."

Aim: Complete this Memorize.

Imprint 99% metal reinforcement into my Psychokinesis. Circulate mana through body via breath, complete Reinforcement circuit.

Time to reap half-year's effort.

"...Haa."

Inhale, exhale. Flesh-tearing pain persisted, but no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠need to overdo.

Anyway...?

Then, black smoke rose from the ridge below.

Black stark against white. Enemy alert.

I checked my watch. Three hours passed.

—Loose arrows!

Shout nearby. I rode neck steel down the slope.

—Fire!

On Recorak's barrier, prisoners under guards loosed arrows.

Target: "Ice Wolves" beyond—monsters cloaked in frigid crystals.

Of course they'd raid right after spotting our sortie. Wolf mana beasts were clever.

Sweeeeeesh—!

I drove neck steel through one's throat. It died soundlessly.

"Professor!"

A guard atop the wall pointed. I looked.

In the nearby snowfield, white mana beasts crouched, growling.

Ice wolf pack.

Whiiiish—!

I levitated neck steel. Surveyed the field calmly. Beasts stretched to distant downslope—hundreds easy.

Grrrrr—!

Surveying, vanguard wolves charged, jaws agape.

I jammed steel in its maw. Head split, blood sprayed.

Another lunged from side. Steel cleanly severed neck.

Yet numbers held. Over a hundred frontally, some intelligently flanking rear.

Whatever. Killed the one in front first.

Slammed steel into brow. Skull burst, brains spilled. Splatter blocked by psychokinesis.

Yelp—! Grrrrr—! Kiiigigik—!

Flesh-ripping noises.

Like splitting logs, I butchered charging mana beasts across snowfield. Frontal ones pulverized, flankers ground.

Then, mid-stride.

Thud—!

Mole burst from ground, bit my wrist, gnawed fiercely.

Craaack—!

Tore its twisting torso with neck steel. Bones, guts crushed, sprayed everywhere.

"..."

I calmly checked wrist. Mere scratch. Healing already.

Iron Man at work.

—Professor! We'll help!

Guards and prisoners rushed out, weapons raised. In response, enemy horde rose like blizzard in distant field.

Nineteen neck steels might fall short.

I psychokinetically snatched weapons from their grips.

"Huh?!"

Guards panicked, but I hurled axes first.

Boomerang-curving blades slew dozens. Maces similarly.

Clang—clang—kiiigigik—!

Nineteen steels plus dozens of blades floated, slicing wolves...

...Prisoners and guards at the wall were speechless. They gawked at Deculein—at the scene he wrought alone.

He crushed the wolf pack. Orbiting mace caved brows, axes cleaved waists.

"Hah..."

Weapons whirled like satellites around Deculein.

Monsters caught in trajectories shredded effortlessly. Dead before teeth bared.

Amid it, Deculein strode the corpse swamp—proud, elegant.

An out-of-the-ordinary existence pulverizing the battlefield. North's haughtiest noble, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wrecking like a demon.

"What're you lot doing? Cover him!"

"Need covering?"

"..."

But no surprise. We'd just forgotten briefly.

Demon hunter, Yukline.

That house's founder and ancient traditions no lie—Deculein its lawful heir.

"...Still, can't just watch! Charge!"

Guards and prisoners belatedly joined.

Meanwhile, same time. Serene imperial palace.

—Letter here!

Sophien received Deculein's reply. Specially hired adventurer delivered unseen by eunuchs.

"...Hmph. A reply, despite 'don't send.'"

Sophien eyed the envelope, displeased.

Deculein as ever: neat, luxurious. Mana-sealed like an artifact.

"Tch. What grand prose did he write?"

Sophien pouted, secretly expectant.

His writings famed even in capital. Sentences poetic, surely.

Slowly, carefully slit envelope, read.

"..."

Sophien read. Took three seconds.

"..."

Blankly stared, flipped letter. Maybe more on back.

"..."

Nothing.

Flipped to top sheet.

Flip—

Bottom sheet again.

Flip—

Nothing.

"..."

Sophien tilted head.

Emperor sends twenty-plus lines, should get equal effort.

This stiff fool took "no reply needed" literally?

Well, true no reply needed, but.

"...Ah."

Sudden thought. Another sheet?

Checked envelope.

"..."

Empty.

"..."

Deculein's letter truly one line.

Sophien crumpled it tight.

"...Damn it."

Hurled it, flopped on bed. Had work, but suddenly loathed it.

Felt insulted—state affairs suddenly annoying...