Northern Duke Wolfmund
Shimmering fur draped over his tailcoat like a scarf, Northern Duke Wolfmund's face bore only boredom. It had been ages since Princess Bella's personal letter had drawn his steps here, but this palace was as ill-fitting now as it had ever been. He merely wet his lips with his glass.
Connoisseurs of the North often compared him to Cron or Fabian. A transcendent monster blending Fabian's skill with Cron's raw power. Of course, those in the know understood he couldn't be summed up so simply. Especially not after he'd pierced through hell's hordes in the North's brutal winters, defending the kingdom from every manner of monster.
Compared to him, those two were still greenhorns with worlds of experience ahead. And yet, he stayed silent. Guarding the North's walls against monsters, witches, demons, and fanatical cultists who worshipped evil gods had taught him that such rumors were trivialities.
Slurp. What mattered was the greater cause. That's why he'd come today.
Bella de Carbon. Heir to the Carbon Kingdom—built atop a dragon's corpse and central to the continental alliance against the Empire—surely had a cause worthy of his ear.
In other words, Northern Duke Wolfmund hadn't come to dance. He'd come for the private talks afterward, to discuss the princess's and the kingdom's fortunes. Ever since his master had vanished, these were the sorts of things that caught his interest. The rest felt dull, childish.
'……Monster Island subjugation.'
That piqued his curiosity. He'd heard of the kingdom's headache at the far east end, lodged somewhere in the Dead Sea—threatening fishermen's livelihoods and even major trade caravans.
A fallen house's unaffiliated guard had resolved it? In the North, that would've earned a fitting reward. Whether from ambition or pure righteousness, he couldn't say.
'Hansu.' For the first time, he etched a new name into his mind, tilting his glass once more.
The crowd buzzed. Starting with Ivan, who stammered with a complicated expression, a few raised mild doubts—but when Karina, the genius mage, invoked her master, the continent-renowned magic tower grand mage Albareon, the sparks died instantly.
Twinkle. Right in front of me, her crystal ring gleamed almost convulsively. Karina thrust it forward, then pulled out what looked like a wanted poster sketch from her bosom.
Flutter.
'……She actually drew this?'
Neither the ring nor the sketch existed in the original novel, but that was irrelevant. The sketch vaguely resembled me, sure, but it hardly mattered now. People were already buying it.
"I knew he was no ordinary man."
"As expected."
The Golden Knights' captain and Black Horse Knights' leader nodded as if they'd suspected all along.
Karina, Cron, Fabian. When luminaries known across not just Carbon Kingdom but the entire eastern continent nodded in conviction, who wouldn't believe?
"Woooah!"
"To meet the legendary hero here!"
"Subjugating Monster Island!"
"Incredible—how did you survive that hellhole?!"
"You're so cool, for real!"
"For the continent's safety… you're a brave soul."
"Hahaha! An honor to meet you."
I finally understood the phrase "innumerable handshake requests." As attention and smiles poured down like a downpour, I didn't know where to look.
Smirk, smirk—!
In the back, Ivan Hellenger's face tomato-red, glaring daggers at me before bolting off somewhere.
'Whatever. Deal with it.'
I harbored no goodwill toward the bastard anyway. Just recalling his sudden attack in the Dead Sea was enough.
That's when it happened.
Trailing where he'd fled like a coward, I spotted Simona.
'Ha. You always run into the ones you gotta meet, huh?'
I let out a hollow chuckle, knowing their duo from the original novel—when suddenly my back prickled. And silence fell.
Huh? Why's it so quiet?
Glancing ahead, the young ladies who'd rushed to ask me to dance were retreating, eyes wide. I turned slowly at the ensuing sound.
Clack, clack.
Then I realized why everyone stared behind me.
Clack.
Carbon Kingdom's princess approached me.
The same moment. Evening dusk settling.
Carbon Palace's south gate annex corridor.
Thud.
A shadow slipped like thread over the gray-white wall etched with royal barriers.
Click.
Leather-gloved fingertip tracing the groove, a single brick silently pushed inward. A hidden crevice yawned with faint noise.
"Found ya."
Selin grinned greedily. In her hand, after dipping in and out: an intricate seal.
One of Carbon Kingdom's secret seals.
A relic from the continental wars, used to relay special missions to allied nations—now forgotten. Meaningless today, yet coveted as rare treasure, hidden in secret spots. Sell to collectors across the continent, and it'd fetch a fortune.
Shff.
Tucking the secret seal into her subspace pouch, honey practically dripped from Selin's eyes.
"Stay cool, stay cool. This is just the start, Selin. No freaking out."
She murmured to herself, fingertip erasing faint barrier traces. The secret seal wasn't hidden in just one spot, but this wasn't the main course anyway.
With the gala dragging late into the night, guards shifted to the grand hall. She exploited that surveillance gap with a quick detour.
Pat pat. Dusting hands, she rose—heading straight for the VIP quarters.
Fwump. Fwump fwump.
Slipping secretly between buildings, walls, roofs—when suddenly, at a bent corner ahead, a spear tip glinted.
"Tch."
Selin plastered to the wall in an instant. Gripping her thigh-wrapped whip handle—
Thud, clank. Thud, clank.
Two kingdom soldiers passed her by, spears gripped double-handed side-by-side. Classic patrol posture... but
'What the hell.'
...something was off. Patrol routes and times she'd meticulously scouted didn't match this angle at this hour. And beyond that...
...weird. They moved like ordinary folk at a glance, but up close, an uncanny dissonance. Not natural—flailing through empty air. Eyes distant from any normal person's.
...As if possessed.
The same moment. Ballroom lanterns swaying like a sea in the distance.
Whoosh.
Before iron gates overlooking the palace graveyard.
"Who are you?"
"Ord...in...ary... g-guest..."
"Your task?"
"Act... nor...mal..."
"If someone other than me speaks to you?"
"Bo...dy... hurts..."
"Good. Resume your seat."
"On... duty..."
Staggering caretakers shuffled off unevenly. Gray-white smoke from their napes dispersed—the curse.
Its caster, Bain, smirked in satisfaction, stepping through the open gates. Plain clothes, plain face.
Tap.
Entering the palace graveyard, vast aligned tombstones blanketed the hill. Bain knelt by the foremost.
Raising his index fingernail, he scratched a straight line beneath. Black smoke faintly seeped.
Hand shrouded in coiling black mist to his lips, Bain tasted it.
Smack smack.
Nodding contentedly, he rose slowly. Arms outstretched, palms wide—black mist bloomed from fingertips.
As it spread to graveyard corners, grotesque throbs echoed everywhere. Whispers of the dead.
Savoring the noise, Bain nodded at frost-like mist over tombstones, then turned.
The remains were ready. Now, just bide the hour.
This was his edge as the industry's top assassin.
"Set the fire in the garden and bring the knife to the bedroom."
Create massive chaos, then kill the target amid it. Some questioned his skill for the noise, but with his creed—no witnesses, no evidence—he claimed top spot.
Master of necromancy raising skeleton hordes and curses tied to the underworld, Bain pioneered new ground.
Necromancer Bain. For his final retirement gig, plotting an unprecedented "assassination," he chuckled softly.
'After this, I'm done with this shit.'
Turning toward the kingdom's monster exhibit hall.