The Valhalla Warrior Project
Several days had passed since our return from the village of Hamstone.
The realm was still in turmoil.
According to Father, demonic stirrings had been confirmed across the entire south.
"And so, for the time being, I intend to focus on stabilizing the territory's security rather than developing the mines. Vilheim, Sir Ren."
"Yes."
"Yes, my lord."
"I'd like a word with the two of you privately. Khtun, Sir Valt — you may take your leave."
After the meeting ended, I fell into step with Sir Valt as a matter of course.
Ordinarily we would have walked together as far as the training grounds before splitting off on our separate business, but today, for whatever reason, Sir Valt called me to a stop.
"Young master, might I have a brief word? It won't take long."
"Ah, of course."
"Shall we walk a while?"
We left the inner keep and strolled through the town.
The town of Palatus.
Palatus, translated, meant "the origin of Falaon."
Long ago, after our ancestor founded Falaon upon this land, he gave it that name.
Looks worse than it did in my day. Tch.
Leaving my grumbling ancestor behind me, I studied Sir Valt walking ahead.
What on earth was this about?
He'd said he wanted to talk, yet Sir Valt showed no sign of opening his mouth. He simply wandered the town like a man weighed down by heavy thoughts.
It was only after some further time had passed that he finally spoke.
"Were you... all right, after what happened?"
"After what happened...?"
"The Mouth of Targis."
"Ah."
I nodded.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"To be frank, even for someone like me who's rolled through battlefield after battlefield, that was a horrifying opponent. It would be no wonder if you'd taken a shock, young master."
"Well, I won't claim I wasn't shaken — but not enough for it to become a real problem."
At my words, a faint smile touched the corner of Sir Valt's mouth.
"As expected of a Falaon."
Yes. As expected of a Falaon.
What was that supposed to mean? A compliment on the strength of my mental fortitude, I supposed. I decided to take it that way. In context, it certainly wasn't an insult.
"But the reason you called for me..."
"It's about the treatment of Zeke and Milo."
"Sir Zeke and Sir Milo?"
"Yes."
An unexpected subject. Why bring up Zeke and Milo's standing all of a sudden?
"Do you mean to punish them? I thought we'd already agreed not to hold that day's events against them..."
"Correct. We agreed not to punish them for fleeing. Better to find some way to survive and return than die a dog's death on the spot."
"Yes, but then why...?"
Sir Valt answered evenly.
"Because they aspire to knighthood."
"Pardon?"
"As soldiers, we will not hold their actions against them. But they wish to become your knights, young master. And a knight is one who stands by his lord's side no matter the circumstances."
In other words:
Their conduct may have been acceptable for soldiers... but for men who dream of knighthood, it's a problem.
He's right. Skill aside, their mental fortitude falls far short of what a knight should possess.
My ancestor nodded along in agreement.
Sir Valt fell silent for a moment, as if giving me time to process, then spoke again.
"If you intend to take those two as your knights, young master, I would like to train them myself."
"Those two?"
"Yes."
He added that both of them were a long way from maturity — mentally and in terms of skill. Their combat techniques had been cobbled together without any proper foundation, and their mental discipline still carried the bad habits peculiar to mercenaries.
"What will you do?"
"Hmm."
I considered it for a moment. Whether to take them as knights or not. In truth, the answer was already decided.
"Once they're ready, I'll take them as my knights."
"You will?"
Sir Valt smiled with what seemed like quiet satisfaction at my answer. He didn't ask why my thinking had changed from before. And why would he? There had been ample cause.
The Mouth of Targis. The stirring demons. And above all, Vilheim's words from that day still echoed in my ears.
—That arm...
—It belongs to a Worshipper. I'll explain the details later.
None of this had been a naturally occurring incident. It was a terrorist act, planned and executed by someone. In a situation like this, there was no reason to refuse an opportunity to strengthen our forces.
"Then I'll take charge of those two for the time being. Ah, and one more thing..."
Sir Valt's clear, transparent eyes met mine. And he said:
"The lord will fill you in on the details once he's finished speaking with young master Vilheim and the mage Ren... but if I may offer some advice, it would be wise for you to prepare as well, young master."
I didn't ask what I was supposed to prepare for. We both already knew.
And besides—
I'm already preparing.
The so-called Valhalla Warrior Training Project.
That was it.
A brief aside.
What exactly was the "Valhalla Warrior Training Project"?
It was a plan inspired by Myuhan the Demon Hunter, whom I'd recently made into an undead. Simply put...
Just recruiting more undead.
Of course, I wasn't planning to mass-produce cases like Myuhan. What kind of person would do that? I still had a human heart, thank you very much.
This was simply...
Mass production.
I made my way to the "workshop" — though "warehouse" would have been a more accurate name for the space Father had built for me. Someone was waiting for me there.
"You've arrived. And Arch as well — greetings."
Mm.
It was Brother Myuhan, now a skeleton. Having become an undead, he seemed to have decided to display his faith more openly — he was wearing the sacred relics of the Twelve Hour Church for all to see. A necklace, a rosary, even a ring.
And Myuhan wasn't the only one in the workshop.
"Ah... Brother Khtun, you've come."
"Brother James, have you been well?"
"Didn't we just greet each other last night? Haha."
He laughed cheerfully. But contrary to his smile, his face looked unusually exhausted. Well, that was fair enough. Ever since returning from Hamstone village, he hadn't taken a single day of rest from purifying cores.
"How is the purification coming along?"
"The lesser demons' cores total six hundred thirty-three, and the purification is nearly finished. It should wrap up today or tomorrow. The problem is the core left behind by the Mouth of Targis..."
Brother James continued with a bitter smile.
"It's not easy."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. It's a higher-ranking demon than we expected. When it fought us, it seemed unable to bring its full power to bear for some reason... but even so, a considerable amount of demonic energy is condensed within."
"I see."
Apparently, purifying the core left by the Mouth of Targis was proving difficult even for Brother James. Well, nothing to be done about that.
Honestly, I should be grateful just for this much.
If I'd gone to one of the more widely established churches, purifying the lesser demons' cores alone would have cost a fortune — never mind the core left by the Mouth of Targis. Brother James's unpaid labor was something I ought to be thankful for.
At any rate.
"Will you begin today?"
I nodded at Brother Myuhan's question. Begin what?
Creating undead using the cores.
That's right. I intended to create undead with these six hundred thirty-three cores. They wouldn't be as powerful as Golgol, Tiktak, or Brother Myuhan... but a legion of undead capable of handling lesser demons without trouble.
But first—
"Brother Myuhan."
"Yes, young master."
"Today is the day you are reborn as Holy Myuhan."
First, I would transform Brother Myuhan into a holy undead.
To begin with, Myuhan as an undead had the following basic characteristics.
His fundamental traits aren't different from the Goltik Duo's.
Summoning and dismissal were possible. Experience points could be shared as well. The difference was...
Unlike Golgol and Tiktak, he has a clearer sense of self, and he can hold a conversation.
I didn't know how Brother Myuhan was able to speak, but it was clearly an advantage. In other words:
Anything I did with the Goltik Duo, I can do with Brother Myuhan as well.
That was why I'd decided to implant a core into Brother Myuhan the same way I had with Golgol and Tiktak.
"I'm ready."
"Good."
With Brother Myuhan prepared before me, I took the core in hand. For reference, Brother James had already imbued the core with holy power. Then I placed my hand on Brother Myuhan.
Tsspat!
And that was it.
"How do you feel?"
"Wonderful. I can feel my faith settling within me once more."
"Excellent."
Of course, I had no intention of stopping there. The core Brother Myuhan currently held was barely the size of a pinky nail — significantly smaller than Golgol's.
"Now let's try enhancing it."
"Yes."
What was enhancement? Growing the core he held. I'd already experimented with this on the Goltik Duo.
Tiktak couldn't be enhanced at all, and Golgol stopped after absorbing about fifty cores.
Thanks to that, Golgol's core had grown noticeably larger than before. I was going to do the exact same thing with Brother Myuhan.
I wonder how many he'll take.
I scooped up a handful of cores and focused my mind on Brother Myuhan. From there it was simple repetitive work, and the repetition didn't take long.
Roughly two hundred.
"I don't think I can take any more."
"Yes, it looks that way to me as well."
As a result, Brother Myuhan's core had grown to roughly the same size as Golgol's. Not a bad outcome.
"But... hmm. So this is what it feels like to wield holy power."
Brother Myuhan murmured as he drew holy power from his mace, as if savoring a new sensation. Well, of course. He'd never been able to use holy power in life, and now he could wield it as an undead.
All right — that was enough enhancement for Brother Myuhan. Next came creating undead with the remaining cores...
That was when a commotion rose from outside.
What now?
I cocked my head at the noisy clamor for only a moment before John, my personal attendant, came bursting into the workshop.
"Young master! Young master!"
"What is it?"
"It's— it's Merlyn! From Merlyn—!"
An invasion?!
Those ungrateful bastards finally did it!
Draw your sword, descendant! Time to expand the undead collection!
My ancestor and I both bristled and prepared to leap to our feet — but fortunately, Merlyn had not come to invade.
"The eldest young master of Merlyn has arrived—! And he's carrying an enormous quantity of cores—!"
What?!
I immediately bolted from the room. To greet the steadfast ally who had stood with Falaon since my ancestor's time — and who would soon be family by marriage. The other half of Falaon.
And when I got outside, I saw them.
Knights arrayed before the inner keep, and at their head, a man. I could tell at a glance. That imposing man was the eldest son of my future in-laws — Ahentar Merlyn.
I greeted Ahentar warmly.
"You've come a long way. I, Khtun of Falaon, welcome Merlyn."
"Khtun...? Never mind that — where are you looking? I'm right here."
Oops. My mistake. I'd been too delighted by the cores.
But wait.
He didn't bring those cores just to show them off... did he?
That would be deeply disappointing.
I kept sneaking glances at the cores when Father and Eli, the third child of Merlyn, emerged.
"Brother."
"Oh, Eli. It's been a while. Have you been well?"
Right — she still hadn't left yet. But something felt off.
"Welcome. I am Sahad Falaon."
"Ahentar Merlyn greets Baron Falaon. We'll soon be family by marriage — please, speak freely. I'm still just a youngster without a title."
"I'll decide that for myself."
Father asked:
"What brings you here without so much as a word of notice?"
His eyes were unusually cold.