The Northern Gate Falls

‘My rhythm’s on point today.’

The guiding principle of Simon’s current Skeleton Mage operation was the pursuit of absolute efficiency.

He hurled Oil Fruits from the warehouse to drench the ground in oil, then ignited it with Jet-Black flame magic, sealing off the enemy’s very attempt to breach the main gate.

As Simon committed himself wholeheartedly to this scorched-earth tactic, the Khan Kingdom’s response shifted in kind. They scattered sacks of earth over the flames and draped water-soaked cowhide over their siege rams, but even so, Simon’s defense—undead mages raining fire down from atop the gate—proved an iron wall.

Left with no alternative, the Khan Kingdom gave up on the gate entirely and threw their weight into scaling the walls instead.

They brought up every siege ladder they had, propped them against the ramparts, and sent soldiers swarming up without pause. When two of the Kizen students went over the wall, things got so dire that the entire southern wall was nearly overrun.

But Rick and Meilin’s heroics snared every last besieging Kizen student, and now the tide at the south gate had tipped decisively toward the defenders.

“Follow me!”

And so Rick, freed from his curse, led the soldiers in reclaiming even the stretch of wall the Khan Kingdom had occupied.

Thanks to his efforts, the entire southern defensive line settled back into stability.

‘No more worries about the south gate.’

Simon, who had been quietly observing the situation, raised the Commander’s Token and sent word.

“Rick, Meilin—great work, both of you. Rest until an enemy necromancer shows up. Same goes for the other gates: rotate rest and combat shifts to prepare for a long siege. If you need support, send a messenger or raise a flag.”

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. Simon turned to find Meilin walking toward him.

“Oh, Meilin! You really went through a lot out there!”

“Hmph. This much is just the basics.”

She flicked her hair back with a fingertip. Simon pointed at the garment draped over her shoulders.

“That’s my uniform, isn’t it?”

“!”

Only belatedly did she realize just how brazenly she’d been strutting around with Simon’s uniform slung across her shoulders, and the back of her neck flushed scarlet.

“…Ah. Yeah. Thanks.”

She murmured her thanks in a tiny voice and handed the uniform back.

She was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little disappointed. It had only been a moment’s happiness, but it had been enjoyable while it lasted, so that was that.

Simon gave the uniform a brisk shake and spread it out to put it on.

“Huh.”

“What? Is something weird on it?”

“No, it’s just… it smells like you, Meilin.”

‘$*@^&@!!!!’

Face burning red, she let out a strangled squawk and scrambled backward.

“I-I only wore it for a minute, so of course that’s going to happen! Wh-what! What! Should I do the laundry and return it then?!”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

Simon held the uniform up close. There was a red smear on part of the shirt—he’d wondered if it was blood, but on closer inspection, it was a lipstick mark on the uniform jacket.

“…But why is there a lip print on it?”

‘Aaagh—! AAAAAAGH—!!!’

Meilin remembered burying her face in Simon’s uniform and breathing in its scent. Having reached the absolute limit of bearable embarrassment, she clutched her face in both hands.

“Th-that was—!”

She had to say something! Anything!

She stammered and shouted.

“I FELL!!”

“Huh?”

“I fell during the fighting earlier and wiped my face on your uniform! There! Happy?! I’ll pay for the dry cleaning!!”

Even to Meilin herself, it was a laughably absurd excuse.

The instant the words left her mouth, she regretted them. If she had her way, she’d snatch them back out of the air on the spot. Speak without engaging your brain, and of course you fumble—!

“Oh, I see. You didn’t get hurt anywhere, did you?”

And once again, Simon swallowed it whole without a flicker of doubt.

In truth, while he was technically conversing with Meilin, every ounce of his attention was fixed on the main gate. Even at this very moment, he remained connected to the senses of his Skeleton Mages.

‘Dark Blaze, right side first, in sequence!’

A volley of indigo fireballs erupted in succession, reducing one of the siege rams lumbering toward the gate to ash, and Simon smiled in satisfaction.

‘Wh-why is he suddenly smiling?!’

Meilin, by contrast, was wound tight as a bowstring, her breath coming in ragged huffs.

Is he smiling at me right now? How ominous. He clearly knows exactly what I did with his uniform, but he’s letting it slide this time—just this once. Is that the idea?

As she spun wild fantasies alone, mulling over the meaning of the smile Simon had just worn, he spoke up again.

“Get some rest. I should be able to hold the south gate on my own for a while.”

“…Ah, okay.”

Meilin nodded sheepishly and stole a glance at his face. Then, in a voice that seemed to crawl into the ground, she said:

“Hey… back when I went on about your fuel efficiency and all that… I’m sor—”

“If it weren’t for your advice.”

Simon cut in first.

“I never would have even thought of fighting a long defensive battle like this. Thank you, Meilin.”

…This boy, honestly.

Sometimes being this nice of a person was a problem in itself.

‘W-well, as a squad leader, I do appreciate that quality, but…’

“Oh, right—how did the message-on-an-arrow thing work out?”

Simon asked suddenly.

“Ah, that was genius. Thanks. It came in really handy.”

“Glad it did.”

Meilin chuckled and lifted her head.

“How many hours has it been now?”

“Four hours.”

Twelve hours to hold out, eight remaining.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, four hours had already slipped by.

Of course, that was time measured only inside the World of Cards; according to Rick, once the siege game ended and they stepped back outside, only three hours would have passed.

“Then, Simon, I’m going to recharge my Jet-Black.”

“Got it.”

Meilin walked to the edge of the wall, planted herself on the ground, and sat with her knees drawn up. Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms together at her chest and took a long, deep breath—hoo.

Among necromancers, it was the act known as ‘recharging.’

After combat, the Jet-Black in one’s body ran dry, and the ‘Core’ that converted mana into Jet-Black was so overworked it could no longer function properly.

You sat in whatever position felt comfortable, drew mana into your body with each breath, gently loosened the exhausted core, and let vigor flow back into your flesh.

Granted, it wasn’t dramatically more effective than letting nature take its course, but it beat doing nothing at all.

The trade-off was that you had to focus entirely on your own body—and in this state, a necromancer was completely defenseless.

Tap-tap.

Tap.

The usual practice was to surround yourself with skeletons drawn from subspace, just as Meilin had done. After all, merely connecting to an undead’s senses consumed no Jet-Black.

‘Meilin’s handling things well.’

While he was at it, Simon checked the overall status.

The pace was so stable it was almost ideal.

The siege team had dropped to twelve—presumably another one of their number had fallen at a different gate—while not a single defender had been eliminated yet.

Even against a tenfold force, it seemed that having even a ramshackle fortress to shelter behind was an enormous advantage.

‘If everyone keeps this up, we can hold out for at least half the total time.’

Just as Simon allowed himself to ease his tension a little—

‘Huh?’

Simon’s eyes went wide. Both of them had been defender-side students.

“…What on earth just happened?”

“S-Supreme Commander! We have a crisis!”

A messenger came sprinting up to Simon, breathless.

“The north gate!”

“The north gate?”

Just then, a fresh message materialized before Simon’s eyes.

Simon’s face drained into chaos. The gate had fallen before the messenger even arrived from the north?

‘Who.’

His head turned toward the north gate.

‘Who’s stationed at the north gate right now?’

Hah! Hah!

One of the defender-side male students was tearing along the top of the wall at full sprint.

His name was Yowu—the very student who had fought for the Supreme Commander’s position until the bitter end.

He had been guarding the east gate, and the moment the call for reinforcements came, he’d bolted for the north gate. But before he could even arrive, the message flashed that the north gate had already been breached.

‘How? The north gate had the second-best lineup after the south gate.’

All around him, terror-stricken beastkin soldiers were fleeing in blind panic toward the inner keep.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was pandemonium incarnate.

Yowu shoved his way past the soldiers and reached the north gate.

“…!”

The instant he laid eyes on it, an utterly surreal scene filled his vision.

A girl in a pristine white uniform sat perched atop the wall, her expression languid and unbothered.

Blood spattered, weapons clashed, screams and shrieks filled the air—and yet the girl remained serene, as if she existed alone in a world apart from it all.

‘Elisa Celine!’

Their Supreme Commander had taken the field herself. She had already seized the wall, too—the flag of the Khan Kingdom was fluttering behind her.

‘Four necromancers were holding the north gate. The idea that Elisa took down all four at once is impossible.’

Yowu’s eyes darted about.

‘Who? Who on earth—’

KU-KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!

A sudden roar made his head snap around.

A cleaving slash the size of a mountain was tearing along the top of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the wall. Every living thing it touched was shredded to ribbons—not a single fragment of a cell left behind—wiped entirely from the world.

‘No way!’

And at the point where the slash originated stood a boy with a blank expression and an eyepatch over his eyes. He hadn’t even drawn the longsword at his hip.

‘Jule Vincere, Special Admission No. 5!’

Yowu’s jaw dropped. A monster of that caliber had come along too?!

“AaaaAAAAGH—!”

Then a scream of pure agony rang across the battlefield.

He whipped his head toward it—a man built like a mountain was gripping the face of Bwine, the ace of the north gate defense, with a single hand.

Bwine thrashed his legs frantically, howling a scream that sounded like tearing flesh, and beneath him two more students were already eliminated, their bodies slowly dissolving away.

Those massive wings. Those scales. There was no mistaking him.

‘Hector Moore too!’

A moment later, Hector tightened his grip, and the barrier running across Bwine’s face shattered with a resounding craaack.

Bwine’s body crumpled to the ground and melted away into nothing.

“Great work, everyone.”

Elisa beamed and raised her hand.

“The siege starts now! An event kickoff deserves spectacular fireworks, after all!”

Snap!

Elisa snapped her fingers.

Countless cannons roared, shaking the very atmosphere, and a dozen-odd shells arced up into the sky from beyond the walls.

KWAAAAAABOOM!

KWAAABOOM!

The bombardment poured down in waves, blasting soldiers apart and crumbling buildings into rubble.

‘We’re screwed!’

Yowu’s lips trembled uncontrollably.

Even from a distance, the figures of Elisa, Jule, and Hector across the burning wall radiated pure menace.

‘…How is anyone supposed to beat that combination?’

“Scum should scamper off with their tails between their legs.”

Just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then, Elisa spotted Yowu and called out.

“If you want to stop us, wouldn’t it be smarter to hurry up and call Simon Polentia?”

A hideous roar suddenly sounded directly overhead, and Yowu looked up. A Ghost Ship’s cannonball was falling right toward his head.

“Retreat! Fall back! Skitter-skitter!”

“Squeak! Run for the inner keep!”

The beastkin of the Kingdom of Aon descended into total chaos. Elisa smiled and swept her arm through the air.

“The rats of the Kingdom of Aon are scurrying into their keep. Leave not a single one alive!”

At her command, the Khan Kingdom’s cavalry came pouring through the gate like water bursting from a broken dam.