The Road to the Grand Duke
Three days later, Nephthys pushed the 'Special Training' through.
The Special Training program was hardly the kind of curriculum to rush into right after the Dark Festival, and several professors who'd been planning to accelerate their course schedules voiced their objections — but Nephthys's mind was made up.
Simon, for his part, kept as low a profile as he could until the day of departure.
That reporter, Wedian Bencinio in particular, was relentless. Whenever Simon was talking with someone, she would pop out of nowhere and hammer down the button on her mana-camera.
"Found you, Simon Polentia! You were definitely having a secret chat with those Ancient Undead, weren't you?"
......
The most recent incident had seen her leaping out of a roadside trash can.
Onlookers reacted with 'What is that idiot doing?', but the truth was that Simon's blood had run cold more times than he could count. Now and then he would converse with Pier's clone inside his own head, or receive Erzebet's regular status reports through her corpse spiders — and by sheer luck, she had been sharp-eyed at the worst possible moments.
Of course, Simon hadn't simply been lying down and taking it. Acting in his capacity as Student Council President, he contacted the Dark Festival committee and formally requested that they restrain any interviews forced on students over matters unrelated to the Festival, as well as any conduct infringing on personal privacy. The committee agreed.
But Wedian kept at it with the dogged persistence of a woman on a divine mission. Her superiors disciplined her, and still she would not give up. She even broke out of confinement and fled her lodgings to keep hunting.
Confronted with that kind of tenacity, Simon found himself counting down the days until he could leave for the North.
And that day was today.
Simon had stopped by Pier's Ruins in the early hours of the morning.
"Everyone's inside now, right?"
[Indeed. All finished!]
It had been a long while since the legion had mobilized on such a scale.
Pier, Erzebet, Prince, Akemus, Herseba — and their main forces, all tucked away into the supermassive subspace. They would be traveling to the North together.
While the troops filed in, Pier sealed the entrance of the ruins completely with a barrier.
"That reporter won't be able to open the ruins, will she?"
When Simon asked, a trace of worry in his voice, Pier let out a booming laugh.
[She's nothing but a civilian — not even a necromancer. Nothing to worry about, boy!]
After being ambushed by that stalker so many times, Simon was half-convinced he was developing a neurosis. He'd been jumping at the song of every passing bird.
[I bring a report, Lord Commander.]
Shff!
Erzebet descended from a tree, where she'd been hanging upside down in her web.
[That reporter entered the Forbidden Forest and was caught in a spiderweb trap laid by my children.]
Even now, her voice was echoing from far in the distance:
"Let go of this! Untie me! Do you really think I'll give up just because of this?!"
[Shall I kill her? I can erase the corpse from the world without leaving a single trace.]
Erzebet's eyes gleamed with icy murder, but Simon shook his head.
"If a reporter investigating me suddenly vanishes, it'll only draw more suspicion. By the time I'm back from the North, the outsiders will all be gone anyway. It'll be fine."
[If that is the Lord Commander's will, then this maiden shall obey.]
Truthfully, Simon was uneasy. Leaving a single Ancient Undead behind to guard the ruins would have been a comfort — but the whole reason for this trip north was the 'Legion Commander's Lesson'.
If even one of them was missing, the lesson lost its meaning. The goal was to raise the capabilities of every Ancient Undead through this opportunity.
Simon opened the supermassive subspace one last time, let Erzebet and Pier inside, and set off.
Let's go — to the North!
The North.
When people of the Dark Alliance thought of cold regions, the Shahed Kingdom came to mind first — but the Shahed Kingdom's territory stretched across so much frigid northern land that calling it 'the North' outright felt imprecise.
When the Dark Alliance spoke of 'the North', the place that generally sprang to mind for people of the Continent was the Kalross Northern Territory.
Bilkenos Castle, guarded by that famed hero of humanity, the Grand Duke of the North — and the Frost Field.
The monsters and undead of the Frost Field were savagery incarnate. Some individuals were powerful enough to burn an entire territory to the ground on their own, and they breached humanity's borders again and again, all to devour their preferred prey: humans.
This was humanity's foremost front line, holding back those man-eating monsters and undead — the only land in history no army had ever conquered.
It was also, at the same time, a barren, frozen wasteland where not even proper crops could grow. A genuine thorn in everyone's side.
And it was there.
So this is it!
Simon had arrived.
The moment he opened his eyes at his final destination after chaining through teleportation circles, the creaking groan of wooden cart wheels rolled across the air.
It was not the snow-covered, picturesque townscape one usually pictured when thinking of the North.
The ground underfoot was a soggy mire, thinly dusted with snow. Squawking carried from here and there, and the smell of horse dung hung in the air. Grizzled, rough-looking men with beards trudged past, each hauling an axe or a halberd.
If the atmosphere could be summed up in a single word, it would be 'battlefield'. It felt like stepping into the barracks of an army on campaign. Every last person was moving with urgent purpose.
Bigger than I expected.
This was Bilkenos — the heart of the Kalross Northern Territory and the most developed city in all the North.
Far in the distance loomed a towering outer wall that embraced the entire city, and beyond it stretched the northern scenery Simon had always imagined: jagged snow-white peaks stabbing at the sky.
On the surface, it was a beautiful natural vista. But when he thought about how many monsters and undead must be teeming on those mountains, a chill crawled up his spine.
Let's go.
His destination was already decided.
The largest structure rising above the city — the inner keep at the very center of Bilkenos. That was where the Grand Duke lived.
Rustle—
As he walked, Simon drew a letter from inside his coat. A letter stamped with the seal of Kizen — written by Nephthys herself.
He remembered the conversation they'd shared.
"Oh, by the way! I never got permission to send you to the Grand Duke!"
When he'd first heard that, Simon felt his heart drop through the floor.
"Then I'm going as an unwelcome intruder, not a guest?"
The Special Training was, formally, part of Kizen's official curriculum, complete with conditions to fulfill and missions to complete. Sit around twiddling his thumbs and a handicap equivalent to automatic expulsion would be waiting for him.
When Simon couldn't hide his alarm, Nephthys just smiled brightly.
"Oh, don't worry about it! All you have to do is earn the Grand Duke's recognition!"
Saying that, she pulled out the letter.
"It might feel hopeless at first, but once you've won the North and the Grand Duke over, everything after will be smooth sailing! Here you go! Get the Grand Duke to read this letter, and it'll all fall into place!"
Finished with the memory, Simon tucked the letter carefully back into his coat.
Either way, the dice had been cast. Feast or famine, he had no choice but to meet the Grand Duke.
Honestly, Simon was tremendously curious.
He'd met several Saintesses of the Holy Federation, but of the seven Legion Commanders who stood against them, he had never laid eyes on a single one besides Magnus.
And on top of that, a hero of humanity.
A living legend who had held the expansion of the Frost Field — one of the most brutal battlegrounds on the entire Continent — at bay for decades, protecting the North.
He wanted to know what kind of abilities and experience such a person possessed. He wanted to know what sort of person they were, and what kind of Ancient Undead they commanded.
Worst case, if the Grand Duke took a liking to his own Ancient Undead, he might even have to fight. But Nephthys and Pier had, for once in their existence, agreed on something: 'That is not the sort of person he is.' If those two could draw such a clear line, Simon figured the man was trustworthy.
Thud!
He was walking along, lost in these thoughts, when someone slammed into his shoulder.
"Whoa there! You ought to watch where you're walking, friend!"
A broad-shouldered man arched an eyebrow and laughed coarsely. In his hand he carried a battle axe bigger than his own torso.
His companions swaggered past, smirking.
What's with these people?
Before Simon could get a word out, a troop of undead soldiers came charging through the gap between him and the men.
Thud!
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
More than twenty skeletons in battle gear, hurrying along on urgent business. Simon's gaze was snatched away in an instant.
Hold on — who's controlling them?
They weren't naturally-formed undead. They were unmistakably under a necromancer's command — yet no matter how he looked, there wasn't a necromancer anywhere in sight.
The undead moved along the road as if following a fixed route.
Fascinating.
He ached to dig into the mystery of these northern undead, but finding the Grand Duke came first. Simon crushed down his curiosity and kept walking.
"Hey, Rekkar! You planning to tear someone's house down and eat it?!"
"Aw, my apologies, my apologies!"
"Gwahaha! A grand performance before noon!"
The people of the North all looked as though they were descended from dwarves — thick-bodied, muscular, and heavily furred.
Discriminated demihumans from across the Continent were common here as well. Cat beastfolk leapt nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, and a bull-like beastfolk covered in shaggy animal hair shot Simon a wry grin as he passed.
Everyone was busy, yet they kept glancing sidelong at him — they could tell he was an outsider.
"Excuse me — sorry, but which way should I go to reach the Grand Duke's castle?"
When he hazarded the question, the beastfolk scattered like cats wary of a stranger.
And so, wandering and asking his way, Simon trudged down the mired road until—
Ah.
He reached the inner keep at last.
For the castle of a ruler second in power only to the King of Kalross, it was hardly ornate. Rough gray ramparts, towering pillars thrusting up jagged as a mountain range — and chicken-shaped ornaments hanging from the rooftops.
Simon stopped in front of the castle and deliberated for a moment.
Whatever happens, I'll charge in head-on.
This wasn't a man who would come out just because Simon stood here waiting, so he decided on a direct, frontal approach.
Just as Simon moved to walk toward the castle gate—
PUUUUUUU—!
A horn blast suddenly thundered across the city.
The sound spread rapidly through Bilkenos, and answering horn calls erupted from the residential districts like an echo.
Simon clapped his hands over his ears.
What now? What's happening?
DuDuDuDuDUDU!
The earth shook. Then came the sound of horseshoes, growing sharper and clearer by the second. Down the sloping road from the castle, something black was cascading.
Undead, mounted on horses.
Don't tell me — are those all Dulahans?
Black knights in armor atop spectral steeds wreathed in jet-black mist like smoke.
Their necks were hollow, just like a Dullahan's — and where their heads should have been, ghostly flames blazed upward.
And within those flames were eyes, a nose, and a mouth — unmistakably like a jack-o'-lantern. Each rider gripped a massive pike, and northern banners fluttered throughout their ranks.
Clack!
Clack!
The sight of hundreds of undead cavalry forming ranks without a single tremor of disorder was enough to raise the hair on his arms.
[Those are not Dulahans, but a special breed known as 'Phantom Dulahans'!]
Pier explained.
[They do not exist in nature — they are born only from Ancient Undead. Those must be the elite soldiers led by the Grand Duke herself — the undead knightly order that knows no defeat!]
They certainly looked nothing like the ordinary Dulahans crafted from Guardians and the like.
Clop—
That was when it happened. An overwhelmingly massive knight, mounted on a spectral steed, galloped past right beside Simon. He felt it at once.
An Ancient Undead!
Cold sweat broke out across Simon's skin under the sheer pressure of its presence.
This being seemed to be the leader of the Phantom Dulahans — but the cross-section of its hollow neck held nothing at all. Instead, the spectral steed's face was a human face.
The knight's head connected to the horse's body. Deeply uncanny.
The Ancient Undead didn't so much as glance at Simon, simply riding to join the ranks. Before long, the undead cavalry parted to either side of him like the sea before Moses, pikes rising.
Chak!
Clack!
Jet-black energy gushed from every pike as its tip thrust toward the sky. Each and every movement was precise and disciplined. It was like watching a black wave writhe.
Then, from among the cavalry, someone emerged.
Clop— clop—
A figure in flawless full plate armor without the slightest gap. The moment Simon laid eyes on him, the Phantom Dulahans and the Ancient Undead were wiped cleanly from his mind.
An impossible presence.
He wondered if a human could even radiate such an aura. Merely standing near this person made the blood boil through his entire body.
Without a doubt, this was that legendary Grand Duke of the North — Jean Arskalt.
[The battle report.]
A cold voice carried from within the helm.
"The enemy undead forces are attempting to enter Dondra."
[We will reach Dondra within the hour.]
Simon agonized for an instant — then squeezed his eyes shut and decided to go for it. If not now, the chance to meet her might never come.
"Pardon me for one moment!"
Simon boldly stepped toward the Grand Duke.
And the Grand Duke turned her gaze upon him.
[Who goes there.]
A sinister glint flashed from within the helm.