The Pride of the North
The North.
Barnsdale Village.
"Emergency! This is an emergency! Anyone who can hold a weapon, get out here!"
"The third line has been breached!"
"Then stack more palisades!"
The village watchmen of Barnsdale were screaming themselves raw, every one of them painted head to toe in blood. Old men and children alike hauled stones and piled the wooden barricade higher and higher. When the timber ran short, some took axes and tore apart their own homes for the wood.
But the invaders gave them no time.
"They're coming!"
Beyond the palisade, a countless horde of undead began to come into view.
Their main force was Yeti zombies—the rotted remains of the monsters common to the snowfields. Holes riddled their bodies, and the sight of them shambling forward with putrefied organs and jutting bone was almost too horrific to bear.
Their once-white fur was either matted crimson with dried blood or blackened with rot.
Beyond the Yeti zombies, all manner of northern monsters came trudging along in twisted zombie and skeleton forms. The horde drew closer and closer, and the watchmen and villagers hiding behind the crude wooden wall held their breath, faces taut with dread.
"Don't misunderstand me—just hear me out!"
An old man who looked to have lived through decades of hardship spoke up.
"The gap in our forces is far too great! If this goes on, it won't just be us—the children with their whole lives ahead of them will be butchered like dogs. Let us fall back for now, and when the Grand Duke returns, then—"
Thwack!
An axe came flying out of nowhere and buried itself in the old man's arm. He shrieked and collapsed where he stood.
"A veteran warrior legendary in his youth—"
A watchman with a rugged face and a scraggly black beard came trudging over.
"—just becomes a senile old coot pissing against a wall once age catches up to him."
"Ggh! You—!"
Thud!
The watchman stomped on the old man's face and bellowed.
"Northerners have pride!"
He roared in a voice that carried to every corner and swept his gaze across the surrounding villagers.
"I swear to you—it is worth more than life itself! One day we'll all keel over pissing against a wall like this old fool anyway, so what good is scraping by on a wretched life? But once your pride is broken, it can never be repaired—not in this lifetime or any other!"
He raised his axe high toward the sky.
"We fight! Together we fight, and together we die! Today, the place we fall is HERE!"
"AAAAARGH!"
The villagers answered as one, hurling their weapons into the air.
To drown out their fear, they screamed louder still, shouting until their throats went hoarse. And yet among them were those who could not help it—faces on which an inescapable terror had already surfaced.
"The undead are right on top of us!"
"Shut up and shoot!"
Arrows flew over the palisade. Rough curses—Die!Rot, damn you!—erupted from every direction. A few undead took arrows and crumpled, but measured against the horde's sheer numbers, it didn't even register.
"Fire! Keep firing! What are you doing, you worthless mongrels!"
"Leslie, we're out of arrows."
The front line had been firing wildly, and the quivers at the village palisade were already emptied—barely a volley into the battle.
"Damn it all! Hell and damnation!"
A watchman hoisted his axe and vaulted over the palisade.
"Forget it—everyone out here now! Fighting them head-on is the only way!"
The watchmen screamed as they poured over the wall, and the villagers stumbled after them, taking their places at their sides.
"They may take our lives, but they will never break the pride of the North! Forward!"
"AAAAARGH!"
The black-bearded man at their head and the remnants of the watchmen clenched their weapons tight and charged at the tide of undead.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Footfalls thundered like war drums.
A zombie was flattened beneath one colossal leg, and behind it a massive undead advanced. The charging watchmen stopped dead in their tracks without even realizing it.
"...That's—!"
"I-it's a Named! It's the Gourmet!"
The Gourmet—an enormous bear monster, rotted and risen into undeath. Its name came from the rumor that when it raided settlements, it picked out only the pretty-looking humans to chew on.
At the Gourmet's appearance, despair flooded the warriors' faces. In the years since it had first been given a name, no one had ever succeeded in bringing it down.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Unlike the other yetis, the Gourmet charged toward the village on all fours. Rotting entrails swinging beneath its belly, its maw split into four slavering flaps as it howled—the sight was enough to drive a sane mind over the edge.
"D-don't you dare cower! We are people of the North!"
While everyone around him froze, the black-bearded man channeled mana into his legs and leapt with all his might. In the same breath, he brought his axe down onto the cheek of the charging Gourmet.
SPLAT!
Black blood sprayed upward. Clinging to his axe, which had sunk deep into the creature's flesh, he roared with laughter—Hahaha!
"How's that taste, huh?! You overgrown mutt—!"
The words never finished. The Gourmet swung its other arm and smashed the black-bearded man's body clean away. He flew a dozen-odd meters and crashed into the palisade where the villagers stood.
"KYAAAAH!"
"Leslie!"
As the cloud of dust settled, the black-bearded man's form came into view, embedded in the palisade. Blood ran from his mouth; he coughed, and even then, he chuckled.
"Ah, don't worry. Don't worry. Something like this is—"
His gaze dropped downward.
A jagged splinter of the palisade had punched clean through his chest and jutting out the other side.
"D-damn... it..."
Then he slumped, and the light left his eyes.
He was dead on the spot.
"Ugh!"
"This is madness—utter madness!"
With the black-bearded man dead, the watchmen who had charged ahead began to stagger backward. Behind them loomed the very palisade they had raised with their own hands.
KUWOONG!
KUWOONG!
The Gourmet, which had sprinted on four legs, slowly began to rise onto two. It was like watching a mountain range heave itself out of the earth. It blotted out the sun, and its black shadow swallowed them whole. Behind it, the undead horde surged in without a single gap.
A hopeless situation.
What meaning did pride hold before the absolute terror of death? Clutching their weapons, the people sank into despair. There was nowhere to run. All they could do was steel themselves for the end and tremble in fear.
Heavy air split apart as the Gourmet's arm descended—
CHAAAANG!
A flash of white light. The northerners, who had squeezed their eyes shut, soon opened them again—sunlight glinted off a clawed foot as a colossal arm was flung skyward.
Clank!
And behind the palisade, a knight in black armor strode into view with head held high. A crimson cape draped from his shoulders, emblazoned with the sigil that symbolized the North itself.
"Ah!"
At the sight of him, mouths fell open, and others simply collapsed where they stood, limp with relief.
"AAAAH! AAAAH!"
Cries of frenzy—or of sobbing—echoed across the village.
"The Grand Duke! The Grand Duke has come!"
"We're saved!"
"AAAAAAARGH!"
It was a roar that seemed to shake the entire mountainside. The black-armored knight let his greatsword hang low and grinned awkwardly inside his helmet.
Thank goodness—they don't recognize me.
Of course, his true identity was not the Grand Duke, but Simon.
Listening to the villagers' thunderous cheers from behind, his ears had gone numb. It gave him some idea of what the Grand Duke of the North meant to this land.
Well then.
The one-armed Gourmet fell back, and behind it the endless horde of Yeti zombies and their kin surged forward. Simon, undaunted, thrust out his arm as well.
Let's go, everyone!
His will swept across the field, and the legion's undead came pouring over the palisade in a black flood.
Not a single villager flinched—they leapt and cheered.
"Undead troops led by the Grand Duke himself!"
"They're on our side! We're saved now!"
The backbone of the force was the Deathland zombies, boasting the largest numbers of all. At their head, the smallest zombie among them charged out with a faded crown pressed onto its head.
[LET'S GOOOO!]
Prince bounded into the air and threw a single punch, and with a CRUNCH! a hole tore straight through the Yeti zombies' formation.
Right behind him, the zombie corps charged like a spearhead and slammed into the enemy lines. The formation buckled, and the northern undead began spilling out sideways to escape.
Simon commanded calmly with his will alone.
Pier! Use your skeletons to evacuate the villagers far to the rear!
[Understood, Boy!]
Left and right flanks—Erzebet! Akemus!
[I shall obey, Lord Commander!]
[Departing at once, Young Master.]
The left flank was held by Erzebet's corpse spider corps. When the Yeti zombies leapt blindly into the webs where Erzebet sat waiting, they were shredded apart on the spot.
And on the right, Akemus and the Skullwings came swarming in. The harpy-based flying undead flapped their jet-black wings, seized the Yeti zombies by the shoulders, hauled them high into the sky, and dropped them—again and again.
Erzebet and Akemus, commanding the left and right, steadily herded the undead toward the center.
Good.
With the villagers evacuated, Simon could now march freely alongside his legion and keep directing the battle.
The encircled undead were bunching tighter and tighter toward the middle. He had herded them in—now came the need for overwhelming explosive power.
Ready, Herseba?
[Of course!]
The lich-turned-staff.
Herseba was drifting through the air, seated atop the staff in a female form woven of sand.
Got it.
Simon wrapped his hand around the staff, and the sand that had shaped the woman's form scattered and dissolved away.
Here we go!
<Goldification>
Simon slammed the staff into the ground, turning the earth to gold. From within it, buildings rose, and mummies came bursting forth.
Shurrr!
Shhrak!
The mummies bound the nearby zombies in bandages and hurled them toward the heart of the battlefield. Simon caught the zombies dangling in midair and clenched his fist.
<Corpse Explosion>
The instant the flung zombies landed in the middle of the enemy lines, they detonated. With a single blast, over a dozen Yeti zombies were blown apart, utterly helpless to resist.
In the blink of an eye, the tide of battle was turning.
The villagers watching from a distance cheered.
"That's the Grand Duke's legion for you!"
"Shouldn't he be bringing the knights he's always bragging about?"
"Bah, no need for knights at this rate! Looks like he's testing out some new troops."
The people believed without a shred of doubt that Simon's forces belonged to the Grand Duke. Setting everything else aside, no necromancer other than the Grand Duke could possibly command undead on this scale.
A smile curled across Simon's lips.
If it's a place like this—
It was different from Roke Island.
Here, perhaps, he might grow enormously—even as a Legion Commander.
-KUWAAAAAAAH!
Granted, the battle had tilted their way—but there was still one creature rampaging and carving wounds into their allies.
Here in the North, where danger grades meant nothing, the Named Undead that the northerners themselves had christened: the Gourmet.
Though Simon and Pier had lopped off one of its arms, it had instead concentrated its jet-black energy into the remaining one, swelling it grotesquely, and was swatting zombies aside wholesale.
Left alone, the damage to their allies would keep piling up.
Prince, your turn. But only up to the point where the core survives.
[Huh? Can't I just erase it?]
No.
Prince clicked his tongue and sprinted through the zombie ranks. Right in front of the Gourmet, which was brushing zombies aside like flies, Prince's small frame shot upward—POP!
[TAKE THIS!]
His fist clenched tight.
[HIDDEN CARD PUNCH!]
With a thunderclap that shook the very air, Prince's fist slammed square into the Gourmet's jaw.
CHAAAANG!
The Gourmet sat down hard from the impact, and Prince smirked at the corners of his mouth.
[Don't get cocky, you little punk! How long you been dead, huh? A hundred years as a corpse? HUH?]
Then, before Prince had even landed, the Gourmet whipped its bloated left arm. With a CRACK!, Prince, still airborne, went flying.
Oh.
Simon was genuinely impressed. To hold its own in a fight against one of the legion's Ancient Undead.
The Gourmet raged harder than ever. Struggling against the corpse spiders' webs, it crushed the legion's undead soldiers flat beneath its bulk, until at last it snapped even the webs clean apart.
Clank!
Pier sauntered over to Simon's side, clacking his jaw.
[Shall I step in, Boy?]
"Ah, no need to go that far."
Simon gestured with his hand.
"No matter how strong it is, numbers have a way of settling things."
From every direction, mummy bandages came whipping in, winding around the Gourmet's limbs. Overhead, the Skullwings wheeled and scattered curse-feathers, while the corpse spiders sank their venomous fangs in.
Its movements were slowing, bit by bit.
Now.
Simon followed up by detonating the zombies clinging to the Gourmet with Corpse Explosion. The Gourmet staggered, knees buckling—and a moment later, a small zombie dropped down through the blast smoke onto its head.
[No more Mr. Nice Zombie!]
Prince appeared, perfectly intact, both fists laced together and raised overhead.
BOOOOOOOOOM!
He couldn't hold this one back. The Gourmet's head slammed deep into the ground.
"Good work, everyone."
The rest of the undead had all been put down as well.
Once the area was safe, Simon walked toward the fallen Gourmet.
[Planning to make this one yours?]
"Yep."
It was not a summon-type undead, but an ordinary naturally-formed one, so Legionification seemed possible.
Prince grabbed the Gourmet and laid it out properly on its back. Then he peeled away the skin over its chest, revealing a core throbbing like a great beating heart.
Simon placed his palm on the core for Legionification.
VWOOOOOM!
'!'
The instant Simon touched it, the core—which had been running perfectly normally—suddenly began to run wild. The jet-black energy throughout the Gourmet's entire body surged past the core's limits, on the verge of exploding.
What the—!
[Danger! Fall back, Boy!]
Pier rushed over and placed his own hand on the core. With a command over jet-black energy on an entirely different level, he skillfully smothered the eruption.
[Kukuku! Things are getting interesting.]
Pier chuckled. He began channeling his own jet-black energy into the core to stabilize it.
Why is it doing that, Pier?
[I shall explain shortly. But first, it seems wise to pay the Grand Duke a visit and have a word!]
The moment Pier withdrew his hand, the Gourmet—its core now stabilized—sprang to its feet.
Simon felt a strange kinship with the creature. A blue-black mist was curling and drifting off its body. Simon grinned.
"Welcome to my legion."
GRROWL!
The Gourmet bowed its head toward Simon as if in submission. Simon stroked its head.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that very moment.
Carlos Northern Territory, Dondra.
Neigh! Snort!
Undead cavalry were spread out across the landscape in every direction, and scattered among them lay motionless corpses.
[...Something is wrong. This is far too easy.]
The Grand Duke in black armor muttered.
"Grand Duke! Grand Duke! We have a crisis!"
[?]
A messenger came sprinting headlong and dropped to one knee before the Grand Duke.
"Reporting! Barnsdale Village is under a large-scale assault by an undead horde! It is believed that the Named 'Gourmet' is accompanying them!"
The Grand Duke ground her teeth.
[We've been had. What's the current situation?]
"The village was already under attack the moment I departed! I beg your pardon, but I fear we may be too late!"
Without another word, the Grand Duke mounted her horse.
[We move for Barnsdale. Now.]
"Reporting!"
Just then, another messenger on horseback came galloping in.
So great was his haste that snow had piled up on his head.
"Wonderful news just arrived! Barnsdale is—!"
The messenger faltered mid-sentence, face going stiff with confusion.
[What is it? Report.]
"Ah. Yes! R-reporting that the, the Grand Duke has successfully defended Barnsdale!"
[...]
A long silence followed.
[...Who defended where, exactly?]