A Trade Between Legion Commanders
The hoofbeats of undead steeds echoed through the Grand Duke's castle. In the blink of an eye, the entire fortress was filled to bursting with undead.
Clang—!
The heavy iron gates swung open, and the Grand Duke, armed head to toe in jet-black armor, strode through them with thunderous steps.
Servants and warriors alike bowed their heads in unison, paying their respects.
Clank— clank—
The Grand Duke climbed the stairs with a ringing of steel, ascending all the way to the private office on the second floor.
Thud!
"Godric!"
Bellowing the butler's name, the Grand Duke flung open the office door with rough force.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this!"
Godric stood there, flinching. And at the office desk, a figure clad in armor identical to the Grand Duke's own jet-black plate had turned to look back over one shoulder.
"......"
With the grinding of interlocking armor plates, the knight turned fully to face the Grand Duke. Two figures in matching armor stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
Then the knight by the window raised both arms, gripped the helm, and slowly lifted it off.
Blue hair spilled free, revealing the face of a boy still carrying the softness of youth. A faint smile played on his lips, warm and well-meaning.
"We meet again."
"......You."
The Grand Duke's eyes flashed beneath the helm.
"So you're the one I saw at the village."
"Yes."
Two Legion Commanders of the Dark Alliance regarded one another from across the room. Caught between them, Godric felt his heart hammering in his chest.
"Godric."
"Y-yes, Your Grace!"
"Leave us."
Godric cast one anxious glance toward Simon, then reluctantly shut the office door behind him. With a heavy thud, silence settled over the room.
Scrape.
Scrape.
The Grand Duke crossed the room to the wall-mounted stand where the spare armor hung. This time it was the Grand Duke who took the helm in both hands and slowly lifted it away.
A luxurious cascade of hair poured down like a waterfall. Between the rough hands of the removed helm emerged flawless skin and strikingly elegant features.
Simon's mouth fell open before he could stop it.
What the helm had concealed was a face so breathtakingly beautiful it made the eyes sting. Sharp, rapacious eyes like a bird of prey—and beneath one of them, a small teardrop mole.
The Grand Duke of the North is a woman?!'
"Something displeasing to you?"
She murmured it in a voice like frost. Simon shook his head quickly and blurted out that there was not!
Whoosh—
She set the helm down, unbuckled the sword at her hip and leaned it against the wall, then crossed the room in long strides and took her seat, gesturing for Simon to take the chair opposite.
"Thank you."
Simon sat down, his face tense. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if lost in thought.
Tap. Tap.
The fingertip of a metal glove rapped twice against the armrest. Soon, she raised her head.
"Explain yourself. Why did you don my likeness and deliver that village?"
An archaic turn of phrase, and a beauty not even a speck of dust could mar.
Simon spoke calmly.
"While I was waiting for you at the castle, a messenger arrived bearing word that a village called Barnsdale was under attack by undead. I hadn't yet received formal permission to engage from you, but as a necromancer of Kizen, I couldn't bring myself to look the other way."
Simon clasped his hands together.
"However, the enemy force reported was larger than I expected. They were army-scale, and I had no confidence I could protect every last villager fighting alone. So I decided to deploy my own forces as well."
"To put it precisely—"
She rested her chin on her hand.
"Your 'Legion,' I'd say."
"That's correct."
Nephthys had already let slip that the Grand Duke knew of Simon and the 7th Legion, so there was little point pretending surprise.
After all, he had come to the Northern Territory of Carlos to take the Legion Commander lessons in the first place.
"The people of the North either don't know or don't much care, but the Legion I command stands accused of the 'Crime of Betrayal.' I couldn't deploy it openly."
"So you disguised yourself as me—a Legion Commander in active service—and used your Legion to crush the enemy."
"Yes."
Simon bowed his head in earnest apology.
"I'm sorry for rampaging around without permission. If you intend to punish me, I'll accept it."
"......"
The Grand Duke rose slowly from her seat.
Clank— clank—
Every footfall seemed weighted with deliberation. She walked to the office desk, clasped her hands behind her back, and gazed out the window.
"Insolent wretch."
Simon realized the words were addressed to him and lifted his head.
"What manner of Legion Commander do you wish to become?"
Necromancers—only seven in all the continent—who could command Ancient Undead and lead limitless armies without any restriction whatsoever.
Yet as was so often the case with their kind, necromancers had not walked the straight and narrow. Magnus was proof of that. He had murdered his own teacher, dragged ordinary civilians into his pursuit of greater power, and never once hesitated to wage war against fellow Legion Commanders.
"I want to use this power I possess properly—and for the sake of people."
Simon recalled the fervent cheers and tears of the villagers when he had gone to save Barnsdale.
"Like you, Your Grace."
The woman staring out the window, hands clasped behind her back, let out a short laugh.
"A southerner through and through—pickled in flattery, with a silver tongue to match. Heroism is not the charmed destiny you imagine it to be."
And yet her voice, compared to their first meeting, had grown remarkably gentle. She walked over and picked up a bottle resting near the window.
She pulled the cork, added ice, poured the drink into a cup, and brought it over, setting it on the table.
"It isn't liquor, so drink without worry."
She sat back down on the sofa and took a sip herself. Simon savored the aroma as he drank.
A northern tea? Its bitter tang was exquisite.
"I've heard the story from Nephthys. Though I did cut off our communication partway through."
She tilted her chin onto her hand, askew.
"Your purpose is the Legion Commander lessons, I take it."
"Yes."
"But what I told you when we first met was the truth."
—The North has no leisure to spare on teaching some greenhorn.
"The North is under an offensive the likes of which it has never seen."
The Grand Duke's expression turned grave as she lifted her cup.
"It seems that thing is finally intent on settling the score."
"By 'that thing,' you mean...?"
"Do you happen to know this idiom?"
The corner of her mouth curled upward.
"Like the North God summoning a blizzard."
"Ah, yes! Of course I know it."
In truth, it was an expression used not only across the Alliance but throughout the entire continent.
"The North God exists. It holds dominion over the Frost Field—one of the oldest undead in the world."
It... it actually exists?'
The North God was a being so legendary it had given its name to an idiom.
Certain archaeologists went so far as to claim it had existed since before humanity's days as apes—a monster so ancient that even the category of Ancient Undead no longer suited it. By the very nature of its power, it had dwelt in the North for untold ages, accumulating strength, until now no one alive could touch it.
Their territories bordered one another, and so the Grand Dukes who ruled the Northern Territory of Carlos had fought the North God in an unbroken succession of wars.
Even the current Grand Duke—hailed as the greatest 2nd Legion Commander in history—had waged that long war without ever forcing a conclusion.
"Until now, the North God has devoted itself to turning wild monsters into undead and cementing its power base in the North. But now it commands offensives on every front. The hour of the decisive battle draws near."
Kheheheh. The man speaks true!
Pier's voice rang out inside Simon's head.
When we took that creature called the 'Gourmet' into our Legion and its core nearly detonated—that, too, was surely the North God's doing! It schemed to keep the beast from being stolen away by the Grand Duke!
So it was.'
Simon took another sip of the bitter tea and sank into thought.
The long and short of it was this: the North was at war, and the Grand Duke had no time to spare for him.
In that case—
"I'd like to propose a trade."
At Simon's words, her expression twisted.
"A trade, not a request?"
"Yes. An exchange between equals—Legion Commander to Legion Commander."
Simon placed a hand over his chest.
"If you will permit me to wear your disguise going forward, then for the duration of my stay, I and the 7th Legion will fight in the North, alongside the people of the North."
"......"
"I came here to grow stronger. I will fight in your stead, filling the hours you cannot. In exchange, you teach me—as much as the time I buy back for you allows."
The Grand Duke, who had been listening in silence, smirked.
'So the boy means to carve out his own lesson time with his own two hands.'
Absurd, presumptuous—and yet an entertaining proposition.
"Insolent flatterer. How long has it been since you became a necromancer?"
"About a year and a half."
"Barely anything. You may have gained the power of a Legion Commander, but you're still nothing more than a student. Are you confident that you can actually help in this 'war'?"
"That answer—"
Simon raised the corner of his mouth.
"depends on how hard you drive me, Your Grace. Whatever brutal lessons you have in store, I'll keep pace with every one of them."
"What did you say?"
The Grand Duke burst out laughing.
Not only did he intend to earn his own lesson time—he was telling her to raise him into someone worth watching on the battlefield, since he planned to fight there regardless.
To think there existed a man who could say such things with a straight face.
This one was, in every sense of the word, insane.
"Insolent to a fault—but I find I like it."
She rose from her seat and extended her hand.
"Then the bargain is struck, youngest of Legion Commanders."
Simon stood and clasped her hand.
"I look forward to working with you!"
A joint front of the 7th Legion and the 2nd Legion was formed.
Simon reached several agreements with the Grand Duke.
First: when Simon wore the armor, he would act as her proxy, and his orders would carry the same authority as the Grand Duke's own. Any and all complications arising from this, the Grand Duke would bear.
Second: all battles fought in the North were hereby sanctioned, and Simon would hold independent command authority. Ownership of undead and corpses belonged to whichever legion felled them.
Third: any undead of the 7th Legion in the North would, in the eyes of the world, be undead of the 2nd Legion—with the Grand Duke herself as guarantor.
That was the broad shape of it. Simon stowed the Grand Duke's armor in his subspace, to be used whenever the need arose.
The battle had only just ended and the hour was late, so the Grand Duke's lessons would begin the following day. Simon did not forget to hand over the letter Nephthys had sent, either.
—Present yourself at the castle from tomorrow morning.
The castle was bustling with her undead, leaving Simon little room to settle in, so he decided to lodge simply at an inn nearby.
Simon parted ways with the Grand Duke and stepped outside.
Murmur murmur!
True to its reputation as the most flourishing city in the North, the streets were alive with people even at night.
A place where a dozen races and peoples mingled and lived side by side.
Because the Northern Territory of Carlos had been sealed off from the outside world for so long, criminals, escaped slaves, and persecuted demihumans had all flocked here. In this place, one's past or pedigree counted for nothing; strength and skill alone were virtue.
For that very reason, washed-up mercenaries and hot-blooded young nobles would sometimes come north seeking to make a name for themselves.
Still.......
The way the locals dressed left something to be desired, every last one of them.
Some of the warriors in particular, insisting that no amount of cold could break their souls, strutted about in armor so scant it left their skin bare—a sight that was, to put it mildly, hard on the eyes.
Is that chest hair, or armor? I genuinely can't tell.
"And so, this maiden has attuned herself to the northern fashion, as you see!"
It was Erzebet, who had popped out of the subspace declaring she wanted fresh air. Without even bothering to look, Simon pulled off his own robe and draped it over her.
"......Please stop drawing attention to us."
"Oh dear, what a waste."
Erzebet wrapped Simon's robe around herself, visibly pleased, and gave it a discreet sniff.
"Ah! Since we've finally made it out of school, won't you join me for a glass of wine at the inn? This maiden shall pour it for you!"
"...I have schoolwork to do before dawn."
Brushing the remark aside entirely, Erzebet declared she'd be right back and wandered off on her own to buy wine and food. Left with no choice, Simon leaned against a nearby wall to wait.
And so he stood there, mind drifting, when—
"Well, well. We meet again, pretty lady."
A shaggy, rough-faced northerner was sidling up to Simon.