The Boy Who Blocked the Grand Duke's Arrow
Erzebet had never been told the details of the Grand Duke's power, but her instincts told her everything she needed to know.
They were in crisis.
The fine hairs across her whole body stood on end, every sense snapping into sharp focus. Even without seeing it with her own eyes, she could feel the vicious power hurtling toward them from afar.
Shff—
The skin of her face peeled away, and the violet eyes unique to the undead flashed into view. More eyes opened across her forehead. Her perception stretched long and thin, and time itself slowed to a crawl.
I must protect my master.
Spiderwebs burst from her sleeves and spread across Simon's front. Almost in the same instant—
KRA-BOOM!
The inn's wall shattered, and a pitch-black line, death itself given form, came rushing at Simon. Through her eyes, she could see it with perfect clarity.
Death, closing in on Simon.
Sliiide—
The webs fanned out in front of him without a single gap, and the black death touched their surface.
The slack webs snapped taut in one sharp motion.
She had woven them from layers upon layers of webbing, yet they couldn't slow the incoming death by even a hair.
Twick—
One strand snapped.
Twick—
Twick-twick—
Two lines, then three, parted like thread.
This is bad.
'I must!'
KEEEEEEEING!
Every one of her eyes blazed open at once.
'I have to protect him!'
Dark blue Jet-Black erupted from her entire body like an explosion. The darkness surged outward like a wave, and the moment it poured into the webs barring death's path, the strands swelled in volume, their shape and color transforming.
KEE-GIIIIG!
Miraculously, the webbing's strength soared. The remaining two lines of silk slowed death's momentum, if only for an instant.
[HAAAAAAA!]
She hauled back on her arms. Freshly drawn webs coiled around the arrowhead of death like a net, enveloping it—and at the same moment made contact with the 'target mark' painted on Simon's abdomen.
"Urk!"
Simon seized the arrow with both hands. The inn floor beneath him shattered with a CRACK!, splinters of sharp wood flying up to score a red line across his cheek.
"UUUURGH!"
Simon clenched his teeth and drove power into his legs.
Thankfully, Erzebet's sturdy webs had spared him a penetrating wound. He was prepared to simply endure the force head-on, but—
KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!
The output was on an entirely different dimension.
Before he could even brace himself, Simon's body began sliding backward. He smashed through the inn wall with his back and kept going, his two Jet-Black-laden legs carving long tracks into the ground as they dug in.
"Master!"
FWIP—
FWIP—
Sensing the danger, Erzebet violently swept her arms a second time. countless spiderwebs poured out of her, winding around Simon's shoulders, his back, his legs.
KEE-GIK!
The moment she took a hauling stance, the webs wrapped around Simon spread outward in all directions, latching onto the nearby northern houses to anchor him in place.
KWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!
But the speed only lessened slightly; Simon's body was still being driven back without end.
Dozens of homes tethered to Erzebet's webs came crashing down one after another—roofs peeled away, pillars ripped from their foundations and dragged along. Shouts of alarm rang out from the crowd.
Every building within reach was collapsing.
'Damn it!'
Reason returned to Simon too late, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he shouted.
"Pier!"
Pier burst out of the subspace the moment it opened, as if he'd been waiting for the call. Instantly shifting into Bone Armor form, he snapped tightly into place across Simon's legs and back.
Then Pier and Simon exerted their strength together.
WHAM! WHAM!
Simon slid backward, obliterating wall after wall with his back. One building, two, three—each time he was pushed along, the scenery changed. Interior, then open sky, then interior again, over and over.
Simon shouted.
"Everyone, run!"
RUUUUMBLE!
KWA-KWA-KWA-BOOM!
The sudden chaos was utter mayhem. Simon's body, of all things, went careening into the night market street, nearly plowing into bystanders again and again.
His legs gouged deep into the ground. Simon gritted his teeth and looked back over his shoulder.
"!!"
A baby, no more than two or three years old, had plopped down on the ground, babbling happily and playing with dirt and snow.
"Run!"
Simon yelled, but the baby was completely absorbed in building a snowman. No parents were anywhere in sight.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Simon summoned every last drop of strength—even the milk-drinking kind—and raised his Jet-Black.
'Stop, stop, stop, stop!'
The will of a Legion Commander rose within him.
Pier's Bone Armor activated with tremendous force, and Erzebet's webs pulled tauter still.
'STOOOOP!'
KAGAGAGAGAGANG!
Thud!
Something hit his leg and was crushed—and at that very moment—
The Jet-Black of the black arrow ran dry.
"Hahk!"
Simon collapsed onto the spot where he stood.
"Hahk! Whew! Haa! Haa!"
Drenched in sweat, he gasped for breath and looked behind him.
The snowman the baby had been building had collided with Simon's foot and was smashed to pieces.
"?"
The baby blinked up at Simon, and tears began welling in its eyes. A moment later, it burst into wailing.
"...H-haha."
Simon forced out a strained laugh and gently scooped the crying baby into his arms.
"I'm sorry—did I scare you? I'm so sorry I wrecked your friend."
He apologized, stroking the baby's back. Only then did the parents, who must have been the ones watching from far away, come sprinting toward him, dropping their shopping basket and weeping buckets.
And then—
"......."
THUD!
The flagbearer who had lured the Grand Duke's arrow toward Simon flopped to the ground, his face a picture of idiocy.
"......Im."
Something beyond common sense had happened.
The Grand Duke's arrow, capable of skewering a mountain-sized monster in a single strike.
The very symbol of the North's supreme destruction.
"......Insane."
It had been stopped.
By a 'human', no less.
His trousers went damp.
"How is that even possi—"
As he muttered blankly, a shoe entered his field of vision.
SMACK!
When Erzebet's heel came down on his forehead, his consciousness took flight.
Overnight, a new legend was born in the North and in Bilkenos.
The 'Boy Who Blocked the Grand Duke's Arrow'.
Northerners came again and again to gaze upon the long scar Simon's feet had carved into the ground as he braced against the arrow, paying their respects as if it were a holy pilgrimage.
"A true miracle, a miracle! Has the Grand Duke's arrow ever been stopped before?"
"And by an outsider, no less!"
When one stablehand tried to walk across the tracks Simon had left, a group of northerners flew into a fury and screamed at him to go around.
The spirit of winter had lent its aid.
The ancestors of the North had been watching.
As all manner of talk swirled around the incident—
'Ugh.'
The very author of that legend lay in bed, eyes brimming with tears.
His stomach was wrapped tight in bandages.
-My Lord Commander? Ahh~
He spent the entire morning resting, fed spoonful after spoonful of porridge by a smirking Erzebet, and didn't report to the Grand Duke's castle until well past noon.
"Ho ho ho! The whole North is abuzz with tales of you, Young Master!"
As he entered the castle, Head Butler Godric greeted him with a beaming grin.
His attitude had changed completely from when Simon had first arrived. Even the form of address had shifted to the most respectful 'Young Master'.
Simon scratched the side of his head and spoke in a dry voice.
"Was... was getting knocked down by an arrow really such a big deal?"
"Of course it was! There's never been a single precedent of anyone surviving the Grand Duke's arrow!"
"Oh my, are you all right? I heard the news."
Grayson, the milkmaid who delivered to the castle every day, came rushing over in a single stride. Without warning, she thrust a jug of milk into Simon's hands and flashed her easygoing grin.
"None of your bones cracked, right? Here you go! They say reindeer milk does wonders for the bones."
"Th-thank you."
Clutching the milk jug to his chest, Simon shuffled up the stairs and arrived in front of the Grand Duke's office. He knocked with the back of his hand.
"It's Simon."
"Enter."
When he opened the door, he found the Grand Duke training yet again, dressed in her embarrassingly revealing attire.
Today she was doing a full handstand, bearing the entire weight of her body on her fingertips. Judging by the Jet-Black coiling around her frame, she'd increased the weight as well.
Simon took a seat and waited for her to finish.
Before long, she completed her training, wiped her brow briskly with a towel, and smirked.
"The North was quiet until you showed up, and now it won't shut up about you. It's nothing but talk of you, day and night."
Simon gave an awkward laugh.
"It keeps happening somehow."
"I heard you took an arrow. Are you hurt badly?"
"This morning I thought I was going to die, but by the afternoon I could live with it."
"I see."
She cast a glance out the window, then jerked her chin toward Simon.
"?"
Simon rose from his seat and looked out.
And then—
"Ah!"
His mouth fell open.
Atop a tall pole outside the castle, the severed head of the very 'flagbearer' who had lured the Grand Duke's arrow toward Simon had been mounted on display.
Northern crows croaked caw caw as they gathered to peck out the eyes of the headless-and-headless flagbearer.
"You don't mean he was executed—!"
"He was."
The Grand Duke said in an even voice.
"I took his head, and his subordinates have been reduced to slaves. They'll labor themselves to death, and then be used as bait for monsters."
Simon himself was unharmed and no innocent had died, so it did seem perhaps a touch harsh—but the Grand Duke's reaction was ice-cold.
"We are at war, and discipline comes before all else."
She clenched her fist.
"Dueling is a culture with long tradition in the North, and I let my people fight as they please. But for a defeated duelist to, in his shame, lure my arrow for a private reason?"
CRASH!
When she drove her fist into the wall, cracks spiderwebbed outward and the entire castle shook.
"He deserves to die a hundred times over."
When a flagbearer plants a flag, the Grand Duke looses an arrow.
That was the absolute, solemn rule of the North, and never once had any flagbearer planted his flag for a private reason.
True, she had noticed the arrow's flight path led over the city and had carefully moderated its force—but she had sent it flying in trust of her flagbearer.
And this was the result of that trust. Her indignation seemed impossible to contain.
She had ordered every flagbearer in the North confined to quarters. Perched in her chair with her legs crossed, she rested her chin on her hand and let out a long breath.
"You'll have no time to worry over trifles, I expect. You'll be taking part too."
"In what?"
She pointed downward.
"The North's strategy meeting."
The Grand Duke's castle had a spacious conference hall.
The Grand Duke sat at the head of a great round table, and arrayed around it at a respectful distance sat men in all manner of distinctive garb.
Simon observed them from a seat somewhat removed.
So these are the Generals.
The North's military hierarchy, put simply, ran from warrior, to flagbearer, to General—with the Grand Duke at the very apex.
There were intermediate ranks, of course—'Senior Warrior', 'Senior Flagbearer', even 'Grand General' among the Generals—but broadly speaking, those were the three divisions.
Everyone gathered in the hall now was of General rank or above. Men capable of commanding not just a unit, but entire armies.
They're strong.
The gap between them and the flagbearer he'd faced recently was a chasm.
Every one of them had an open core and the bearing of veterans blooded by countless battles—kingdom-class powerhouses, unmistakable at a glance.
"What's this brat doing here?"
At the sight of an unfamiliar boy in the hall, one General jerked his chin. Across the table, a red-bearded General let the corner of his mouth curl slyly.
"That would be the one who blocked the Grand Duke's arrow, I believe."
"Amusing!"
Curious stares mingled half-and-half with wariness toward an outsider.
Just then, Head Butler Godric came hurrying over with an extra chair, and one General scowled.
"I say, Godric. Are we really setting a place for that child at a meeting that will decide the North's fate? All because he happened to take one arrow—"
"Finished with your gossip?"
When the Grand Duke spoke in a frosty voice, the Generals stiffened and fell silent. She beckoned toward Godric, who was carrying the chair.
SCREEECH.
Simon joined the meeting and took his seat at the round table.
And that wasn't all.
Huh.
It was the seat directly beside the Grand Duke.
The mischievous, jealous stares of several Generals swung toward Simon. More than one clicked his tongue in open disapproval.
"Grand Duke, who is that child?"
asked Grand General Ganiro, the most powerful man in the North after the Grand Duke herself.
"Ah, this one?"
The Grand Duke threw her arm familiarly around Simon's neck and, for everyone to see, pulled him toward her side.
"Everyone, pay your respects with due courtesy. This is my new disciple."
At the word disciple, the Generals' mouths hung open.
Jean Arskalt, Grand Duke of the North, was famous for never maintaining personal relationships of any kind. And yet—a disciple?
As Simon fidgeted in embarrassment, the Grand Duke chuckled and ruffled his hair.
"This boy will be taking on a crucial role in our upcoming plan."