The Letter on the Shelf
It was a long while before Simon could see properly again.
As the clouds thrown up by the explosion thinned, he stared straight ahead with a hollow, haunted look on his face.
Grrooooowwl―!
The body of the 'Third Brother', struck dead-on by the Corpse Explosion, came into view. Its long, spindly lower legs were the first to emerge; everything above the hips was still swallowed whole by pitch-black smoke.
Don't tell me.
Simon's lips trembled.
Even that wasn't enough to bring it down?
If Prince's Corpse Explosion couldn't fell it, then this had been an enemy beyond Simon's power from the very start.
He was just about to send the order for his Legion to fall back when—
[Kekeke! Look properly, Boy.]
"...What?"
Simon's eyes went wide. When a wind sweeping up from the gorge pushed the thick smoke aside, he finally saw it: the Third Brother's entire upper body was gone.
All that remained were two legs, rooted into the ground.
Kweog-
Losing their center of gravity, the legs buckled and crumpled to the earth.
That was how powerful the blast had been—the massive upper torso hadn't left so much as a trace behind.
The Third Brother had been destroyed.
The effect was immediate. The moment the hive-entity that had commanded them vanished, the surrounding undead plunged into utter chaos.
-Kiriiiiriiiir!
-Kreureuk!
Some froze in place like broken machines. Some acted on nothing but their most primal instincts. Some, freed of all restraint, bolted for the hills. Some turned on the undead beside them and began tearing at their flesh.
The entire chain of command had collapsed.
[Now, while the Third Brother is gone—this is our chance, Boy!]
Pier roared.
[We must crush them before the Northern God seizes back control of his forces!]
"Yes!"
Simon issued the order for a full assault—
Tteong-
—and then the world spun. His head lolled, his whole body sagged as if drained to the last dregs, and he realized the jet-black energy in his veins had been emptied to the very bottom.
Oh no.
A exhaustion far worse than anything the Chaos Dullahan had ever inflicted.
Simon's consciousness blurred at the edges.
This isn't a technique you use carelessly.
Thud!
[Boy! Are you all right? Boy!]
Simon didn't regain consciousness until a full five hours later.
The enemy's numbers had been so vast that the battle had raged on even after the Third Brother's destruction. The Northern God's undead, their command structure paralyzed, could no longer maneuver tactically—but they still struck back at every attack.
While Simon lay unconscious, Pier had taken command.
Erzebet, burrowed deep into enemy lines, had moved her webs to reap countless undead in a single sweep, while Akemus and Herseba had wheeled through the skies, neutralizing Named Undead one after another.
And by the time Simon had recovered enough strength to stand—
[We were worried sick about you, Lord Commander!]
[My deepest congratulations on your victory, Young Master.]
—the battle was already over.
The Third Brother, one of the Northern God's three pillars, and the undead horde under his command—annihilated.
Pier had personally made the rounds, incorporating every useful Named Undead and straggler into the Legion.
"Huh. I fall asleep, and wake up to a whole crowd of new faces."
A full twenty Named Undead were bowing their heads low before Simon. The 'Gourmet', the first of them ever claimed, still looked hale and hearty.
[Kid, where's Prince?]
Herseba perched on Simon's shoulder and asked.
"Doesn't seem like he has the strength to come out. Looks like he's completely wiped, same as me."
Simon smiled wryly and tapped the hand wearing the ring, but there was no response.
[Well, in any case, this is an excellent result! The 7th Legion's fighting strength has just surged enormously!]
"Pier."
Simon looked up at him with a knowing smile.
"My father used your Corpse Explosion on Prince once too, didn't he?"
[Kukuku! So you caught on. The truth is, as a condition of rejoining the 7th Legion, Prince insisted on a clause forbidding anyone from ever telling you about his Corpse Explosion. That's the only reason I kept my mouth shut.]
So that was how far Prince had gone to hide it.
But watching Prince be pushed back by the Third Brother time and again, he must have decided that even if it cost him his own body, he had to win this fight.
Simon still didn't know every condition involved, but one thing was certain: Prince's own will was a crucial key to the Corpse Explosion.
Pier chuckled.
[By my measure, the expected firepower is far greater than the Corpse Explosion Richard once drew out of him.]
"Really?"
[Indeed. It's on a wholly different track from what Richard invoked. And I can still see room for an even mightier blast yet!]
Pier laid a hand upon his own skull.
It's mere speculation for now... but perhaps the Corpse Explosion has manifested in the form of a 'Geheim'.
The war was over.
Having been the first to take down one of the Three Brothers, Simon regrouped his forces and returned to Bilkenos, the capital of the North. Akemus would remain behind to manage the Named Undead captured in this campaign and see to the battle's final cleanup.
Did the Grand Duke and the generals win?
Simon had taken the Third Brother, but if even one of the other two—First or Second—survived, the campaign against the Northern God would suffer a crippling setback.
Simon was waiting in the keep's inner hall alongside the head butler Godric, patience wearing thin, when—
-Report!
A messenger came sprinting through the doors. Simon and Godric shot to their feet at the same instant, and the castle's entire household craned their necks.
-A great victory! A great victory! After a battle of blood and steel, the Grand Duke's arrow pierced the First Brother clean between the eyes, and the undead knights of the 2nd Legion severed the Second Brother's head!
WAAAAAAAH!
Everyone who heard the report threw both arms skyward and roared with joy. Godric sank to his knees where he stood, hot tears streaming down his face.
"Your Grace! Do you see? Our lady has done it! Our laaaady!"
Simon, too, was clenching both fists in triumph when one of the household, unable to contain himself any longer, bolted outside. He raced up to the top of the keep in a handful of strides and sounded the horn.
Puuuuuu puuuuu—!
He blew the horn again and again in a specific rhythm. And then, from every corner of the city of Bilkenos—
Puuuuuu puuuuu—!
Puuuuuu puuuuu—!
The identical horn call echoed across the city. Distant crowds erupted in cheers. Northerners kicked open their doors, spilled into the streets, and fell into one another's arms.
"The Three Brothers are dead!"
"The Grand Duke is victorious!"
The news of victory set the entire Carlos Northern Territory ablaze.
Some time later, the Grand Duke's army and the Grand General's forces came home.
Crowds packed thick along the roads to welcome them, petals swirling on the wind and drifting to the ground. At the very head of the column, a figure in black armor rode a spectral steed, waving to the people.
Soon they reached the castle. She leapt down from her horse in a single bound.
"Grand Duke! We humbly report a great victory!"
"Our deepest congratulations!"
Paying only half a mind to the salutes of her warriors and household, she climbed the steps at a brisk pace.
Clank! Clank!
Every stride rang with the sound of her armor's joints. She threw open the door to her office.
Wheeeeeeng—!
Wind swept in through the office's many open windows and swirled around the room. And there, seated on the sofa with perfect composure, sipping an ice-cold tea, was a blue-haired boy.
"Ah."
The boy set down his teacup and rose.
"You've arrived."
Shhhhk.
The Grand Duke removed her helmet. A wealth of black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, revealing a dust-streaked face. The corners of her mouth lifted.
"...You insolent little thing."
"I was merely smiling."
"It is yet too early for such confidence."
"Yes. Just one step remains now."
Simon flashed a splendid smile and extended his hand.
"Before I return to school, I will present you with the liberation of the North—as a gift."
She snorted a laugh and strode toward him.
"I called you insolent, not arrogant, insolent little thing."
And then she seized Simon's hand and gripped it, hard, with immense strength.
In the eyes of the two Legion Commanders as they faced each other, a profound trust had taken root.
As the deep freeze intensified, the Grand Duke and the humans withdrew, while Hate the Ancient Undead and the Phantom Dulahans remained in the Frost Field.
Undead needed neither food nor supplies. Their task now was to comb the now-empty Frost Field—vacant since the fall of the Three Brothers—and locate the approaches leading to the 'Abyss' where the Northern God dwelt.
The moment the way was found, every last soldier would march against the Northern God.
But first—
"Drink! Tonight we drink until we drop!"
"OOOOOOOH!"
A victory feast was held at the Grand Duke's castle. The North's most renowned generals and veteran riders, along with the great figures who propped up the northern territories in every field, all gathered under one roof to celebrate.
HAHAHAHA!
True to the North, there was not a shred of dignity to be found anywhere.
They piled tables high with food, poured beer over their own heads, wandered about gnawing on drumsticks, and at the slightest prompting burst into song, hips swinging, dancing in one great mass.
Warriors with liquor-flushed faces rolled on the floor, some staggered around with their trousers down in outrageous poses, and no one said a word. Tomatoes flew through the air, faces smeared with food—and everyone roared with laughter all the louder.
"Tonight's the night we settle it!"
"Ahaha! Isn't that exactly seven wins and seven losses?"
Out in the courtyard, duels were in full swing. Drunken dueling was forbidden, but the Grand Duke had allowed unarmed brawls—just for this one day.
Winners returned to the hall to thunderous cheers; losers came back dripping nosebleeds, a tooth missing, grinning like they'd never been happier in their lives.
...I'd really rather not join in.
Simon sat a little apart, nursing nothing stronger than a beer. He'd wanted some quiet time alone, but as the man of the hour, people kept coming up to chat with him from every direction.
The sole disciple ever taken on by the Grand Duke of the North, who otherwise maintained strictly professional relationships with everyone.
On top of that, this was the boy who'd beaten rider candidates black and blue on his first day in the North, thrashed full riders on his second until a flagpole got him—and who had somehow survived taking the Grand Duke's arrow head-on.
And beyond all that, unknown to the public, he held the record of having destroyed the Third Brother—but that was the last thing they could afford to learn.
"A smooth, clean-shaven face isn't bad at all, actually."
"He's cute. Hey, little brother—want to come to the inn with your big sis?"
The warrior women would occasionally toss him winks and flirts. Northerners were nothing if not blunt about their desires, and Simon, cheeks burning, struggled to adapt to a culture so utterly foreign to him.
"So where's our guest of honor tonight, anyway?"
"I wish she'd skip that stuffy armor for once and come down in a proper dress."
"HAHAHAHA! No need to guess—she'll come down in armor, sure as sunrise!"
The warriors snickered, glancing toward the office.
And right at that moment—
BANG!
The office door swung open and the Grand Duke appeared.
"OOOOH!"
Not a dress, but a crisp black formal uniform.
In an instant, she stole the gaze of every warrior in the hall.
Thud. Thud.
Every movement of the Grand Duke as she descended the stairs, face expressionless, was immaculate. Not one wasted motion in any step she took.
Reaching the bottom, she swept her gaze across her subordinates and raised her hand.
Chak!
Godric, as if he'd been waiting for exactly this, handed her a wineglass.
"Proud people of the North!"
She raised her glass. All the drunken haze in the hall seemed to vanish at once; every warrior lifted their cup in solemn, disciplined silence.
"Honorable allies!"
She looked at Simon. Simon smiled and raised his glass in return.
"This is a victory to remember! We stand but a single step from the Northern God's destruction. And we shall take that step—we will liberate our homeland, the North!"
"OOOOOH!"
"The next campaign will demand still more blood. But we will march forward!"
WAAAAAAAH!
"Our generation will break this chain of hatred, and we will give our children a peaceful northern homeland! Such is the long-cherished wish of the countless ancestors who have lived and died upon this soil!"
She lifted her glass to its full height.
"Cheers."
CHEERS!
Everyone downed their drinks in one go. The Grand Duke included.
"G-Grand Duke!"
Godric's arms trembled violently as he watched her drain the entire wineglass. Simon looked over at him with a puzzled expression—why on earth was he reacting like that?
And a short while later—
"Hkk. Hic. Heh heh."
—Simon was steering the drunken Grand Duke back toward her office with a shoulder under her arm.
So the legendary Grand Duke of the North can't hold her liquor.
"Unhand me, you insolent thing! I can drink plenty more!"
She'd had exactly that one glass of wine. Precisely one. Simon hauled her—hiccuping all the way—into the office and laid her down on the sofa.
"Whew. Get some rest, at least."
Exhausted, Simon wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced belatedly at the desk.
"?"
Nephthys's letter was sitting untouched on the shelf. Simon gasped.
"Wait—you still haven't read it?!"
"Foolish child. The contents are obvious."
Her face flushed with drink, she flapped a hand dismissively.
"And do you have any idea how many times that witch's silver tongue has bested me? It's hardly once or twice."
"N-no, but it's from Lady Nephthys! You should at least read it!"
"Fine. Fine."
Godric had said that the Grand Duke, out of duty, performed her fixed daily routine with perfect precision, but was at heart a fundamentally lazy human being.
Simon hadn't believed it at first, but the more he came to know her, the truer those words seemed.
He draped a blanket over her where she lay on the sofa, her eyelids drooping, and set the letter down on top of it.
"You have to read it!"
Before closing the door, Simon poked his head back in to say it one last time, then shut it and left. She rolled over and stared blankly ahead.
Plop-
As she turned, Nephthys's letter slid off the blanket and fell to the floor. She was wearing her most thoroughly-done-with-everything expression, on the verge of drifting off, when—
-But it's from Lady Nephthys! You should at least read it!
She let out a long, resigned sigh and picked up the letter. Then she tore the seal roughly and unfolded it.
"......"
She read through the drowsy haze in her eyes—and then bolted upright.
Her expression hardened, and hardened, until it turned dead serious. By the time she reached the last line, she was staring at the door Simon had left through with a face emptied of all thought.
Her arms were trembling.
"It can't be......"
Her eyes stretched wide with disbelief as she read the letter through one more time.
"You insolent little thing... you—!"
The letter from Nephthys contained a single line.
— From the Desk of Nephthys —
Simon is Yona's son.