The King Behind the Offer
Still, it would have been churlish to coldly refuse a offered seat, so Simon sat down.
A War Necromancer and a front-line commander. Neither was a man Simon could afford to treat lightly.
...Though, this is remarkable.
This was nothing more than an inn's dining hall, and yet the scenery beyond the window kept changing. A city center, a lakeside, the heart of a desert — apparently the view shifted with War Necromancer Chronos's tastes and moods. Even the wind, the humidity, and the smells were reproduced. Illusion magic of a remarkably high order. Simon thought it was the finest illusion he had ever seen, second only to Saywre's work.
"Our junior here — what year was it again?"
That very Chronos asked the question.
"Second year, sir."
"Oh~ really? Right about the halfway mark, then."
Simon had already guessed it from the moment the man called him 'junior,' but astonishingly, Chronos was Kizen-born. From what Simon gathered, he had dropped out early in his second-year semester. His stated reason: during a Mission Assessment in Kalross, he'd found this line of work so perfectly suited to his tastes that he threw the academy over on the spot and went straight into employment.
"If there's anything you're curious about when it comes to Kizen life, ask me anything!"
Chronos slapped Simon on the shoulder and laughed heartily. Simon followed with an awkward smile of his own.
I imagine our time at Kizen was fairly similar, though.
"That's enough idle chatter."
Romario cleared his throat. His unmistakable white eyebrows twitched.
"Before we get to your business, I confess I'm curious as to why a Kizen student has come to such dangerous territory alone."
Simon's head snapped up.
So the fact that a Kizen student had entered the North — did that trouble them?
Even Count Boldmont had tried to win him over first thing. With their intentions unreadable, Simon decided to draw a firm line for now.
"I must ask for your understanding — our off-campus itinerary is classified, so I cannot speak of it myself."
"Eheh~ Playing it cold, aren't we."
Chronos flapped his wrist beside him.
"Whether it's a Mission Assessment or a field assignment, couldn't you at least tell us what you came here for? It's not like saying that much will get you scolded by anyone."
"I'm a member of the Student Council, senior."
S Simon put on a picture-perfect business smile.
"If the Student Council doesn't uphold the rules, who will?"
At that, Chronos faltered for a beat — then burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! You didn't give an inch, and what a silver tongue! Shows the Student Council presidency isn't a job for just anyone!"
Romario shot Chronos a look that said mind your mouth.
"Then I shall press you no further on that. The reason we called you here is to ask for your cooperation."
"Cooperation?"
"That's right. And the price will be—"
As Romario swept one arm through the air, runes unfolded across every wall of the inn, and a magic circle flared to life. A soundproofing spell for security's sake.
"—what His Majesty the King himself shall pay."
As the scale of it swelled, Simon felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down his spine.
Shouldn't have taken the seat.
He hadn't expected them to invoke the King outright while demanding cooperation.
It was the age of the Dark Alliance, true — but the influence of the mere four 'Kings' on this continent remained immense. An ordinary noble wouldn't even have the chance to voice his own opinion; the moment a royal command was mentioned, he would have bowed low and sworn obedience. As long as he stood in Kalross, even a noble of another land was not free of the Kalross King's decree.
One careless word, and it gets read as defying the royal command.
Here, there was nothing for it but to answer with strict principle.
"I am nothing more than a student dispatched under Kizen's orders. If you wish for my cooperation in your mission, I ask that you make a formal request through the school."
He raised Kizen as his shield.
King or no king, everything paled before the names of Kizen and Nephthys. He was Nephthys's student — what could anyone do about that? And his position on the Student Council, too, was a useful tool for dealing with grown men, precisely because it let him cling to principle.
The approach seemed to work; a faint shadow fell across Romario's expression.
"Fine, fine. Then shall this dropout senior offer you one piece of advice?"
Chronos cut in abruptly.
"Right now, school feels like the whole world, doesn't it? The professors look so impressive, you're running yourself ragged over homework, and one slip down the rankings feels like the apocalypse. But once you're outside?" He shook his head. "None of it matters. Not a bit."
There was a faint bitterness in Chronos's voice as he said it.
"School is three years at most. Whether you can't stomach it and get expelled, or you survive and graduate — the moment you walk out, you return to your original place. Right now you look down on the kids in the dead-last squad, don't you? And later on you'll be groveling to exactly those nobody losers again. Don't stand there grinning like an idiot just because some pretty duchess who enrolled after you calls you 'senior, senior.' In three years, she'll be using you as nothing but a stepping-stone."
He brushed his falling bangs back with a sweep of his hand.
"The point is: your way out is yours to find. School is just a means. The only real value of your three years at Kizen is the chance to rub shoulders, laughing and drinking, with people you otherwise couldn't bear to meet eyes with. Build your connections, lay down your path for after graduation — get all the groundwork neatly done, and there's no need to see those three years through."
He jabbed a finger at Simon's forehead. Tsk!
"With that in mind, don't let this chance — a connection to our beloved King — slip away. If things go smoothly, I could even take you to an audience with His Majesty the King mysel—"
"If that's all you have to say."
Screech—
Simon rose from his seat.
"I'll be going."
Then he turned his back on them without ceremony and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where his room waited.
Chronos and Romario stared blankly after him — and only after the distant thud of a door slamming shut did they look at each other.
"I told you I was confident handling Kizen students. I asked you to leave it to me."
Romario said, in a tone of reproach.
"There's always one like that now and then."
Chronos scratched his head.
"The kind who won't accept reality even when you spell it out for them. I'll just assume we were never on the same wavelength."
Snap—
Chronos flicked his fingers.
The soundproofing spell expanded, and the inn's barrier flushed crimson, sealing Simon's room off from the lobby entirely. Now no trick under heaven would carry a sound from this side to that one.
"Hey~ innkeeper! One more beer over here!"
"Yes sir!"
"Ah — and another plate of roast quail."
"Right away."
The innkeeper and his wife, eyes glazed as though under some curse, shuffled off to the kitchen. Romario sighed.
"Not heading back to the barracks? Going to keep eating here?"
"The food in this place is good. The barracks only ever serve that wretched soup. I intend to enjoy myself a little longer."
Chronos tore into a quail drumstick, then drained his beer in one long pull.
"Khh~ now that's living."
He set the mug down with a grin.
"So. What do we do now?"
"Making the Student Council President of Kizen one of our own was never more than a pipe dream. We proceed as originally planned."
Hearing Romario's answer, Chronos shook his head slowly.
"Why not just sweep this place away with our own forces? We went to the trouble of marching into Bilkenos without spilling a drop of blood."
"Do not underestimate the Grand Duke. She is the true hero who held the North alone for over twenty years. And above all — without her, who is going to bring down the Northern God?"
Chronos shrugged.
"Weren't those 'Three Brothers' done away with? Surely we could manage the Northern God on our own — the poor thing's all alone now."
"We don't even know for certain the way to reach the Northern God. Wait until the Grand Duke guides us."
Tsk.
Chronos clicked his tongue, clearly displeased.
Just then the food arrived, and the two men settled into a leisurely meal.
"Since Kizen came up — you know they call me the All-Army Necromancer now, sing my praises and all that?"
The All-Army Necromancer, Chronos.
He was a War Necromancer whose specialty was the Wide-Area Curse — laying curses on as many as ten thousand targets at once.
It was a curse cast not on enemies but on allies: erasing fear and stray thoughts to forge soldiers into pure instruments of slaughter, or forcibly awakening their bodies to draw out several times their ordinary strength.
Not once had any army he commanded ever known defeat.
Though, granted, not a single allied soldier had ever returned with an intact mind or body, either.
"But back in my Kizen days? Total flop. Duels, missions — a wide-area curse aimed at allies was utterly useless there."
"Hardly surprising."
He stretched his arm out straight.
"But after I joined the army, that talent finally blossomed. Which leaves just one step remaining."
He ran his tongue slowly across his lips.
"Becoming a Legion Commander! Just imagine — me commanding an unlimited army while raining down my curses. An invincible undead army, born on the spot. Can you even fathom how strong that'd be?"
Romario closed his eyes.
"Are the summon-type undead you command not enough?"
"The heavens have no mercy. Gifted with power like this, and my Summoning was hopeless."
Chronos gave a rueful chuckle.
"Three undead, maximum, under my direct control. A desperate number. It hasn't gone up a single notch to this day."
"A pity."
"I think of it as a curse laid on me."
He waggled his tongue and looked at Romario.
"A promise is a promise, Romario."
"What promise?"
"Just in case. If — and only if — the Grand Duke happens to die in this war—"
"—then the 2nd Legion is yours. However little sense that scenario makes."
Kheheheh.
Chronos shook with laughter.
Then he slumped, deflated.
"Exhausting, this. If I could just track down the 7th Legion Commander, everything would resolve itself simply — no need to walk such a thorny road."
"You mean the Legion of Betrayal that caused such an uproar at Kizen recently?"
"That's the one. My friends have been quietly hunting for him too — all of them dreaming of becoming Legion Commanders themselves."
Chronos leaned far back in his chair and grumbled irritably.
"Ugh, seriously! Why won't a 7th Legion Commander just fall out of the sky somewhere!"
At that moment — hwmmm! — the barrier shuddered.
Without so much as turning around, Chronos gave a sharp snap of his fingers. Someone stepped through into the reddened barrier of the inn.
"We meet again. Commander Romario. Lord Chronos."
Chronos waved with a grin.
"There you are."
Romario nodded as well.
"Welcome."
The one who entered was none other than Count Boldmont.
"I bring you a most weighty proposal."
The next morning.
A taut tension hung over the North.
A sharpened edge seemed to linger in the air everywhere. The northerners, who until yesterday had been drinking raucously and brawling at the drop of a hat, had halted all their affairs and were casting frosty glares toward the Kingdom's army encamped on the outskirts.
Presumably to keep things from boiling over, the Grand Duke had already ordered her warriors not to touch the Kingdom's soldiers. Romario, for his part, had instructed his troops to minimize unnecessary movement and remain in their barracks.
Even so, there were northern warriors who occasionally couldn't hold their tempers and picked fights with the soldiers. More than once, a full-blown brawl was only averted because others stepped in to hold them back.
Amid all that restlessness, Simon reported to the Grand Duke's castle and threw himself into his Legion Commander lessons.
With the Three Brothers dead and their remnants dealt with, she had no further need to loose the Gale Bow — and so she poured herself into teaching him.
"Begin."
Today, Simon practiced controlling legion-type undead at great distances with total freedom.
Feel it. Even without a direct link to the undead in question, you can issue your command through Death Sense — the way a scent rides the wind.
Simon scattered his skeletons across every corner of the city and gave them the mission of running errands.
The townsfolk, long accustomed to the Grand Duke's undead, graciously handed their goods over to skeletons clutching memos and pouches of coin.
But the market's layout was hopelessly convoluted, the crowds were thick, and complications were constant.
"...I told you to buy arrows."
He had ordered a skeleton to purchase arrows from the blacksmith — and it had returned clutching an enormous fish caught from the northern lake.
The Grand Duke chuckled.
"A happy accident, rather. Lunch today shall be fish."
There was no shortage of trial and error. At first he frequently lost track of his Death Sense connection to a skeleton, or had it severed outright — but here, too, he adapted as time went on.
Toward the end, Simon even pulled off the feat of remotely reassembling, with a Restoration spell, a skeleton that had been smashed to pieces in the crush of the crowd.
He had gathered up all the goods his skeletons had bought and was taking a short rest when—
Hm.
He spotted Kingdom soldiers in the market.
Their morale looked wretched. Every last one of them had hollow, listless eyes, dark circles sunk deep beneath them, and no strength left in their bodies.
The Grand Duke saw them too.
"That is the work of Chronos's curse."
Chronos was a War Necromancer of the strictest breed — the kind who cast wide-area curses upon entire armies. Every soldier under his spell became immensely powerful, but because that power came from a curse rather than a priest's blessing, side effects were inevitable.
"No different from a necromancer handling his undead, is it."
The Grand Duke remarked. Looking at the soldiers — withered shells, no will stirring anywhere in them — Simon nodded.
"Will it really be all right? This campaign against the Northern God?"
"It will be fine."
The Grand Duke answered breezily.
"Whatever happens, I am here. If I see the slightest hint of them pulling some crooked trick, I will erase them without leaving so much as a trace. And if they serve us faithfully, then letting them skim a share of the Frost Field's spoils is a fair enough price."
She closed her eyes.
"The only thing that matters now is the Northern God. You too — give no thought to anything else. Focus on honing your own strength."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Simon broke into a bright grin.
"Also — when you speak with your student, would it kill you to look him in the eyes while you do it?"
"...I looked at you but once, not long ago."
Her strange condition persisted all the same.
At that very moment—
"Grand Duke."
The butler Godric came running to her personally. She gave Simon a nod of acknowledgment, then leaned close to whisper in the Grand Duke's ear.
The Grand Duke's expression turned grave.
"I see. So it is Hate."
"?"
Simon blinked, looking between the two of them.
Hweeeeeeeeeng!
The northern mountain range.
Between the motionless corpses of the Northern God's undead, the faceless knight stared steadily ahead.
Clack.
Hate — the Manager of the 2nd Legion.
Far beyond the mountains, at a great remove from where she stood, a hole of black abyss was visible.
[Location of the Abyss confirmed. Returning.]
Hate gave the order and wheeled her steed around. The Phantom Dullahans of the 2nd Legion began descending the snowfields alongside her.
[...]
And atop a branch, a single ghoul watched the 2nd Legion withdraw.
The ghoul's Death Sense stirred.
Smooooh—
Through a labyrinth of narrow, tunnel-like passages, and further—
To the end of a Death Sense stretching beyond all depth.
Smooooh—
In the darkness, a pair of brightly gleaming eyes floated free.
[I will be waiting. Son of Yona.]