The Forsaken Guardian
The Ancient Undead known as Gyros.
And the one who had pulled him out of his long imprisonment beneath the ice was Yona.
Thanks to that, Gyros had awakened from his slumber and joined the legion as an Ancient Undead — but of all eras, it had to be the golden age of the 7th Legion. Yona already had plenty of Ancient Undead at his side, and the position of a latecomer like Gyros was nothing to boast about.
So Gyros resolved to prove his loyalty to Yona, the man who had given him a new life, and did everything he was told.
Killing.
Destroying.
Burning.
It was no different this time. Having utterly annihilated the monsters Yona had ordered him to slay, Gyros was trudging back with their heads stuffed in a net, hoping for praise. His orders were complete.
And then—
—Yona~
A human woman was fawning all over Yona, his commander. She'd latched onto him ever since they met by chance in the western territories and simply refused to leave. A powerful necromancer in her own right, or so they said.
—You know, about Gyros—
Gyros froze.
The moment his own name came up, his hurried report died mid-step. He withdrew his jet-black energy and stilled himself to listen.
—Yona's legion is full of capable captains, right? But there's something off about Gyros in particular.
—……
—You told him to save people, and he goes and locks up the nearby villagers — even a passing band of bandits — in a cave. You tell him to bring you someone in red, and he cuts wounds into people and drags them back with their clothes dyed crimson. He botches every task you give him, and worse, he interprets orders however he pleases and blows everything out of proportion.
She shrugged.
—Watching you clean up after his messes, honestly, I feel a little sorry for you. Why do you even keep him around? The guy's really weird.
Gyros suppressed the sick urge to tear the woman apart and waited for the answer.
Yona, perched on a boulder, laughed out loud.
—You're right.
Gyros's grip on the net went slack. The monster heads inside tumbled to the ground and rolled away, scattering in every direction.
—Gyros has no flexibility and no brains. He can only do one thing at a time.
Unable to bear another word, Gyros turned to walk away—
—But.
At that moment, Yona's voice cut through every other sound around them, clear as a blade.
—That one thing, he does without fail. That's why I trust Gyros more than anyone.
In that instant.
With that single sentence, and nothing more.
Gyros believed he had been saved.
A gratitude he had never once felt in life or in death. A single word that repaid all the long, empty years.
Another person's recognition.
That was the thing Gyros had always lacked.
—All for Lord Yona alone!
From then on, Gyros — who would one day even open his Geheim — swore absolute loyalty and carried out anything Yona commanded.
—Gyros, stay here and guard our retreat. I'm counting on you!
—It'll be dirty work, but no one else can do it. Erase them, every last one.
He never shrank from the crude or the brutal either.
All for Yona.
Gyros knew perfectly well that he was slow-witted, that his judgment was clouded. He had no talent for clever shortcuts, no flexibility whatsoever.
But if there was one thing he understood, it was this: whatever single task Yona assigned him, he carried it out more surely than anyone alive.
That was how he had earned the recognition of Yona and of everyone in the legion.
And then—
—Gyros. I need you to stay and hold the North.
The trouble began when they came to the Northern Territory of Kalos.
—In this whole legion, the only ones who can operate in this frozen terrain are you and the Snow Ghost unit. Five years, give or take? Might be shorter. Might be longer.
Yona laid both hands on Gyros's shoulders and spoke with utter seriousness.
—Can you protect the North for me?
Gyros agreed. Filthy work was always his to shoulder.
And so the 7th Legion marched home, and Gyros alone remained in the North.
To an Ancient Undead who had endured for ages uncounted, five years should have been the blink of an eye. But five years without Yona stretched far longer than he had imagined.
Still, he endured.
He persevered.
Yona had entrusted the North to him — so he would meet that expectation. He could never, ever disappoint Yona.
The North God relentlessly spawned its undead and hurled them at Bilkenos, and Gyros held his ground in the Frost Field, fighting it head-on.
Yona would return soon.
Just a little longer, and Yona would free him from this duty.
Comforting himself with the thread of Yona's jet-black energy still flowing through his body, Gyros bore the deep loneliness.
But then.
At some point before Yona's promised five years had even fully elapsed—
Snap.
Gyros felt his contract with Yona sever.
Yona's jet-black energy could no longer be felt at all.
Even the channel of telepathy he had left open, so he could answer when Yona came, was gone.
Yona abandoned me.
—Watching you clean up after his messes, honestly, I feel a little sorry for you. Why do you even keep him around? The guy's really weird.
Did he truly throw me away?
Am I no longer needed?
Was that woman right all along?
Gyros denied it.
Impossible. Something must have gone wrong.
But even after the promised five years came and went, Yona never came for him.
That's it! It's because I haven't fully carried out my orders yet!
Yona's command had been protect the North.
And the greatest threat to the North was the North God.
So long as the North God existed, the North could never be said to be truly protected.
For the first time, Gyros — who until then had fought only defensively — gathered his full strength and went on the offensive.
The clash with the North God.
Despite being outnumbered and outmatched, Gyros smashed through the Three Brothers and reached the Abyss at last. And then—
Shunk!
He killed the North God.
Drenched in black blood, Gyros roared.
[Lord Yona! I have done it! I have brought perfect peace to the North! I have carried out the task you commanded — flawlessly!]
But.
Even after the North God's death, Yona never came.
I completed my mission.
I protected the North completely.
I have earned the right to be recognized.
So why?
Gyros collapsed in despair.
—Yona forgot you.
Then a dark voice whispered.
—Yona has capable Ancient Undead to take your place. He forgot you ever existed.
[Do not dare speak such filth!]
The dark voice kept coiling through Gyros's mind, unrelenting.
—Protecting the North was the mission you were given — your duty. But the North is at peace now, and its guardian is no longer of any use. So tell me — where is your purpose now?
[……]
He had no answer.
—You must make Yona come find you again.
The shattered pupils of the broken Gyros trembled.
[……What could I possibly do to make Lord Yona look at me again?]
—Plunge the North back into crisis.
Said the dark voice.
—Is it not simple? Return everything to the way it was before you received your orders. Once the North falls into peril again, Yona will finally remember you — and come seeking you for your use.
[The North…… back into crisis.]
—No one ever acknowledged you — you who stayed behind alone and fought so steadfastly for the North.
The dark voice grew louder.
—So show the world! Show them the magnitude of what you have accomplished!
After that, Gyros seized the North God's power for himself.
He raised a new Abyss, gathered mountains of monster corpses, and forged an undead army.
The North God had returned.
He meant to plunge the entire continent into terror and carve his existence into Yona's memory — until an unforeseen variable tripped him at the heels.
[Assemble.]
The girl had grown.
There had been one other besides Gyros in the North who held a contract with Yona — Jean Arskalt. She had rallied the North and rebuilt the 2nd Legion.
During the five years Gyros's stalemate had bought her, the young Grand Duke had mastered the power of Hate and the Gale Bow alike, and with the explosion of the greatest talent in the legion's history, she repelled the North God's assaults.
After her crushing victory in the first war, the young Grand Duke raised an arm plastered thick with bandages and shouted:
[I rise to honor the promises made to my father and my savior! Proud people of the North — follow me!]
Her speech set the northern people ablaze in an instant.
And Gyros, too, heard it through the ranks of the undead at his command.
What am I doing right now? Why am I fighting the very girl Lord Yona told me to protect?
Gyros's muddled mind slowly began to clear. He halted his war against the humans first.
The Grand Duke of the North, for her part, only defended her own domain and advanced no further.
A very brief peace followed.
BOOM—!
Then the variable arrived from outside.
"Hahaha! A mana crystal mine in the Frost Field! So the rumors were true!"
Count Boldmont, the Overseer newly arrived in the North, invaded the Frost Field at the head of his personal troops.
With Gyros having suspended all attacks on humans, the giddy Count stripped the Frost Field of its subterranean resources at will. And as if one or two mines weren't enough to satisfy him, he even moved to attack the Abyss itself.
That act struck a raw nerve in Gyros.
—Behold, Gyros.
The dark voice fanned the flames.
—Yona told you to protect the North. From what? From those who would shatter its peace, of course. Only when the humans are driven from this land will true peace come to the North.
[……]
A voice like a serpent burrowed into the ruins of Gyros's heart.
—If only so that Yona will come for you — if only to carry out Yona's command — you must become the North God and bring the Grand Duke to her knees.
And so a new, long war unfolded across the North.
Gyros, the guardian who had once protected it, became the new North God and invaded Bilkenos.
Jean Arskalt — the girl who had lost her father to the North God — became the Grand Duke and held Bilkenos.
For over a decade, that long war raged on.
And now, with the arrival of Yona's son in the North, the situation had entered a new phase.
CLAAAANG!
SHRAAAANG!
Simon and Gyros tore apart from their savage exchange of blade strikes.
"Ugh!"
Simon staggered back, gasping.
His chest seized tight, his breath hitching in ragged gulps. His knees wobbled as if they'd buckle at any second.
His consciousness had begun to flicker, dimming and flaring.
One slip of focus, and he would simply pass out on the spot.
[You're struggling. Yona's son.]
As Gyros made a motion of seating himself, the throne rose to meet and support him. At the same moment, the Abyss's tentacles and its undead poured in from every side, crowding around them in a sea of black.
"Hngh!"
Simon desperately weaved between attacks, holding off the horde while spraying the poison of 'Kaal' from the greatsword in one hand. But his jet-black energy had long since run dry.
[I know that flag well.]
Gyros said it while fixing his gaze on the golden banner Simon was fighting tooth and nail to keep in play.
[The flag of that loathsome Grand Duke in Bilkenos. The usage requires the tip of the flag to make direct contact with the target's body, no?]
His mouth curled up at the corner.
[The Grand Duke — oh, I know she's been wringing herself dry building that suicide vanguard of flag-bearers in the name of the North's pride. But here, there is only you. Do you truly believe you, alone, can touch that flag to my body?]
"Don't insult the Grand Duke and her warriors, Gyros."
Simon dropped his stance low.
"And I don't need to touch you with it."
[What?]
TAHT!
Simon kicked off the ground and charged. Gyros raised his arm once more, sending the tentacles and undead swarming down on him. Green poison geysered up all around.
Gyros settled calmly onto his throne and rested his chin on his hand.
[And what exactly do you mean to do with that trembling body of yours!]
At that very instant—
Explosions erupted in rapid succession from the zombies Simon had pulled out of subspace. Gyros, who had been watching with perfect composure, snapped his head back.
FWOOOOOOM!
Through the rolling black smoke of the blasts, the shaft of the golden banner came hurtling through the air. Gyros smiled as if pitying a fool.
[How painfully obvious.]
Gyros rose from his seat and swung the Frost Blade straight at the flag.
CRACK!
The golden banner's shaft was cleaved clean in two. The severed halves touched down on the floor, hollow and spent, and rolled away.
[Now it's over. Die obediently—!]
FWOOSH!
At that moment, Simon burst out from the far side of the explosion smoke and charged at Gyros. Caught mid-recovery-swing, Gyros's eyes went wide.
The one who had thrust the shaft through the blasts was not Simon.
When did—!
It was Pier's arm, moving entirely on its own.
SNAP!
Simon slammed bodily into Gyros, and in the same instant Pier's body broke apart into Bone Armor, latching onto and locking down Simon and Gyros in one swift, interlocking circuit.
Especially the arm on the opposite side, which wound itself like a serpent around Gyros's arm and pinned it fast, robbing it of any freedom to move.
[Fool! Without the Grand Duke's flag, nothing in this world can destroy my body!]
Simon's mouth curled.
"You've been watching nothing but the flag's tip this whole time, haven't you? So what if the flag can't touch you—!"
Simon pressed his left hand against Gyros's chest. On the back of it was drawn the shape of a target.
He wouldn't—!
Simon had stabbed the flag's tip into his own hand.
GRUUUUMBLE!
At the same moment, thunder detonated from the ceiling of the Abyss.
And high above the Abyss's sky, the ceiling shuddered as though a black bruise had bloomed across it.
[Stop this, human! If you do, your hand—!]
Simon's eyes gleamed.
"One hand seems like a fair price for felling the North God. Don't you think?"
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
From the heavens, the Grand Duke's final, power-wrought strike was descending — guided by Simon — straight toward them.