A Moment of Silence
If he had been walking on foot, he would have frozen in place. But the ghost horse plodded silently along with the column, oblivious to its master's turmoil.
"......What?"
The voice that finally emerged after a long silence was thick with bewilderment. It was only natural. Haellagos's words had been that shocking.
"What did you say?"
"I dislike repeating myself."
"......You're serious? You're seriously telling me to become the Grand Duke?"
The Grand Duke of the Withered Land. Yoahim knew exactly what that title entailed. Melos, sharing a border with this place, dismissed it as a barren wasteland teeming with demons and monsters. But the truth was far different.
Haellagos had personally cleared fields and purified the polluted rivers using the overflowing mana from the mana springs. It wasn't on par with Melos's fertile farmlands, but it produced enough to sustain its people comfortably. The population wasn't large due to the vast expanses of wasteland, but its inhabitants—mostly dark elves, demons, and fiends with physiques superior to humans—made it impossible to ignore.
Once this war ended, the Withered Land would unify once more. Production would double, and all the manpower and resources poured into the war could be redirected inward.
In other words, becoming the Grand Duke of the Withered Land meant shouldering responsibility for a massive territory teeming with lives.
'No, this is just fucking bewildering.'
Being suddenly told to take over the Withered Land didn't spark joy—it only brought confusion. Yoahim had no confidence in territory management. And if that territory was as vast as the Withered Land? Even more so.
He'd never managed so much as a small shop, let alone an estate. He'd never even played a management sim in the real world.
Handing the Grand Duke's seat to someone like that? Who in their right mind would?
"Don't take it so seriously. I'm not asking you to inherit my position right now. You'll gain more experience and learn more under me. And someday, you'll succeed me. It's the future. Though... not too distant."
Haellagos's eyes burned with unshakeable conviction. A certainty about the inevitable future.
A certainty that felt far too vague.
"I don't get it. Why me?"
There were countless questions, but this came first. Why him? Why choose him over anyone else?
"You've got Halbert and Aljes. Even if the others aren't up to it, those two could easily fill my shoes."
Gellios was too frivolous in speech and action for Grand Duke, Billad too dim-witted, Tilia too inexperienced. But Halbert and Aljes were different. The administrator and knight commander had served Haellagos closest and possessed the skills to govern in his stead. They even commanded deep respect among the people.
If either Halbert or Aljes ascended to Grand Duke, they'd be welcomed by all. Not so with Yoahim.
"Everything in this world has its role."
The vast army marched relentlessly onward. Soon they'd reach the mana spring, pass through the gate in order, and emerge on the other side.
Amid the steady clop-clop of hooves, Haellagos continued.
"Just as ill-fitting clothes hinder movement, mismatched roles stifle potential. One must embrace their proper role to unleash their full talents."
Half the vanguard had passed through the gate. The rest prepared to follow.
"Halbert is exceptional. If I liken him to a carriage, it's indispensable for hauling heavy loads. But a carriage can't move on its own."
The vanguard had fully crossed. The infantry's front lines now readied to advance.
"Aljes is the sword, ever grateful for guarding the carriage and horse. Yet a sword cannot drive the carriage."
Billad was the horse, Gellios the roof, Tilia the wheels. Each had their role: the horse to pull, the roof to shield, the wheels to roll. All vital, yet none could steer.
"No matter how talented, talent unused is meaningless. Tools gain value only when wielded. A fine carriage demands a skilled driver."
"And that's me?"
"No, not yet. I'm the driver for now. You're not ready."
"......Ahem."
Embarrassment welled up, prompting a needless cough. Haellagos chuckled at the sight.
"But someday, you'll take my place. Apostle Yoahim—as I said, I'm not handing you the reins today. Just know I hold you in special regard."
Now it was time for the midguard—where Yoahim and Haellagos rode—to use the gate. They paused their talk, crossed, and emerged on the far side. The rear and supply trains followed gradually.
With over ninety percent through, the column reformed and resumed marching toward Biljera Castle.
The halted steps resumed, but the interrupted conversation did not.
Yoahim rode beside Haellagos, lost in thought.
'Grand Duke, huh...'
Haellagos shunned formal titles, calling himself Grand Duke outright. With Haellagoria at its heart and numerous castles under his sway, no term fit better. In strength, the Withered Land rivaled a duchy or marquisate—or a border count, depending on geography. A lord of such caliber was untouchable even by kings, who preferred co-opting through diplomacy over direct confrontation.
Had Haellagos been human and the Withered Land a typical domain, he might have claimed a grand duchy or marquisate and allied with Melos.
'Doesn't appeal to me one bit.'
There was much to inherit, but nothing tempted him. His goal wasn't continental conquest.
He merely aided Haellagos as his adjutant, helping revive Kakari. Train relentlessly, grow stronger—that was enough. Defeat the foes Haellagos pointed out, and eventually Kakari would return.
Yoahim gained power; Haellagos expanded his forces. And their shared aim—Kakari's revival—would be fulfilled. A perfect symbiosis.
'But me, managing the territory myself? Hell no.'
Great possessions meant great responsibilities. Others might envy the Grand Duke's seat, but not Yoahim. Succeed and draw criticism; fail and drown in it—that was politics. With a predecessor like Haellagos, backed by absolute loyalty, any successor could at best break even. And Yoahim lacked even that capacity—or the will.
Why climb into a pit of scorn?
'Even if Haellagos truly intends to pass it to me, it won't be anytime soon.'
Likely after Kakari's revival. If a new era dawned then, the sealed god's return would mark it. By that time, Yoahim might be gone—returned to reality with Kakari's aid.
'Don't overthink it. I won't end up Grand Duke.'
A level 150 archfiend wouldn't die overnight. With Apostle Yoahim at his side, Haellagos's faction wouldn't crumble.
Cold analysis pegged Yoahim's odds at Grand Duke as near zero.
'And if Haellagos suddenly dropped dead? The other adjutants wouldn't stand idly by.'
Even if Yoahim wanted it—which he didn't—they'd oppose. To them, he was the outsider stone. Would lifelong retainers watch a newcomer seize the throne?
'Nah. And I have no ambition anyway, so no conflict.'
Yoahim nodded to himself and flicked the reins. The ghost horse whinnied questioningly.
"We're almost there."
The archfiend's eyes, enhanced by magic, pierced vast distances. Gazing at Biljera Castle's sturdy walls, Haellagos estimated three or four hours more.
They'd left Haellagoria that morning—half a day ago—and battle loomed already. The mana spring gates had slashed the distance dramatically.
The army pressed on silently, time slipping away. As Biljera neared, the air grew heavy, thick with death's aura.
The undead remained stoic, but demons and dark elves grimaced in discomfort. Even they—devotees of the death god Kakari—found the pervasive energy unnaturally foul and contrived.
Flying fiends shook themselves, trying to shed the miasma.
"The air's heavy..."
Yoahim rubbed his throat. Breathing wasn't labored, but it felt off.
"Alzahar's doing. He's grown stronger since before."
"Stronger?"
Not welcome news. Alzahar, down to Biljera alone, had slim chances of reversing the numerical disadvantage. But fierce resistance would cost them dearly.
"Yes. He was a mighty necromancer upon first arriving in the Withered Land, but now he wields death's power with greater finesse. Perhaps... this may prove a challenging fight."
Yoahim swallowed hard.
The army marched unceasingly, soon reaching Biljera Castle. Its walls, stained black by death's corruption, were caked in filth. Signs of prior battle hung evident: decapitated corpses dangled from the ramparts.
Undead soldiers, radiating menace, patrolled below.
"Posturing."
Haellagos sneered at the dangling bodies.
"Leaving them unraised as undead and hung for provocation. Hmph, pathetic ploy."
He snorted derisively. Yoahim, scanning about, spotted a cavalry unit circling the walls—barely over a hundred strong. Ghost horses all, cloaked and hooded figures indistinct. But their capes' emblems marked them as Gellios's riders.
"Who are those cavalry over there?"
"Gellios's unit. But why are they separate?"
The army halted beyond wall range, watching the riders approach.
Yoahim assumed they were friendlies linking up. Likely everyone did.
He was wrong. Dangerously naive.
Kwajik!Kwaduduk!
"Kraaaak!"
"Guhk!"
"Scatter! Everyone scatter—don't get caught in their charge!"
Sharp lances pierced soldiers' bodies. Ghost horse kicks shattered bones. The rampaging cavalry shattered the vanguard's formation.
Who could've foreseen allies turning to assault?
Yoahim's eyes widened at the betrayal.
"Fuck, what the hell are those bastards?"
No one knew the answer.