Arahan's Jealous Fury and the Army of Death
In the land of biting cold, the mage Wendy—who had regenerated her fingers in an instant—couldn't hide her bewilderment. The girl who seemed to be the boy's companion stared at her with dead eyes. What the hell had she done to deserve that? They should have been clear blue irises, but to Arahan, they appeared tinged with a red haze. It was madness. The product of obsession and affection for Rowen.
"What the hell are you?"
"What are you?"
"...To move at a speed where I couldn't even deploy a barrier. I've never heard of anyone but my master pulling that off!"
"How the fuck should I know? I don't give a shit about that kind of info. Not interested."
Simply.
"There's only one thing I want to know."
"And what the hell is that?!"
"Why the fuck did you try to approach the young master with that filthy mouth and body of yours?"
"...Young master?"
"...To be generous, I could overlook you approaching him. The young master... ahh... he promised he'd stay by my side, after all."
"You're not seriously doing this over that little prank from earlier, are you? Aren't you being petty as hell?"
"What else could it be? If you say it like that, don't I just look like some psycho bitch trying to kill you out of nowhere?"
"You are!"
Arahan had already gripped her mace properly. She corrected her stance and aimed at her target. The target trembled, unable to hide her bewilderment. But that wasn't Arahan's concern.
"Didn't you throw yourself at the young master?"
"Ha! You're making a big deal out of a little flirt? And who the hell are you anyway? You look like just a servant, not even his lover. You okay with this?"
Arahan smiled warmly. Blood surged at the same time.
"...Huh?"
"Yes, it's fine. Because he's my property."
Since ancient times in Kalia Rune, thieves were hanged from walls for public execution. It was their law, a piece of history. Arahan was born in Kalia Rune, experienced it all, ate it, slept in it, grew up in it. So her thinking was plenty twisted.
Wendy had just been drunk and flirting, as usual. Among wild men, tossing out pick-up lines led to banter and drinks. It was normal among adventurers. But not to Arahan.
Of course, if it'd been some other guy, she wouldn't have cared. But she'd picked the wrong target. The boy she adored, the one she craved so desperately.
To her, the mage Wendy was a thieving cat. That cat needed to be pried off right now. That rag trying to soil her pure young master had to be kept away. Before it reeked of that rotten bitch. She'd tried to take what was hers. Calling him "hers" already put her out. Thieves deserved execution. At least, that's the only thought filling her mind, single-minded and pure.
"Even talking to you disgusts me! But I held back. For the young master's sake."
"Held back? Not even a second passed!"
"...I told you, not my problem."
Wendy, her arm now regenerated, gripped her staff. All eyes focused on her twisted face. Battle spirit surged. At least, she had to stop this mad maid.
Arahan's expression didn't change. She kept her smile. But her eyes were dead.
Rowen tried to intervene, but the two adventurers held him back. They must've thought it too dangerous. Fair enough—Arahan was the youngest adventurer ever dubbed the strongest. No way she'd back down with her right there. Wendy didn't seem to recognize her, but those two did.
"Her divine strength!"
"Hic, that jet-black hair and golden mana... No doubt. That's Arahan."
"Didn't she retire?"
"Heard she went under the King of the North."
"...No way, that 'young master' earlier..."
"...You don't mean...?"
They glanced at Rowen. He scratched the back of his head with a dry laugh.
"Haha..."
"So you're the King of the North's son."
"My father's not a king. He hated the title."
"But it's the truth. Better than that incompetent emperor."
Arahan's golden battle aura blazed. She swung her mace, its arc shattering Wendy's wind barrier. As Wendy rolled away on the icy ground, Arahan kicked off and charged.
"You've crossed the line. Do you know how long I've been with the young master?"
"Like I give a fuck!"
"A full six years."
Wendy swung her staff, and red pillars of flame swirled through the air. Upper-tier magic, even if it didn't look it. Thick runes enveloped her staff.
"Volcano!"
"Pathetic."
Massive flame pillars split and raged toward her. But the northern chill intensified. The fierce flames were soon swallowed by the blizzard. A slight expansion. A small red spark flashed, then erupted outward. An explosion in mid-air!
"In those six years, you dare utter the dream I couldn't even call out once? Planning to steal the young master from me?"
"...You're insane. Not right in the head."
"How bold and vile!"
Unable to watch anymore, Rowen decided to step in. He still didn't get why Arahan started this fight. He caught snippets of his name amid the blizzard, but couldn't hear clearly. Figuring there must be a reason, he moved to stop it first.
"Kid, where you going?"
"Gotta break it up."
"...Even if you're the master of divine strength, some fights are fair and some aren't."
The barbarian warrior said as much. Rowen knew it too.
"You heard earlier. Valenos blood flows in me."
"Not of age yet. Has your mana flower bloomed?"
"Don't underestimate me."
He'd faced fights like this countless times in his past life.
"I'm fine."
"...It's an adventurer's duel. Best let them settle it."
"You wanna watch your comrade die?"
"What?"
"If not, stay put. I'll handle the breaking up."
Arahan's golden mana waves swept the area. Wendy barely dodged, firing more Volcanos. Dodging Arahan's attacks was impressive in itself. Rowen was quietly impressed.
At first, he'd thought her drunken flirting reminded him of Mio. They looked nothing alike—Mio was childlike, while this woman was all curves in the right places, mature where it counted.
Rowen charged toward the distant clash.
"Agh! You're so fucking annoying. I told you I'm not into the kid anymore!"
"So you were interested just now?"
"Fuck!"
Bang! A flash. Where their clash was expected, Rowen's arms crossed—blocking Arahan's mace with one hand, nullifying the fireball with the other.
"Ngh!"
"Young master?!"
Rowen felt excruciating pain. Blocking the mace was one thing, but the force threatened dislocation. Still, it ended the fight in a flash. A good call in the end—better than yelling from afar. Nothing stopped Arahan like seeing him hurt.
Of course, in spars she turned 180 degrees, hammering with strikes. But any other injury? She'd stay by his side, tending him. She treasured his body that much.
"Tch... that actually hurts."
"Young master?! What have I done to deserve this from my lowly self!"
"I'm fine. Not your fault."
"But..."
"Arahan, enough."
Rowen soothed her. More precisely, stopped her from blaming herself. She'd torment herself with guilt otherwise, maybe even self-harm like before. As a kid, she'd been so shocked she'd never left his side. Arahan glared at Wendy.
"...If the young master hadn't stopped me, you'd be mincemeat already."
"...Crazy bitch."
"So don't even think about it. I hate acting like this too, but what can I do? Women like you clinging on disgust me to no end."
"I wouldn't eat you even if you begged."
"...That won't happen!"
Wendy maxed her healing magic, runes swirling over her. Arahan thought she looked like a cockroach, regenerating so fast.
*
The sudden fight gave Rowen a headache. He'd thought there was a reason for her actions.
"The young master doesn't need to know."
"Why the hell not?"
"It's just... one of those things."
Arahan wouldn't tell him, leaving him frustrated. Well, she'd apologized in her own way, so he'd let it slide. He'd just ask her to hold back next time.
Her face twisted briefly—clearly displeased. But she reluctantly nodded.
"Alright, then..."
Rowen turned to the two adventurers. Wendy had stormed back to the inn in a huff, they said. They trembled slightly in Arahan's presence, a mix of fear and awe.
"...Sorry."
"Pardon?"
"Our mage pissed you off... Who'd guess she was the divine strength wielder?"
"Haha... Seemed like it wasn't your fault anyway."
"I'm not apologizing."
The elf introducing himself as Barus was clearer-headed now, the drunken slur gone. The barbarian warrior Ligur stood tall, unashamed. Arahan's brow twitched, but he ignored it.
"A warrior never refuses a challenge."
"I tried to stop you earlier."
"...Because she's strong."
"You saying our young master is weak?"
"No! The kid... er, boy is strong. Stronger than me. I admit it."
Ligur downed the beer on the table with relish. A satisfied "ahh" and his face flushed again. Barbarians and booze—a millennium wouldn't change it. Booze was their history, their soul. After hunts, weddings, even the path to death—they shared it with drink. They were bonded by alcohol.
"Anyway, no hard feelings, so let's call it here."
"Yeah, they fought. Not us."
"...Right?"
Barus glanced nervously, but Ligur didn't. For Rowen, the casual vibe was nice. That's why he'd poured the drinks—to loosen things up.
"So, what do you wanna know?"
"A few things."
"We'll tell what we know. Call it payment for pissing her off."
"First one."
Rowen thought back. The desolation at the village entrance. This tavern was unique— the only place buzzing with open-hearted revelry.
"Where the hell is everyone?"
"Everyone? Oh, you mean the villagers."
Plenty of empty buildings. Not a small village—too many structures otherwise. No lights on even now. Easier to say they'd all fled somewhere.
Something was up.
"Just rumors to us too. Lately, the barbarians we bunked with up and left for the frozen wastes outta nowhere."
Barus spoke up, sighing as he fletched arrowheads.
"Haa... Guess why?"
"...That rumor we've only heard whispers of?"
"Yeah. The King of Severe Cold breaking his millennium seal."
Rowen sighed too. Things were already a mess, head-splittingly complex. Now this? His heart grew heavy.
Even reincarnated, the divine blessings etched in his soul remained. Meaning he still functioned as a hero.
No holy sword, though—what kinda hero?
Yet his blood reacted to Abel's unique barrier. A reaction meant he was still under divine protection. Another sigh.
"Probably at my brother's place?"
"Likely."
"...The cold's worsening. Makes sense if that's the cause."
Ligur nodded at their talk, chugging more booze.
"Yeah, even in summer, this chill surprised me. I'm an honorable Rahi tribe warrior first. No one in my clan felt summer cold like this."
"So the King of Severe Cold really revives?"
Arahan's question got a nod from Ligur. The giant's innocent head bobble was oddly comical. Rowen ground his teeth.
The bastard wasn't his revenge target. The demon king killed his father—his comrades handled it. His father sealed the King of Severe Cold. But it was still the demon king's ally. Five heroes for humanity, seven demon kings for demons. Beelzebub topped them. Even at the bottom, a demon king was humanity's enemy.
If it shattered its shrine and descended, Beelzebub's revival followed. And the other kings' seals too.
"Bigger problem than that."
"Problem?"
"You asked where the villagers went?"
"Yes."
"All evacuated. Place is dangerous. We came on a recruitment notice—don't know details."
Barus and Ligur swallowed hard. Tension thickened. Barus spoke.
"Truth is, every night, the army of death rises at the mountain's edge."
"Army of death?"
Army of death? He'd heard it before. In his past life, Rian loved his father's tales. Simple adventure stories, but the thrill lingered. He'd heard it there. The King of Severe Cold's creation. Army of Death. Frozen corpses that lived, undead clustering endlessly, unkillable. Weak to fire, but nothing else fazed them.
"Just rumors, right?"
"But I saw them."
"Saw?"
"We did. Everyone in this tavern saw 'em that day."
Barus shuddered. His tale of the army flowed, enough to make Rowen grip his sword.