The Land of Chill

"Those bastards don't die."

Even when their bodies crumble to dust, they thrash about on a cellular level just to keep moving. All to sink their teeth into the lifeform right in front of them. The grinding of bones and clumps of rotten flesh stuck together. Their erratic movements. Ligur remembered the terror of that night.

"Kid, have you ever seen death?"

"...Yes."

"We have too. Real death, I mean. That's when we thought, If we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠die fighting those things, I'll end up just like them..."

"Did you fight them?"

"Yeah, we survived. Half of us died, though. That's why we drink. A bit of booze makes the fear go away."

"Did the villagers evacuate because of the Army of Death too?"

Barus shook his head. It was an affirmation, but not acceptance.

"Right, but also wrong."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"...People didn't abandon this place just because of them."

Rowen tilted his head. He thought for a moment. The Army of Death appeared every night. Adventurers had taken the recruitment notice and were fighting them nightly. But the villagers hadn't evacuated solely because of the Army of Death. There was something more.

Rowen felt a headache coming on as he asked. Barus scratched his long ear and replied.

"Arkanthia, right?"

"Yeah. As a son of Valenos, you'd know."

"...Did they attack this place too?"

"No, they threatened us in a different way."

"Threatened?"

"Fucking bastards."

"As you can see, it says to report any Valenos kids we see."

Barus sighed.

"You know this too. The King of the North was a merciful man."

"...I know well."

"Who would dare hand over the son of your father for that?"

"Then everyone...!"

"Yeah, they refused and left for elsewhere."

Rowen's heart grew heavy. He hadn't done anything wrong. Yet he felt like he'd sinned. Like they'd lost their homes because of him.

"Well, we could turn you over to the Arkanthian officers and get paid, right?"

"..."

Arahan gripped her mace. Rowen tensed at the sight. But Ligur's words made them release their weapons.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of reporting you."

"Yeah, I don't wanna get torn apart by that monster of strength."

"Our goal from the start is to stop the Army of Death."

"Right. The pay's good just for that."

"Puhahaha. The amount's sweet. Life-risking work, though."

"Above all, we hate those Arkanthian bastards."

"I'm like you. I know how it feels to be looked down on as a bastard. I've been discriminated against as an ignorant barbarian too."

Silence fell for a moment. The tavern was filled with the boisterous laughter of adventurers. The howling blizzard outside shattered the quiet.

"...That's a relief, then."

"Relax. We're just trying to survive too."

"Yeah, kid. We value our lives. We don't know what'll happen if we piss off your maid."

"Are you referring to me? Please correct that. You're making it sound like Young Master thinks I'm some violence-crazed monster."

"I've never thought that."

Ligur downed his drink. It seemed to wash away some of the frustration. Ligur was strong. He'd always reigned as the strong one. He thought of the Army of Death he saw every day. Everyone here was waiting for that time to come. More than half were already dead. They weren't close, but they were comrades you could trust your back to in battle. That's why it was even more suffocating. No matter how much he drowned his sorrows in booze and deceived himself, the fear and thrill wouldn't fade.

Barus felt the same. When he left Alfheim and arrived in western Lianod, his mind had been at ease. But upon seeing the recruitment notice and reaching Winterer, stepping into this land of chill... the aura of death had been chilling.

"...That's the problem."

"Still scared, huh?"

"Of course!"

"I feel fear too. Especially when the pus in the ice bursts— that's the worst."

"...Is that okay to say?"

"No way it's okay. They're terrifying. They don't die. And in this snow, flame magic is hard to handle."

That's why fighting them was tough. Blizzards and freezing air. Weakened flames and dropping temperatures. A perfect environment for the Army of Death.

Rowen thought. He'd have to stay in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this village for a while anyway. He could test his magic while fighting. An enemy that inspired no guilt. The Demon King's army. To Rowen, they were targets to kill.

"Can I join too?"

"Young Master?"

"It's fine. I won't die."

"From what they've said, those things are plenty threatening."

"You've got my back, right? No problem."

"...I'm happy you rely on me, Young Master, but these are enemies even I've never heard of."

Arahan frowned deeply. She was grateful he trusted and relied on her. If they were alone somewhere else, she might have stolen a kiss without thinking. But she was worried. At least, the Army of Death were unknowns to her too.

She understood Rowen's excitement. Her beloved Young Master had loved hero tales since childhood. Not just the Five Heroes, but even the greatest hero of all time. He'd hated the Demon Kings in those stories. So she knew. He wanted to see the Army of Death with his own eyes and feel that terror.

"I'll go with you wherever you lead, Young Master."

"I know."

"You say it so casually... I don't know where to put myself."

"Of course. You wouldn't leave me to fight alone, would you?"

"Don't say foolish things. Do you plan to be eaten alive?"

"That's why I'm saying this. Without you, I'd be dog food right now."

Rowen was strong. But weak. Someone might call it nonsense, but it was spot on. Compared to kids his age, Rowen was incredibly strong. He could even draw with Arahan holding back. But compared to his past life's prowess? Not at all. He was weak.

That's why he was curious. How far could he push against these remnants of the Demon King? He couldn't reclaim Snowfall without blooming his Mana Flower. Even if he bloomed, he couldn't inherit his ancestors' power yet. But he had no intention of staying weak.

"So we'll join you too."

*

A blizzard raged over the snowy mountains. In the distance, a white mist began to rise. An alien aura drifted with red light and blue chill. Yes. Rowen knew this aura well.

Demonic energy.

The energy he'd tasted to the point of nausea fighting legion commanders under Beelzebub once. The seven Demon Kings had created legion commanders to aid them. Monsters amplified with their fragments. Demonic power was alien enough, but theirs was savagely so. Even the Four Heavenly Kings who served them were beasts cloaked in ferocious demonic energy.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Someone swung a large iron tool, the sound echoing across the village. It put everyone on edge.

Rowen's heart pounded. Thump thump. Demons after so long. A chance to test his power fully, a path to grow stronger. Their endless assaults on this village meant...

'Brother Kael at the end...'

He was surely fighting these too. Supplies dwindling, strength fading. Exhaustion shaking his mind, tempted to give up. Rowen worried for Kael.

"He'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Focus on the enemies in front of you now."

Arahan adored Rowen. But before that, she was his instructor. She knew death better than anyone. That's why she had to keep him from getting careless.

"They're coming!"

High on the snowy peak, a glacier shattered with a roar. An massive avalanche followed.

"What the fuck is that."

It wasn't a glacier! It was the Army of Death swept in snow. Skeletons, ice zombies, dire wolves, frost giants, and more. The army of the King of Severe Cold, awakened after a millennium, descended with potent demonic energy. Like rain. The traces of demonic energy bursting from what looked like an avalanche poured down like rain. Not a gentle, pleasant rain. A stormy downpour that soaked clothes unpleasantly, a blizzard of demonic rain.

"Everyone, battle stations!"

At Ligur's shout, adventurers formed defensive lines. Mages in the rear erected barriers and veils. Priests on the stone towers prepared support with archers.

"Kieeeek!"

A ferocious voice shook the battlefield! Barbarian warriors charged ahead, magic swordsmen whipped up hurricanes.

"Kill them! Slaughter them all!"

"Protect your comrades beside you. They're family now!"

"Even if the enemy's face is familiar, kill them. They're already dead!"

Rowen looked at them. Hatred surged. They weren't Beelzebub's minions. But just because they were demons, vomit rose in his throat. Because he—or Rian—was a hero? Because heroes and Demon Kings were eternal foes? No, it wasn't that simple.

Demons. Those fucking things killed his father. That was the whole story. Not simple revenge for being a hero. To Rowen, the hero's power was just a tool to kill them. It had been in his past life, and now too.

At times like this, he was grateful to the gods. No faith, but they'd given him power in the end.

Rowen swallowed. He drew mana to its limit, spinning his core!

Wooong!

Powerful energy surged. He suppressed his presence to the extreme with mana. Watching the adventurers fighting ahead, he granted attributes to both arms.

Crackle!

Frost climbed. Cold chill swirled over the surface. Rune language activated. Not a simple incantation. A complex ritual calculated and operated by his mana circuits. Rowen processed it effortlessly.

"They're coming. Arahan, cover me."

"Understood."

"And protect the people if you can."

"As you command. Be careful. I'm a bit worried."

"You too. Demonic energy disrupts human essence."

"Yes."

A sudden gust shook Arahan's black hair. Her blue eyes gleamed in the darkness. Like jewels stained with madness. Arahan drew not her mace, but her sword. The black blade. Pitch-black Rosbriel emitted golden sword aura. Its dark edge matched her hair.

"Tch."

Arahan clicked her tongue, thinking of the rotten blood that would stain the black blade. She was ready to cut them all down. In the distance, the wriggling Army of Death like maggots caught her eye. Two mages unleashed flames. The horde broke through, charging at Rowen.

"Kieeeek!"

Rowen stared down the one that had bypassed the adventurers and reached him. A massive figure. Frost giant. A giant's corpse frozen and rotting all over.

A flash of light. In an instant, blue lines streaked out repeatedly. An Ice Blade in the form of a longsword appeared. Rowen faced the frost giant's debris exploding before him. Their grotesque writhing, trying to reconnect. He unleashed frost-blue flames upon them.

'Ice Hell.'

Rowen synthesized rune language internally. Flame and frost. A cold fire born of those attributes. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Compressed repeatedly to prevent expansion, amplifying power. That fire formed a tiny blue dot before him. The sand-grain-sized dot spun in the air. Like Rowen's core, the blue flame swelled like a black hole. Clinging corpse chunks were sucked in instantly. Burned on a cellular level.

Rowen wielded a sword, but even it was made of magic. Unlike magic swordsmen who enchanted blades, everything was magic from the start. Rowen's small stubbornness to resolve his past life's regrets. That stubbornness maximized its advantages.

Slash!

One swing, and skeletons shattered into bone fragments. Rowen's mana ignited blue flames, destroying their essence. Mercilessly pulverized.

"That the kid?"

In the distance. Behind the minions, a heavily armored knight watched everything. One of the Army of Death too. A familiar silhouette. Rowen's spinning core wavered. Like flames flickering in the wind, he staggered.

Years had passed, but he couldn't forget that armor and crest. Normally, he'd swing at it. But Rowen couldn't. He remembered the adventurer's shout.

—Even if the enemy's face is familiar, kill them. They're already dead!

They turned the living into the dead. Rowen couldn't open his mouth, his arm trembled. His sword shook. His convictions shook. Arahan too. She couldn't face forward. If the enemy was someone precious... Could you strike without hesitation?

"What..."

"Young Master, that's not..."

"No."

"But..."

"I said it's not."

Despair approached. After losing his father, another gone. Could he forget? Never. White hair fluttered. Faded armor bore a familiar crest. Broken shield and greatsword had lost their shine. The once pure-white glorious light was corrupted by demonic energy into red and blue hues.

"...No?"

The man before him. The knight before him. The precious one swallowed by severe cold. Rowen's enemy was...

"Tell me it's not."

The Demon King killed his father from his past life. Arkanthia ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠killed his father now. And the King of Severe Cold...

"...Brother?"

Had dyed Kael Valenos in frost.