The Invasion of Arkansia
There was a certain cavalry. A legendary unit mounted on steeds said to never tire, capable of galloping through the day and deep into the night without the darkness ever realizing. These were the Frost Knights, the sworn vassals of the Balenos family. As such, every single rider could draw upon the mana of frost—enough, at the very least, to summon and ride an ice horse.
Rowen watched them in silence. The cavalry waited on the deck, biding their time for the perfect opening to launch a surprise raid the moment Sirayunsul sent her signal.
Arkansia was currently embroiled in a brutal civil war—a clash between humans and the magi-corrupted demons. The disparity between those who relied on traditional swordsmanship and those who unleashed the ceaseless barrages of magitech was staggering. That was the true terror of magitech, and the horror of those corrupted souls who fought with mechanically reconstructed bodies.
There was no better time for a surprise raid than in the midst of chaos. The exorcist army, led by Sirayunsul, had chosen to launch a direct, frontal assault. Their goal was to draw the Arkansians' attention away, preventing them from focusing on the forces of Winterer. It was a classic diversionary tactic.
And then—
Boom!
A thunderous roar reverberated across the water, signaling that the port had been seized. It had begun. The vengeance of the North was finally underway.
"May fortune favor you, young master," Arahan said.
"...You too," Rowen replied.
"Yes."
Crack. Starting from the white wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, an armor of solid frost began to encase Rowen's body. Simultaneously, with practiced ease, he summoned the Ice Blade into his grip.
A sinister, pitch-black energy vibrated violently down his arm. This energy of nothingness, a colossal gravitational force, closely resembled the power of Rosbriel. Yet, because this force was channeled through the Holy Sword, it possessed a gravity far more devastating than the sacred relic itself. The Holy Sword drank deeply of Rowen's hatred, amplifying his power to terrifying heights.
Progenitor of the Balenos Family & Son of the Ice God Valenos
He answered Rowen's call, kneeling in his mind as he awaited his master's command.
"If I am separated from the main force, I need you to take command in my stead," Rowen said.
[...Hmm. Do you truly believe one of the Prophets will show themselves?]
"I can't say for certain, but it never hurts to be prepared."
[Very well. I shall do everything in my power.]
"Also, break that barrier for me. I could shatter it myself, but I need to conserve my mana."
[Tsk. You summon an old man only to work him like a dog.]
"Lest you forget, didn't that same 'old man' swing his sword with the full intention of slaughtering his own descendant last time?"
Kajin offered no retort. He merely grumbled under his breath as he moved to fulfill Rowen's request.
At the spirit's touch, the crimson barrier began to unravel. A divine blessing of frost descended, piercing the rear of the ward that had long barred outsiders from setting foot on the continent.
"Now."
With smooth, practiced movements, Rowen accessed the Akashic Records, deciphering the magical code to bypass the continental security. The barrier before him shattered like brittle glass.
"Kajin, keep an eye out for their magitech."
[I do not need a child to tell me how to fight.]
"Haha. Fair enough. Then..."
Rowen raised the signal fire of war. In his eyes burned the deep-seated sorrow of the North—the grief of losing Snowfall—and an unyielding hatred for the demons. This land would soon become a slaughterhouse. The peaceful continent of old was gone, replaced by a blue land corrupted into a den of devils. He would drag it back to how it once was, even if he had to tear it apart.
Raising his sword, he roared his command.
As the ice horses let out their fierce, chilling neighs, the Northern army erupted into a deafening battle cry.
"Charge!"
The war had begun.
"For the North!"
"For the North!"
"For the North!"
Most of the magi-corrupted demons would have rushed to reinforce the port. With the Kaliaarun forces drawing their attention at the entry point, the army of Winterer would slip past to seize the capital. That was the core strategy.
The tireless cavalry advanced under the protection of their mages. The thick, shimmering barriers held firm. Whenever the magi-bullets fired by the demons struck the shields, they merely detonated harmlessly against the surface, leaving the soldiers inside completely unscathed. The efficacy of Mio'sCrystallization formula was proving to be far greater than anyone had anticipated.
To begin with, trying to challenge the North with magic was the height of folly. The North was the continent of magic. Trying to overwhelm those who literally owned the Magic Tower with spells was useless; the Northerners possessed far more counters and defensive formulas than the demons could ever hope to bypass.
Yet, this did not make them entirely invincible. The Frost Knights were still human. Because they were human, they made mistakes. Because they were human, they were fragile. But it was precisely because they were human that they could grow stronger—and because they were weak, they yearned for that strength with all their hearts.
"Hold the line!"
"Second row, raise shields!"
"Third row, watch your heads!"
A double-layered wall of shields locked into place. The soldiers raised their bulwarks over their heads to deflect the incoming rain of magic arrows. Deployed in a massive, impenetrable formation, the Northern host flooded the Lugarik Plains stretching beneath the Redline Ridge.
The demons were utterly blindsided by the sudden onslaught of the Frost Knights. These northern invaders who had breached their defenses were terrifyingly powerful, easily deflecting attacks bolstered by demonic energy. Was it because each knight was a peerless warrior? No. It was their flawless coordination and tactical discipline.
While the Northerners operated under a clear, multi-tiered hierarchy of commanders, the demons had none on the field. A chain of command technically existed, but their leaders had already departed for the port. Left behind to face an unexpected raid, the rank-and-file demons could only scramble in utter confusion.
Chaos. A word defined as a state of utter confusion and disorder. There was no better term to describe the current situation. Faced with a simultaneous, sudden invasion from two different fronts, the Arkansia Empire was failing to mount any cohesive defense.
"Hold them back!"
"Deploy the golems!"
"Where are the flying ships?! What the hell are the officers doing?!"
Thud!
A colossal stone golem shuddered to life, instantly sprouting jagged fangs and horns. It was in a state of absolute frenzy. Infused with demonic energy, it took on the grotesque likeness of a golem from Pandemonium. Naturally, its speed and destructive power spiked exponentially.
But it was not enough.
Space Slash
Sky Slash
The combined assault of ancestor and descendant was far too devastating to withstand. A horizontal arc of spatial tearing met a vertical line of pure, sky-parting pressure. The two slashes intersected to form a perfect cross of brilliant, holy light, instantly carving the massive demonic construct into four neat pieces.
"Tsk! What the hell is the alchemist doing?!"
"This isn't my fault! I transmuted it exactly the way Lord Muron taught us!"
"Damn it! Just hold them back! Hold them!"
Whoosh!
Red-skinned demons charged across the plains, hurling themselves toward the wall of ice shields. Channeling their corrupt magi, they whipped up a roaring fire tornado that crackled with dark energy.
"...So that's the magitech His Majesty warned us about."
"It's my first time seeing it up close."
"Don't lose your nerve, you idiots! The blessing of Valenos flows through our veins!"
"For the North!"
Crash!
The two forces collided. A sickly green light flared from the rune fragments embedded in the demons' armor, causing their flames to burn with renewed, violent intensity. Yet, even this augmented inferno could not breach the absolute defense of the swirling ice shields.
"Tsk." Rowen clicked his tongue. It was practically impossible for him to continuously distribute his mana to every single soldier to sustain their ice barriers. Eventually, their reserves would run dry. It was only a matter of time. If the enemy managed to breach the Frost Knights' line, the battle would be lost. Though they were holding their ground for now, the sheer scale of the enemy's magitech was formidable.
"Those fucking bastards. Don't they ever get tired of this?"
How much longer did he have to look at this goddamn magitech? He had seen more than enough of it in his past life. Why was he still dealing with it now?
Muron, you absolute son of a bitch.
Rowen cursed inwardly, the image of his sworn enemy flashing in his mind.
They had to cross this plain. Once they cleared the ridge, they would reach the main highway leading directly to the capital, Lugion. Beyond the forest lay their destination. That was where they were scheduled to rendezvous with the Kaliaarun forces marching up from the captured port.
It was obvious that the bulk of the empire's military strength was concentrated in Lugion and the port. If that weren't the case, there was no way they would have left this vital highway to the capital so lightly defended.
Did you think only Kaliaarun was coming? Did you let your guard down because you didn't spot any ships sailing from Winterer?
There was no way the enemy could have known that Winterer's fleet had set sail at the exact same time as Kaliaarun's. That had been the plan from the very beginning. Honestly, they had already won half the battle just by catching them completely off guard.
Rowen looked up at the floating island shrouded in thick magi. Even if they eventually had to storm the Pentagon, that would have to wait until this war was won. For now, the forces up there showed no signs of intervening. Still, it paid to remain vigilant.
The knights thrust their blades through the narrow gaps in their shield wall. The demons grappling at the front line shrieked in agony as steel found flesh. Blood sprayed across the dirt, and corpses quickly began to litter the battlefield. With a sharp gesture from Arahan, the cavalry swept in to encircle the enemy, using massive lances and hooks to tear through their ranks and crush their throats.
Magi flared. Mana surged. The runes of magitech hummed to life as a fleet of flying ships began to advance toward their position. They were undoubtedly reinforcements dispatched from the capital of Lugion. To Rowen's forces, they were nothing but targets.
Rowen clicked his tongue, raising a staff in his left hand. He immediately cast Attribute Granting over his entire body. This was his signature technique, the magic he relied on most. While his past-life memories certainly played a role, this was the very first original spell he had developed in his current life.
Ice spears crackling with lightning transformed into devastating thunder-lances, impaling the enemy ranks. It was simultaneous electrocution and freezing. The demons shrieked in agony under the relentless, shocking torment. They scrambled to raise their own barriers, gripped by terror as lightning rained down from the heavens. In desperation, they unleashed a barrage of magi-bullets at Rowen.
It was futile.
Rowen simply raised a massive shield of ice, absorbing the impact. As his pure mana clashed with their corrupt magi, violent explosions rippled through the air.
He thrust his sword forward, tearing a pitch-black singularity into the empty air. The miniature black hole expanded rapidly, warping the atmospheric pressure and pulling everything toward its center. At the same time, he scattered countless crystalline snowflakes into the air.
Ice Ground
Using the floating snowflakes as anchors, a massive, web-like barrier of solid ice rapidly constructed itself across the battlefield. The enemy was trapped. This plain had been transformed into a colossal arena—a court of absolute judgment designed to crush and condemn those who had sold their souls to the demons.
Rowen cast individual protective barriers over every single one of his soldiers.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
He began to rotate his core—the reserve power he had been conserving specifically for his inevitable clash with the Prophets. In an instant, his pristine, orderly mana surged into a violent tempest. The suppressed aura of his very existence skyrocketed. Countless runic characters materialized, orbiting his body in a blinding blur.
Multiple Granting.
From this moment on, Rowen was a being beloved by mana itself.
A radiant, circular Mandala bloomed behind his back. An ice lotus unfurled its petals in a perfect ring, and spectral blue roses climbed up the blade of the Holy Sword. The dried, sacred blood of Lea staining the steel seemed to bleed into the roses, infusing them with a tragic, vibrant life.
"...We have no time to waste," Rowen muttered.
Now that the enemy was deploying reinforcements, every second was precious. He could not afford a single delay.
Rowen barked out his orders. Before he was a chosen hero, he was a sovereign who ruled a continent and a commander who led an army. He understood the strategic weight of this battle better than anyone.
"All forces, advance! Match Arahan's pace!"
"Yes, My Lord!"
Arahan unleashed the crushing gravity of Rosbriel, slamming a massive flying ship straight down into the earth.
Crash!
The vessel crumpled like paper, spewing thick plumes of dark magi in a grotesque display that struck fear into the hearts of the defenders. But the Northern soldiers did not waver. They had crossed the sea and set foot on enemy soil fully prepared to lay down their lives.
"For the North!"
"Charge!"
With that, the cavalry and the vanguard completely encircled the Arkansian imperial forces. The sheer volume of firepower unleashed by the desperate demons kept them from closing the distance immediately. Meanwhile, reinforcements began to descend from the remaining flying ships—grotesque abominations half-reconstructed with machinery, the pinnacle of demonic engineering.
Rowen felt a wave of intense disgust wash over him, alongside his burning hatred.
"Kajin."
[I know, I know.]
"Good."
Slash!
Their slashes intersected in a devastating cross. The hulls of the flying ships split wide open, exposing their inner mechanisms to the cold air. It was a display of sheer, destructive beauty. With a single, coordinated strike, they had cleanly sliced through five massive flying ships.
Trapped within the frozen confines of Ice Ground, the enemy had nowhere to run. Rowen could safely leave the cleanup of the plains to Arahan. That had been his plan from the start.
"I'm counting on you," he said.
"Leave it to me, young master. Please, watch your back," Arahan replied, her eyes filled with fierce devotion.
"See you soon."
Rowen had done all he needed to do here. Now, he had to assess the overall progress of the allied forces. He whistled, summoning his ice horse. The magnificent frost steed materialized, tossing its beautiful, icy-blue mane. The freezing wind brushing against his face felt refreshing, but he quickly shook off the sensation. He could not afford to indulge in such trivial comforts in the middle of a warzone.
Something was wrong. They should have arrived by now. Why hasn't anyone sent a signal?
The Kaliaarun forces were taking far too long to rendezvous, and there was no sign of their vanguard.
"Valenos. Can you hear me?" Rowen called out in his mind.
[Loud and clear, child.]
"Summon one of our swiftest ancestors for me."
Something had undoubtedly gone wrong at the port. Sirayunsul was incredibly powerful—easily on par with, if not stronger than, Arahan. For someone of her caliber to be delayed meant she had run into a serious obstacle. The exorcist army was stalled, which meant they were likely locked in a fierce battle of their own.
The overwhelming presence of the Ice God Valenos flooded his consciousness. Rowen felt a strange shifting sensation deep within his mind, followed by a soft, gentle voice whispering in his ear.
[Are you listening, Karlena?]
[Yes, Grandfather.]
[You understand the situation. Rowen wishes to synchronize with you. Are you willing?]
"You catch on quick," Rowen thought. "If possible, it would be great if I could tap into her magical affinity as well."
Karlena's gentle voice echoed in his mind.
[Do not worry about that, child.]
"Understood. I'm in your hands, then."
[Very well.]
The soul of his ancestor flooded into his vessel.
A torrent of her memories rushed into Rowen's mind. She was the swiftest messenger of the Balenos family, a tragic figure who had run faster than anyone, only to meet a sorrowful end on the battlefield while desperately trying to save her beloved husband.
Karlena Balenos.
Her entire life, her combat experience, and her very soul synchronized perfectly with Rowen.