Endless Blades and the Eve of Descent
Swinging my sword endlessly, the sun had set. In the rear, blacksmiths sweated profusely as they hammered iron. The northern folk steadily carried supplies. The living Magic Beasts retreated, leaving only their corpses strewn atop and below the wall. The thick stench of blood clogged my nose.
“Great work, sir.”
A knight beside me panted heavily. His body was drenched in blood and sweat. Not just the nearby knights—even those far off looked the same. The rear support let us focus purely on defense.
“You did great too. How's your mom doing?”
I clapped the knight's shoulder. Not a mom joke this time, but genuine concern—a heartwarming moment.
“Yes, she's in good health.”
Thankfully, the knight didn't misunderstand. I was relieved that only I suffered from that cursed knowledge of mom-dissing humor.
“Allen!”
“Yes, Grand Duke!”
I bellowed, and Allen popped up from somewhere.
“You did great too. Get the knights organized right away—let them wash up and rest.”
“Yes, sir. Don't worry about it. You rest easy too, Grand Duke. Didn't you take down three Caledons?”
“I'll just rinse off quick and be back. Hold the position—I'm too sticky to stand it.”
“Of course.”
Leaving a worried Allen behind, I leaped high into the sky. Another grueling day. Springing from the wall, the heavens felt so close. If I reached out, the twinkling stars might fit right in my palm. An ecstatic vista.
In midair, I expelled mana. Before my soaring body could drop, I toed the empty air and leaped again. Repeating the maneuver a few times, I landed on the roof of a massive mansion. A white edifice straight out of a romance novel—grand, steeped in history. My home. Sliding down the roof, I touched down on the balcony, flung open the glass door-like window, and stepped inside.
My room. Bed, desk, a few sticks of furniture. Even as Grand Duke ruling the entire North, I lived frugally.
“...Hoo.”
The moment I entered, I stripped down to nothing. Straight to the bathroom nook in the corner. Having an en-suite made quick washes a breeze. Stepping inside triggered the lights; the empty tub filled with warm water like a mini bathhouse. Auto-filling tub. Gushing showerhead. Masterpieces I'd forced the mages to craft. They grumbled at first, but once they saw the results, they championed mass production. The conveniences of civilization. The bliss of sinking into hot water. Plus, the northern mages were comrades too. I wanted the other soldiers to enjoy a taste of comfort, however brief.
“Ngh...!”
Washing off sweat and gore, I sank into the tub. A groan escaped reflexively.
“Hoo...!”
Only after soaking long enough to melt away the fatigue did I emerge. The bathroom light dimmed; I heard the water drain. Scanning the room, my discarded clothes, armor, and boots were gone. The soiled floor gleamed clean. Fresh towel and garments waited on the dresser by the bath. Grateful, I dried off and dressed. Always so thoughtful, without a sound. Without people like this, I couldn't have held the Grand Duke's seat.
“Grand Duke. You there?”
I'd just sat on the bed when a familiar voice knocked. Part of me wanted to play dead, but no dice. It was the supreme commander of the Northern Magic Corps.
“Come in.”
“Yes. Pardon the intrusion.”
Scardi eased the door open and entered. Golden eyes gleamed even in the dark. Snowfield-white hair caught the eye. But her revealing outfit—and the violent voluptuousness straining it—stole the show. An exposure only she could pull off in the North's biting cold.
“Grand Duke, you weren't planning to skip dinner too, were you? At least grab a quick bite.”
Scardi puffed her cheeks and approached, wooden tray in hand bearing simple fare.
“Thanks. Eat with me.”
“Pardon? How could I presume?”
“Eating alone in a dark room feels off. If you're not hungry, just keep me company. Won't take long.”
“Understood. Pardon me.”
Scardi hesitated, then sat beside me. The bread and meat on the tray wobbled slightly. Shoulder to shoulder, we chewed bread and meat, sipping water now and then.
“No injuries?”
“No, sir. I just command from the rear. Same for the other mages.”
Shadow crossed Scardi's face. No doubt feeling guilty for the frontline knights bleeding today. Mages were rear artillery, after all.
“Don't apologize. Knights matter, but we're holding because of you. We'd have lost way more without you.”
I comforted her matter-of-factly. Blunt truth. Mages were our breakwater, whittling waves of a hundred foes down to size. We'd be dead otherwise.
“Thank you, sir.”
Her downcast eyes lifted a fraction. The gloom eased.
“Grand Duke. You said to open the North, right?”
Finishing her bread and meat, Scardi asked. A natural question.
“Yeah.”
“No regrets? If the beasts swarm south, the peace-softened folk...”
“Even fattened, armies are armies. Some will be tough.”
The power-hungry always prioritize self-preservation. Visible troops, hidden reserves—they'd prepared somehow. Or both.
Scardi sighed and nodded.
“True enough.”
“Not a great call, but better than us dying alone holding out. Can't rebel with beasts at our backs.”
“If the capital had shown mercy... this wouldn't have happened.”
“Nope. Since the late Emperor died. Maybe since the current one was born.”
If the Crown Prince hadn't died and some wise heir taken the throne, who knows. But no.
“Scardi.”
“Yes, Grand Duke?”
Calling her name, she slyly hooked her arm in mine and leaned in. Natural, given our closeness.
“Things'll get busy underground for the mages too. Look after them.”
“Yes, sir. We'll keep comms up—no issue. Everyone left in the North's that type.”
“Yeah.”
Comfort-seekers, money-grubbers—they fled long ago. Remaining mages staked their lives. Or chose sacrifice for others, even if not quite life-or-death. Reliable folk.
Her arm's solid warmth against mine. Her words revived my energy. Time to head out, wrap things up, then crash.
“Be back soon. Rest when you're done.”
“Yes, Grand Duke.”
I stood; she rose carefully, releasing my arm. Regret tinged the air, but it was time. Grabbing a coat from the wardrobe, I headed out—not the balcony, the door.
Day by day smashing beasts, time flew. Always urgent. Amid it, evacuation proceeded smoothly. Only the frontline fought directly. Rear territories focused on logistics but bolstered defenses. Self-reliance was key.
Hard. So damn hard.
Day: hunt beasts. Night: support teams dragged corpses inside for butchering. Giant Caledons waited till dawn.
“Come on, everyone! To the warehouses—quick! Preserve as much as possible! No telling how long underground.”
Adjutant Allen infused mana into his shout. Busy day and night. I commanded as Grand Duke, but he outdid me. Frontline was my main gig.
Day: war. Night: battle. The North's days rolled on, relentless today and tomorrow.
“Wounded to the rear—get 'em magicked!
“Bring severed limbs! If preserved, we can reattach!”
Fights bred injuries naturally. Beast defense mimicked war—too many variables. Lately, deaths were rare, but wounds happened. Inevitable. All the more tragic.
Just glimpsing mangled stumps screamed agony.
“Nemeans!”
Dawn, mulling regrets atop the watchtower. A mage amplified his cry with magic. Werewolves, Caledons—outsiders might think those were all, but no. Far off, white-maned lions Nemeans charged, muscular white bulls Cretes in tow. Others popped up too, varying by wave. Not random—set combos.
Lions and bulls...
Lions scaled walls; bulls battered them. Crete worse than Caledon—less power, but numbers. Ignore 'em, wall crumbles. Sometimes I'd drop to redirect aggro.
“Draft knights per sector—send 'em down! Mages, freeze the ground—make 'em slip!”
Mana-charged shout, then I vaulted wallside. Knights'd follow.
“Yes, Grand Duke!”
Mages' cries stirred ambient mana. Snowfields sparkled, surface mirroring smooth.
—Kurrrrheong!
Frantic beasts skidded long. Lions, bulls alike. Smaller than Caledons, so tricks worked. Caledon? Crash or shatter ice under weight.
Or bulldoze frozen plains.
Stabbing skulls of sliders—thrust faster, tighter than swings. Efficient. Easy foes among beasts. No complacency, but room to breathe. Knights in triangles of three pierced heads, propped bodies as walls. Beast hides, meat, bones—all prime. No wasting as barricades. Better processed.
Anyway. Slay and slay, time zipped. Desperate as cram-school repeaters or cornered exam-takers. They risked futures; here, death loomed real.
“Grand Duke. As of today, evacuations complete across territories. All prepped. Just you and the knights left.”
Allen sighed, shaking his head. He'd swung steel today—exhaustion clear.
I gazed at the starry night sky, sighing. Perched on the wall, my body sagged.
“Then time for final touches.”
“Pardon?”
“Scatter today's corpses through villages. Not heavy near underground paths—too obvious.”
“Ah...! Got it.”
Allen's eyes lit; he directed knights. Might've puzzled underlings, but they obeyed.
“Slice meat for storage, spill blood everywhere. Beast stench masks human.”
“Yes.”
Allen murmured orders, wary beasts might comprehend. Overkill. Knights moved silent as assassins—or fleeing felons. Impressively stealthy.
Real assassins, maybe?
While gaping, streets filled with gore and guts. Meat too precious to dump—warehouses overflowed already, but more better. Magic preserved perfectly, beyond modern tech. No spoilage.
“Grand Duke. Done as ordered. Shall we?”
Allen returned solo after ages. Knights below stood arrayed, awaiting.
“Still time?”
“Yes? Plenty till dawn.”
“Then wash up first. We all reek.”
Underground had baths—hygiene mattered. No need stinking, though.
“Understood. I'll arrange barracks baths.”
“Mages too. I'll join.”
“Yes, I'll...”
Allen turned—then Scardi flew in, landing beside me.
“Grand Duke. Heard you're bathing? True?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded, meeting her eyes. How'd she hear from afar?
“I see.”
“What? Wanna join?”
“Yes. I'd like to attend your bath, sir.”
Soft smile curved her lips, voice velvet. Eyes, though—predatory gleam, starving beast.
“Allen, knights bathe at barracks, then stand by. I'll head home.”
“Yes, Grand Duke.”
I rose slowly, patted Allen's shoulder. His awkward grin tugged sympathy.