An Awkward Peace
Sitting there watching the screens felt strangely off. Dawn was battle time. They'd prepare in the dark predawn hours, climb the walls as the sun rose, and swing their swords. If things had gone as usual, he'd have already slain at least ten magic beasts by now.
This feels really weird.
Life without swinging a sword should have been normal, but that normalcy felt awkward. His body twitched uncomfortably because of it.
"It's weird, isn't it? Normally, I'd be up on those walls firing magic or giving orders," Scardi murmured softly from her seat beside him. She was thinking the same thing.
The magicians nodded silently in agreement. Maybe it was because they were all Northerners, but their thought patterns were eerily similar. It was reassuring, yet made him wonder if this was right.
"Yeah. Sitting on our hands like this feels off."
"If peace feels awkward... that means we had no choice but to fight so fiercely, doesn't it?"
"Time flew by without us noticing. Not that it was a good thing."
"It couldn't be. Death was close, and blood and flesh even closer."
Scardi's sigh seeped into his ears. They talked, but neither could tear their eyes from the screens. Yet nothing much was happening. No matter how long they stared, the beasts just wandered peacefully nearby. Some even lounged around casually. Even the endless waves had started settling outside the walls. They knew the inside was cramped.
This is kinda making me itch to kill something.
Soon, the walls inside and out crawled with white lions—Nemean—and white bulls—Crete. They clustered so prettily it made his hands twitch. One big, beautiful spell could wipe them all out at once.
"Yaaawn..."
Before long, the sun on the screen blazed red. Boredom brought on a yawn. Nothing special had moved in all this time.
Meanwhile, the magicians examined multiple screens with unchanging expressions. The tension of having the boss present faded quickly. They focused on the magic beasts.
"Your Grace. Look over there."
Just before the crimson sun fully set, Scardi's voice from beside him startled him. A chill raced down his spine.
He snapped to attention and saw the sluggish beasts retreating beyond the walls. They acted like they had no attachment to the territory they'd claimed.
"Huh...?"
"Not an advance? Some other purpose?"
"Securing territory and then retreating without even hunting? That's how it looks, right?"
The magicians muttered while staring at the screens. Everyone looked flustered. Frey felt the same confusion. Their peaceful withdrawal felt anticlimactic, but also baffling and suspicious. Like clocking out after a job well done.
"Feels off."
"Yes. Seeing the magic beasts act so docile only raises more questions."
Scardi frowned at the screen. Frey agreed.
"Time to head out. Hand off to the other magicians and rest. You all worked hard holding position nearly all day."
"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you."
He comforted the magicians and left. Scardi came with him. No major changes yet, but that could shift with time. They'd need steady monitoring. Still, camping out here indefinitely felt awkward. He'd sat through the first observation today, but from tomorrow, reports would suffice. It was important, but waiting around was boring.
Is it a dopamine shortage?
Daily fierce battles. Even rest times lacked peace. Now, calm felt alien. Time itself dragged.
"Scardi. Let's grab food."
"Sounds good. To the barracks?"
"Yeah."
Since manning the walls, he hadn't eaten at the Grand Duke's residence. Breakfast and lunch came delivered from the barracks. Dinners were shared at tables with soldiers long ago—for unity with knights, soldiers, and magicians. And because trekking back to the residence was a hassle.
Scardi was the same. They commuted together, staked their lives together—no complaints as they headed to the barracks.
The barracks weren't far from the magicians' outpost.
The Northern Grand Duke had various duties. Reviewing and signing documents. Preserving magic beast meat and distributing it to territories, and more administrative tasks. Naturally, the top priority was defending the North. Slicing and blocking magic beasts at the Northern Frontline Wall while commanding troops.
Training those troops was crucial too. Instructors during the day. After sunset, he briefly guided the squires himself.
"Our honor lies in slaying magic beasts swiftly with minimal casualties. Keep that in mind as you swing."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
In the barracks' backyard—a three-story building—ten squires sweated profusely, wooden swords in hand.
"Short and fast strikes. Treat every bit of flesh in front of you as a weak point. Hands, thighs, feet—target anything."
Northern swordsmanship was a hunter's blade. It evolved toward ruthlessly eliminating weaknesses over grand cavalry charges. Fierce, insidious, lethal. Like modern special forces knife fighting or mercenaries. If you couldn't strike vitals in one go, shave from the outside. Prioritize safety even if gaps appear.
That's why training dragged despite the beasts' numbers. Safety first. Magic beasts must die quick, but rushing and getting hurt was far worse. Like choking on hasty gulps.
"As you know, techniques vary by beast. Sword height, footwork differ. Train with that in mind."
"Yes!"
He taught countermeasures per beast type between drills. Some needed bold aggression, others cautious hunts.
"Good. That's enough."
He stopped as the squires panted. Overtraining wasn't good. Can't break the pillars holding up the North.
"Good work today. Especially after taking sword hits this morning—they hurt, but magic beast teeth and claws are worse. Don't forget. Dismissed."
"Thank you!"
The squires saluted crisply and left, their faces shining with resolve. Days into underground evacuation. More leisure than wall defense, but urgency could return anytime.
Their mindset's solid.
Seeing their determined faces as they departed brought a smile. Already fully committed—reassuring.
Northern knights were all commoners. No luxury for elegant noble recruits like the center. Constant replenishment or numbers fell short. Thus, their loyalty and resolve stood out. Unlike leisurely nobles, they had clear motivation to defend their homes.
"Hoo..."
He caught his breath belatedly and entered the barracks. The elementary school-inspired layout felt familiar yet nostalgic. A touch melancholic.
The place that nurtures the heart of the North.
In the first floor's center, the phrase carved into the crude stele caught his eye. Rough frame, but upright meaning.
"Your Grace. Here you are?"
As he stood gazing at the stele, Allen approached quietly from behind. His expression looked urgent.
"Yeah. Something up? You look like you need to shit. Bathroom first?"
"Handled that this morning."
Allen sighed and shook his head. Good he stayed regular even under extreme stress. Constipation on top would be hell.
"Not that—there's something urgent to report to you."
"Magic beasts?"
Melancholy vanished; his heart pounded. Mind cooled sharply. In the North, urgent reports usually meant beasts.
"Yes. Reports of changes in their movements. You should see for yourself."
"The magicians said that?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go. I'll head alone—you get back to work. Thanks for the hard work."
He patted Allen's shoulder and stepped out. Allen's touched reaction made him feel grateful anew—and a bit guilty.
"Your Grace."
Entering the magicians' barracks, a familiar face greeted him. One from the monitoring room days ago.
"Oh? We met a few days back, right?"
"Yes. Honored you remember."
"Honor my ass. Heard the beasts are moving?"
"Yes. I'll explain via the screens. Follow me."
He nodded and trailed the magician. Destination: monitoring room.
"Your Grace."
Three magicians inside rose and bowed. Different faces from before.
"Thanks for the tireless work. Sit and report—I'll hear it from this magician friend. Name...?"
"Hector."
The guide promptly introduced himself. Tempted to pry his background, but not the time. Later.
"Sit here."
"Thanks."
He sat where Hector indicated and faced the wall. The living Northern landscape appeared. Like days ago—endless watch ending in boredom.
But today, his eyes bulged at first sight.
"Didn't report to you, but until moments ago, not a single magic beast showed."
"Not one?"
"Yes. But now, as you see..."
Hector trailed off. Interruptions usually annoyed, but not this time. The screens held answers.
"That's not a combo we've seen, right?"
"Yes. As you know, beast combinations were fixed."
This is insane. The sight furrowed his brows instinctively. Bipedal Werewolf sprinting on two legs beside a white-furred goat Niguras—first time.
Beast combos were rare all-at-once swarms or occasional 2+2 mixes. Niguras usually paired with white snake Gorgon. Sly duo: Niguras springs like a spring for aggro, Gorgon bites ankles in the gap for poison.
Werewolf and Niguras? New. Unsettling.
"Stands out, alright."
"Yes. And advancing in a specific direction. The scenario you predicted."
"Southbound."
He nodded at the tri-split screens: frontline top-left, below, and below that. Clear southward path.
"Like they're racing to find humans... What do you think?"
"Same thought. Other magicians agree. Definitely hunting humans."
"How'd they know humans are south? Never seen beyond the walls."
He asked while eyeing the endless procession from the frontline. Horrifyingly long. No wonder daily hell crashing against walls. Blocking them unscathed was miraculous.
"Hard to say. No flying beasts."
"They communicate, but basic level."
Beasts had intelligence. Not mere algorithms. But no human complexity or AI growth. Pure beast level. Smart enough for info warfare? Casualties would've skyrocketed. Walls might've crumbled multiple times, even if North held.
"Shelters?"
"Not considering them. Following human paths. Tracking traces."
"Relief."
No fights soon—tension eased. A sigh escaped.
"Logging anomalies well?"
"Yes. Sharing info across territories, recording specials."
"Thanks, everyone. Sorry too."
"No need. Mental strain's nothing compared to that hell. Mana waste aside."
True. Even rear-line spellcasting carried burden. Maybe more. Miscalculated angle hitting allies? Effective? Artillery doubt in horrific warzone.
Anyway. Knights and magicians all suffered. No comparing pains—everyone vital.
"Thanks, all."
He frowned at the screens. Sprinting beasts tensed his nerves. Straight-line only. Ignoring forks, hugging main roads—clear purpose.
Southward march. At that speed, south soon.
"Your Grace. Meeting time."
Allen's knock from outside. Beasts nearing other territories just then. He rose reluctantly. Wanted to stay, but meetings crucial. Unless dying.
"Keep at it—report anomalies immediately."
"Yes, Your Grace."
He encouraged them and exited. Allen waited outside.