The Secret Pact
Thanks to the blessing from Rebra, my body was enveloped in a brilliant light. The onlookers murmured as they stared at me.
"Isn't that a divine blessing?"
"Could Viscount Aron have caught the eye of the gods all this time?"
"N-no way. If someone like that has the gods' attention..."
Whispers about me spread here and there. Naturally, I brushed them off lightly and scanned my surroundings.
Something had changed due to Rebra's blessing. Things I couldn't normally see were now visible—likely spirits. The classic fantasy trope: spirits. There used to be tons of novels where spirits were the main power source, but readers got tired of it, so they were relegated to support roles.
Countless spirits roamed this world. Though a spirit realm existed, it wasn't clearly separated from the physical world. They gathered on some isolated island somewhere on the mortal plane, allowing them to wander freely.
And here came the synergy: Healing Rain. Whether it combined Mahadev's regeneration with spirit power or Demeter's abundance, it seemed like a ridiculously overpowered skill that showered a wide area with healing rain to mend wounds.
If it fused with Mahadev, it'd just be basic wound healing. But with Demeter? Sprinkling it on farmland could heal the earth's wounds too. If that were the case—combining human healing with land restoration—it'd transcend cheat territory into mythic levels.
Either way, the gods went wild, showering me with karma like confetti. Now, their gifts came in tens of thousands at a time. A bit more, and I could snag an intermediate fist technique manual and mana potion.
The intermediate fist manual broke human limits, and the intermediate mana potion could propel someone to Grand Master realm. Pricey, sure, but worth every karma.
While I pondered, Count Lirun had already vanished. He'd bolted so far, probably desperate to forget his humiliation.
"Rommel!"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Prepare to march. I'll pay respects to the emperor and head straight north."
"I'll ready the troops!"
In the emperor's office, Viscount Aron was granted the grandiose title of Northern Subjugation Army Commander, with authority to conscript local forces. He could even command the central army dispatched north if needed—but it was temporary.
Viscount Aron paid his respects and hit the road immediately. The emperor had wanted to suggest a few days' rest, but the northern titans' momentum demanded swift action.
At that moment, the emperor met with Grand Marshal Duke McCain, leader of the imperial faction.
"You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"
"It seems Viscount Aron has reached a new height. What do you think?"
"Your Majesty's insight is spot on. He's at least twice as strong as before. He could probably wipe out 10,000 troops single-handedly."
"...10,000? Is that even human?"
"Perhaps even more."
"A powerhouse who could single-handedly turn the tide of war!"
"He's already beyond that, sire."
The emperor wasn't the sharpest, but that was relative. Years in politics had honed his wits enough. "Adequately dim" just meant he could think like an average person.
"What if he joined my service?"
"He'd crush the noble and neutral factions effortlessly."
"Can we sway him?"
"From what I saw, he's ambitious. Offer the right incentives, and he might bite... but."
"Negotiate without touching my lands or treasury."
"Full authority on this?"
"Yes."
"I'll sound him out at once."
"Very well."
A greedy emperor, but historically, not even close to a tyrant. He listened to his advisors, so full control of the throne wouldn't take long.
The march began. A refreshingly clean wrap-up. By now, Count Lirun's "punishment" was probably done—he'd be screaming his lungs out. I'd shown off with service time, so the gods might quiet down.
Once I started marching, their gazes vanished—they must've lost interest, chasing something else. Fine by me; no need for them to watch me slack off during the advance.
Story-wise, the northern push meant smooth sailing for rest. Time to slack while I could. I was flipping through a new book bought in the capital when the carriage halted. Rommel opened the window.
"What? Can't you see I'm resting?"
"Apologies, my lord, but Grand Marshal Duke McCain approaches with his knights from Brontia."
"McCain?"
We'd just exchanged greetings. An hour ago, no words—now this? He had ulterior motives.
Sighing, I rose. Who enjoys interruptions during downtime? I scowled as I greeted him.
"Viscount Aron! Lucky I caught you before you went far."
"What's this about? I was just settling in for a break."
"Haha, I'm here to relay His Majesty's will. Too many ears in the palace for private talks."
"Hope it's to my benefit."
I wouldn't kill the grand marshal, but I could rearrange his face. Sensing my intent, he cut to the chase.
"Care to join the imperial faction?"
"The faction, or His Majesty's direct service?"
Subtle difference. Currently, McCain's group backed the emperor, hence "imperial faction." But the next emperor could flip them to nobles or neutrals.
McCain knew it well.
"Haha! I figured you ignored politics, but sharp eye."
"When it profits me, I pay attention."
"Straight to it, then. Join His Majesty, and we'll officially recognize this as your territory."
Whoosh! McCain unrolled an imperial map. Two territories adjacent to Aron's lands—one noble faction, one neutral.
This sly old fox.
I'd already clashed with nobles but left neutrals alone—for civil war leverage, to pull them in or force neutrality. McCain had preempted that.
His smiling, unassuming face hid depths. The emperor likely dumped this on him, too lazy to think deep. McCain had planned for my future.
"I'd like the noble territory by the Insid River and Baron Hamon's estate."
"Hm? That one's fine too."
"No need. Antagonizing neutrals now just slows progress."
I pushed openly: no beef with neutrals, so ease up. McCain still beamed.
"So you're open to His Majesty's service!"
"The empire's all His Majesty's— what's 'joining' mean?"
"Haha! Wise choice!"
Land size settled; time to nail it down.
"Post-titan rewards get tallied separately."
"Haha! Naturally. There's a recently confiscated territory—we'll hand that over."
Victory over titans meant near-marquis-level lands. Title up a notch, insanely fast rise.
"How do I take those two territories...?"
"Haha! Your specialty, no? Handle it."
"..."
Frame them or whatever—cleanup's on me. Swallow what I can. Justifications are malleable; it'd be outright seizure.
I eyed the grand marshal anew. This guy's my kind.
"Looking forward to working together."
"Haha! Safe travels!"
Mounted, McCain rode off. Watching knight captain Max approached, worried.
"My lord, are we joining His Majesty's service?"
Smack!
"Gah!"
I smacked Max's thick skull for his denseness.
"Idiot, it's a front. Join what?"
"R-right."
"Tsk, study up."
Max looked wronged. I mostly read novels—preaching study? Absurd. But rank's a bitch.
That evening, winter hit: ground frozen solid. Titans warring in this? North would be worse; frostbite loomed despite gear. Needed countermeasures.
Then it hit: Rebra's blessing skyrocketed my spirit affinity. I saw every spirit flitting about—upper spirits summonable?
Not main force; fists sufficed. No combat spirits needed. But support? Summon fire spirit as camp heater. Upper one could warm camps, trail the march with heat.
Post-dinner, I drew a summoning circle.
Murmurs rose from watching knights and soldiers.
"Spirit summoning circle?"
"Yeah, seen one."
"Lord just hit Master—spirit arts too?"
"N-no way?"
Circles were common—no mana stones, just draw and infuse spirit power.
"Spirit of fire, heed the contractor's will and answer the summons!"
⟨ Fire Spirit Summon ⟩
Kaboom!
"...!"
Then the circle bubbled violently. An enormous firebird erupted skyward.