“The sky is black,” Lancelot observed.
We had just parted ways with Kai, and the road to the Imperial Capital stretched before us.
He was right. A roiling mass of storm clouds smothered the horizon, so thick and dark it seemed to swallow the light.
“Rain?” Lancelot asked.
I shook my head. Not rain. Something far worse.
They looked like ordinary storm clouds, but a tide of demonic energy radiated from them, so potent it turned my stomach. It was the lingering resentment of the dead—countless humans slain by the Demonkin, their agony woven into the very air.
“Looks like those Demonkin bastards are brewing more than just a storm,” my master said, his tongue clicking in annoyance as he scanned the sky.
He could feel it, too. Every Grand Master in our party could sense the malevolence churning in the clouds above.
“I’m not certain the capital is the wisest destination,” the Grand Duke mused.
“We have no other choice,” I said with a sigh.
He was right, of course.
Logically, we should have abandoned the occupied capital and regrouped elsewhere. A war on this scale wouldn’t be won in a day, and we couldn’t hope to wipe out the Demonkin’s endless legions in a single, glorious battle.
But the North was our destination—the Praha Duchy, specifically. And the only way to reach it was through the capital.
The messenger’s report had painted a grim picture: the North was cut off, a lone island surrounded by a sea of Demonkin. With its back to the capital and the Demonic Realm hemming it in on all other sides, it was completely isolated, beyond the reach of any aid.
Lin Praha, Roxha, all the northern knights… they were fighting with the expectation of death. As the High Elder of the North, I couldn’t abandon them to that fate.
“We need to move faster,” I said, drawing on my Aura. A shimmer of power enveloped me.
The others matched my pace instantly. The entire party, from the Grand Duke to the Special Taskforce, flared with their own energy. Not a single one of them, not even Hans, would be left behind.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the North, the desperate resistance Louis foresaw was already a bloody reality.
Steel rang against monstrous hide.
“Dammit, they’re through the flank!” Roxha Praha roared, her face a mask of grime and fury.
A hulking, yeti-like Darkspawn fixed her with malevolent eyes.
“Get… away… from me!” she snarled, pouring the last of her strength into her blade.
<Sword of Avarice>
A gravitational pull seemed to emanate from her sword tip, yanking the yeti off balance. A heartbeat later, a deep gash tore across its chest, spraying black blood.
“Guwoooaar!” the beast shrieked, thrashing in agony.
Roxha gave it no quarter.
The yeti’s head tumbled from its shoulders, and its massive body crashed to the earth.
Roxha heaved for breath, her gaze already sweeping the battlefield.
She had lost count of the days they had been fighting. A knight at the Expert level could function for days without sleep, but that didn’t make the fatigue disappear.
I’m going to die at this rate.
The thought was not an exaggeration. Her hands trembled. A wave of nausea, the telltale sign of Aura depletion, washed over her.
If she, a high-level Expert, was in this state, the other knights must be faring even worse. The sounds of her comrades falling were a constant, grim chorus around her.
This can’t go on.
Roxha bit her lip, her breath ragged.
They had lost contact with the capital weeks ago. No aid had come from any other territory. Worse, the Elder Council’s rebellion had shattered the North’s military strength before this invasion even began.
Annihilation was not a possibility; it was an inevitability.
“…Why, at a time like this, am I thinking of him?”
The man who had stolen her sister’s heart. The scoundrel of House Berg, whose talent dwarfed them all. The one who had single-handedly crushed a rebellion, slain the High Elder, and claimed the title for himself.
Louis Berg.
If he were here… he would find a way.
A bitter smile touched her lips. She must be on the verge of collapse to be wishing for his help.
“Forget it,” she muttered, forcing her Aura to rise one last time. “Since when have I ever needed anyone?”
<Sword of Avarice>
A violet light gathered at her blade’s edge.
Trusting in the only thing that had never failed her, Roxha swung.
* * *
“Is this the place?” I murmured, the sheer density of demonic energy a physical weight in the air.
The Imperial Capital was unrecognizable.
Twisted Darkspawn, once harmless animals, stalked the avenues.
Humans, now either enthralled minions or shambling undead, drifted through the streets in search of living flesh.
Demonic energy choked the air, and the sky was a permanent twilight beneath the canopy of storm clouds.
“…This is grim,” the Grand Duke said, his brow furrowed.
I knew what he meant. “It’s just like the Demonic Realm.”
It was a mirror of the blighted lands I’d seen on the northern border—the territory warped by the Viscount of Sloth.
“The messenger said the rangers sent to scout the North were all killed,” the Grand Duke continued, his voice low. “Cut down in an instant, as if by a single assassin.”
“…To kill so many, so quickly? That’s no mere assassin.”
“Indeed,” my master agreed. “I suspect one of the Twelve Nobles is responsible: Myu.”
Myu, the Countess of Slaughter.
Her title was an apt one. She was a Demonkin who specialized in assassination and pure carnage.
While Pepia was one of the strongest nobles in terms of raw power, Myu was his equal in combat prowess—a status she had achieved without relying on an Aspect.
She might be the most dangerous opponent I’ve ever faced.
Those who wielded Aspects were unpredictable. Pepia’s madness, the Fear Marquis’s illusions—they were powers that warped the rules of engagement.
Myu was different. Her power was slaughter. She had clawed her way to the top on martial skill alone.
There would be no clever trick, no weakness in her ability to exploit.
It would be a pure contest of strength.
And she’s waiting in the North.
I ran through the remaining Twelve Nobles. Seven left. Two were said to be sealed, leaving five to command this war.
Crio, the Duke of Benevolence.
Leo Fortia, the Marquis of Jealousy.
Myu, the Countess of Slaughter.
Maria, the Viscountess of Lust.
Rohan, the Baron of War.
Myu is in the North, I reasoned, trying to place the others. Rohan and Leo are likely here in the capital. Maria’s location is a mystery, and Crio is nowhere to be found.
I tried to pinpoint them with Clairvoyance, but nobles of their rank could shroud themselves in magic that blocked my sight. Without my master’s knowledge from my past life, I wouldn’t even know their names.
I offered him a silent thanks and pulled a map from my coat, the paper rustling.
“Why that?” the Grand Duke asked.
“We aren’t fighting our way through the capital. Our objective is to rescue the North,” I said, spreading the map.
Two routes led from the capital to the North.
The first was the main road, wide and well-traveled. The second was a treacherous mountain path, carved out for emergencies and left to ruin for so long that we would likely have to forge our own trail.
What’s the right move?
The main road meant a direct confrontation with the Demonkin army.
I didn’t fear a fight, but it would cost us precious time. Worse, if we were delayed long enough, one of the Twelve Nobles would surely intervene.
Our strength had to be preserved for the North.
The mountain path, on the other hand, would be all but deserted. It was so overgrown and hidden that the Demonkin likely hadn’t even bothered to guard it. The trail itself was the danger.
My deliberation was long, but my decision was swift. I folded the map and tucked it away.
“We take the mountain path.”
“…But that route is completely unmaintained,” the Grand Duke protested.
“A small price to pay for avoiding their army,” I countered.
“Hmm… Wouldn’t it be better to smash through them?” Master argued. “Thinning their numbers now would make the evacuation easier.”
“That assumes they intend to fight us at all,” I said, addressing both the Duke and my master.
My words flowed without hesitation. “If we take the main road, they won’t commit to a decisive battle.”
“And why is that?” the Grand Duke asked.
“Because the road gives them a better prize: the chance to annihilate us and the Northern armies in a single stroke.”
I met their gazes, my voice hard as steel.
The enemy had no intention of letting us pass. They would bleed us with delaying tactics, draw us out until we’re on the verge of collapse.
And then, when our strength was spent, the Twelve Nobles would descend. Two of them, at least. Four, if we were unlucky.
Once they herd us into the North, they’ll risk everything to crush us alongside the Northern host. It’s their one chance to eliminate the only force that can unravel their entire scheme.
“We’d be trapped,” I said. “Helpless. Especially if some of their number are willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause.”
Master grunted. “Then the other path is our only real choice.”
“It is. And fortunately, it has its own advantages.” A slow grin spread across my face as I met my master’s gaze. “It’s fast. Much faster.”
And it was true.
The secondary path was a crude scar carved through the mountains, but its crudeness was its virtue. It ran almost perfectly straight.
As a result, we could reach the North in a third of the time it would take on the main road.
There, I will defeat Myu. And I will finally ascend.
A cold fire burned behind my eyes. I clenched my fist, the leather of my glove creaking.
Grand Master.
I had attained the rank, but I was no true Grand Master. Not yet.
How could I be? This power was a borrowed thing, a halo granted by the Goddess.
To claim the title for myself, I had to forge the power from within. I had to be reborn in its crucible.
And the first step on that path…
The Mindscape. It has to be.
The very technique the Duke had shown me.
I would not simply obtain it in this war. I would seize it.
Whatever the means.