Chapter – 64
The Goddess of War.
Or the Sword Lord.
And other epithets — Blood Lion, Northern Sword Demon, Heir of Iron and Blood, Valkyrie of Bloody Flames — countless more, dozens of titles when you counted both enemies and allies.
Which simply meant her martial prowess ranked among the top five in the North.
That such a person appeared here at Bowden Fortress was extraordinarily unusual.
Why?
Because her rank was Major General — a general officer.
On top of that, she was the commander of the Kamaira Brigade, regarded as one of Decaron’s most elite fighting forces.
Who would have thought a commander who should be leading troops at the very frontlines would personally set foot in a small fortress like Bowden?
Even Lebesk, commander of the Second Army Headquarters, didn’t bother to show his face, yet here she was.
“You are the black mage Crowley, aren’t you?”
Selena’s gaze shifted to Crowley.
“How dare a runt like you use my lord’s name,” Crowley snarled, but Selena didn’t flinch — she seemed used to insults.
After spending years on battlefields, anyone becomes like that.
Since her succession ritual she had spent years wading through war; how many abuses and curses from barbarians had she endured? She had heard every obscene, unheard-of string of curses imaginable — what Crowley spat out was nothing but frightened dog-barking.
Of course, by now most barbarians wouldn’t dare insult her to her face; if they met her they usually fled with their tails between their legs.
“I, Selena van Sigmund, by order of His Highness Grand Duke Guntram van Sigmund, Lord of Decaron, am here to capture the black mage Crowley. Surrender peacefully. Then I promise you will at least not die painfully.”
“You damned witch spouting lies!” Crowley growled, clutching his wand.
“No matter how much you claim to be a Sigmund, what can you do to me?” he sneered.
As Crowley clutching his skull-shaped wand spoke, a portal to a pocket dimension opened around him and undead monsters poured out.
That was the terror of black mages — more precisely, necromancers.
They were rightly called a one-man legion.
They might appear solitary, but they could summon tens, hundreds, even tens of thousands of undead; to face a necromancer was to face an army.
“Uuuugh!”
“Th-there are so many!”
The soldiers of Bowden Fortress trembled in terror.
Crowley had summoned so many undead that the cramped fortress seemed about to burst.
Still, Selena didn’t move a muscle.
She simply let Crowley do as he wished…
‘Stupid,’ Carlisle mocked, at Crowley’s refusal to flee.
‘I would have run the moment I saw this. Might still die anyway, but I’d run.’
But Crowley, who had spent decades holed in a dungeon researching dark magic and gradually building up undead throngs, had no idea who Selena was.
‘I need to get up first…’ Carlisle grit his teeth and tried to rise using Grimungand as a staff.
Just then—
“Dieeeee!”
One of the butcher tribe’s lieutenants, a loyal underling of Zarkan’s, lunged at Carlisle.
Screech!
A wall suddenly rose up, blocking the barbarian warrior.
Kraang!
The warrior crashed into the wall and fell.
“My lord!”
Evangeline, the earth spirit-mage, slid swiftly like she was gliding and took a place beside Carlisle.
But she wasn’t the only one here to help.
“Master, have you finally achieved Blood Awakening? This old man is so moved my eyes well up with tears.”
A white-haired old gentleman.
Maranello, once called the Envoy of the North — a legendary knight and now the steward of the Sigmund household — dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.
It wasn’t only Selena who had come to save Carlisle and Bowden Fortress.
‘The reply worked.’
Carlisle realized why Selena, Evangeline, and Maranello had all shown up at Bowden Fortress.
About ten days ago he had received a letter from Evangeline and Maranello, and he had replied.
— Please deliver this to House Maranello’s steward at the main estate. It’s a matter of great importance, so please deliver it as quickly as possible.
Carlisle had written to report signs of activity from the black mage Crowley, but he hadn’t expected much.
Who would believe a stray soldier sent to the frontlines suddenly claiming to have detected a necromancer’s activity?
‘I sent the letter anyway; if they respond, great. If they don’t, what can I do?’
He’d written with a nothing-to-lose attitude — and yet it had paid off.
“You lot, what are you?”
Zarkan snarled at Evangeline and Maranello.
“What business do a woman and an old man have interfering in sacred combat? As punishment for meddling, I’ll tear your limbs off and gut you!”
“Guh!”
Startled, Evangeline hid behind Carlisle like a rabbit.
Though a hardy northerner herself, she had no combat experience; this was her first time on a battlefield and Zarkan’s bellowing terrified her, which was perfectly natural.
“Haha.”
Maranello smiled faintly.
“My friend, barbarian chief. Watch your tongue. Your brutal threats frightened our young lady.”
“What did you say?”
A murderous light flashed in Zarkan’s eyes.
“You worthless old continent-dweller; are you not ashamed to still be alive at your age? If you were a warrior you should have died before you grew old…”
“Haha. This won’t do.”
Maranello drew a dust duster from his hip as if it were nothing.
“My, seems your manners need correcting.”
“Shut up, old—!”
Zarkan swung his axe at Maranello.
Smack!
“Ah!”
Zarkan staggered and cried out.
Each time the dust duster struck his mouth, his bloodied yellow teeth rained out in clumps.
“W-what? How can a dust duster…?”
The soldiers watched in disbelief as Maranello educated Zarkan.
Maranello, despite his age, looked remarkably handsome and dignified, but not like someone particularly strong at a glance.
Only Carlisle knew that if Maranello chose to, he could slaughter Zarkan and everyone there in an instant.
The house steward’s dust duster aside, Maranello wielded the Sigmund family heirloom, the Succession Sword Grim Reaper [Grimreaper] — a merciless, murderous weapon that harvested death.
Smack! Smack!
“Cough, gag!”
“Now, shall we try speaking a little more politely?”
“Shut— you old man— aah!”
Zarkan’s mouth swelled until it seemed about to burst; with more than half his teeth broken or missing he still spat out curses like a true barbarian.
Maranello had not taken up the task of disciplining Zarkan because he wanted to; he was a legendary knight who’d slain tens of thousands of barbarians over decades.
He knew barbarians better than anyone there.
Perhaps Maranello’s mildness came from his resolve to keep his vow of non-killing.
“I’ll help, my lord.”
“No, I’m fine. I can stand.”
“But…”
“I said I’m fine.”
Carlisle was forcing himself to rise.
Then a whoosh—
A blast of icy wind: Selena’s sword-wind, like a northern gale, swept through Crowley’s minions.
Whoosh—whoosh!
Over a thousand undead instantly turned to ash and collapsed.
A one-man legion?
To Selena van Sigmund, an army of low-grade undead was no more than a swarm of flies.
Her strength — normal duels against top northern barbarians being everyday fare — allowed her to cut down Crowley’s undead army with a single stroke.
“N-no way! This can’t be! It can’t be!” Crowley clutched his head in agony, unable to believe it.
All the undead he had painstakingly gathered over his life had vanished in a blink; for him, it was as if he’d lost his entire fortune.
And because of his profession as a black mage who had to live in hiding, it would be impossible for him to gather that many corpses again.
“Surrender. This is your last warning. If you resist further—”
“Wait.”
Carlisle stepped forward abruptly and spoke to Selena.
“I’ll do it.”
“What…?”
“I’ll kill him.”
Selena showed obvious surprise when Carlisle pointed to Crowley.
Beyond wanting the chance to fight Crowley herself, Selena was stunned that this brat — the wayward kid sent to the frontlines — had achieved Blood Awakening and was performing remarkably in this difficult fight.
She didn’t show it, but she was shaken.
“You’ll kill him? That black mage?”
“I want to.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Selena hesitated a beat.
“Sorry, but capturing him alive is the priority.”
“No.”
“…?”
“No.”
Carlisle gripped Grimungand tightly, refusing to yield.
“I’m going to kill him. I will.”
“What’s with the stubbornness?”
“I don’t know. I just want to kill him. With my own hands. So let me.”
“Again, the priority is to take necromancers alive—”
“Please.”
“Did you just say— what? ‘Please’—what?”
Selena could hardly believe her ears.
She wondered if that word had really come from the mouth of this foul-mouthed brat.
“I’m asking you.”
“A request?”
“Yeah, a request.”
“You don’t ask for things often, do you?”
“Just… please. You’re going to take him back and have him killed anyway.”
“…You act like that’s how petitions are made.”
“…”
Carlisle was at a loss for words, and fell silent.
