The plains were drenched in blood. The river was so clogged with the bodies of barbarian warriors that the waterway was nearly blocked.
The army of 60,000 had been completely annihilated here.
"Waaaah! We won!"
"As expected of our lady!"
"Long live Rayfold!"
Even the Rayfold Army, who had fought like emotionless machines, raised their weapons and cheered at this moment.
To them, Amelia was truly the greatest commander.
There hadn't been a single individual who stood out by single-handedly defeating thousands of enemies. Instead, it was the ordinary soldiers, moving according to her strategies and tactics, who achieved this overwhelming victory.
Naturally, this filled them with pride.
However, a slightly different cheer erupted nearby.
"Waaaah! We won!"
"The strongest in the North, as always!"
"Our Fenris is the best!"
Fenris was equally proud. Matching the cheers of the Rayfold Army, they shouted even louder.
The troops of Perdium, who had followed behind, joined in the celebration. After all, with Ghislain set to inherit Perdium, it was only natural for them to side with Fenris.
As the cheers from both sides grew louder, an awkward atmosphere began to spread. The two forces, already irked by each other, now stood on either side of the barbarians' corpses, glaring at one another.
Kaor, with his dual swords casually slung over his shoulders, broke the silence.
"What? What's with the glares? Want me to wipe out Rayfold today while we're at it?"
The towering Vulcan bared his teeth in a savage grin.
"You arrogant little redhead. Do I need to teach you some respect?"
"You're a bandit, aren't you? I've heard of you before. I was going to hunt you down, but it looks like you got lucky and joined up here."
"I don't know who you are. I don't waste my time learning about weaklings."
"Hah, looks like someone needs to die today to wake up."
One was a former mercenary, the other a former bandit—both notorious for their bad tempers. It was no surprise that polite words were out of the question.
Knights from both sides also scowled and reached for their weapons, prepared to fight.
Neither side believed they would lose.
Vulcan flared his intimidating presence.
"You're getting cocky because you trust your lord, aren't you? But do you think you can really fight well right now?"
Even if Ghislain was a Master, he had just fought against the rift and immediately rushed here. His strength must have waned considerably.
And their lady, Amelia, wasn't an ordinary strategist. While the battle would result in heavy losses, their side had more soldiers and would likely win.
Of course, Fenris had no intention of losing either.
Kaor gripped his swords tightly, a cruel smile on his face.
"Want to try? Do you even know the kind of battles we've been through?"
Rayfold, holed up in the North, lacked their experience. Fenris considered themselves an undefeated army.
With their lord present, they believed they could easily crush their opponents.
"Come on, let's settle this, you lowly mercenary."
"Sure, let's go, you oversized, lousy bandit."
As the two most hotheaded individuals from each side stepped forward, everyone drew their weapons, ready to fight without any orders.
"Enough."
Amelia appeared on horseback, and the Rayfold soldiers immediately stepped back. Her commands were absolute.
Only Vulcan, visibly angry, lingered and grumbled.
"My lady! That bastard started it!"
"Stand down."
Her cold command made Vulcan glare briefly at Kaor before stepping back.
Kaor gleefully gave Vulcan a vulgar gesture, but Ghislain, riding the Black King, approached and smacked him on the back of the head.
"Ow! Why'd you hit me?"
"You really have no sense of timing."
As Kaor tried to protest, Gillian dragged him away. Alpoi clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"Ugh, such an uncivilized brute."
Though an immediate brawl was avoided, the tension between the two sides remained palpable.
Ghislain and Amelia exchanged silent glares.
It wasn't the kind of reunion one might expect between former fiancés. The atmosphere felt more like two people forced to face someone they'd rather avoid.
As Ghislain looked at Amelia, he thought to himself:
'I knew you could do it.'
Thanks to Amelia, the barbarians were defeated quickly and with minimal losses.
She had faced an enemy far superior in number and stopped them magnificently. This battle would surely go down in history.
No, it must go down in history. The barbarian warriors who had plagued the northern regions of the Lutania Kingdom were utterly wiped out.
He had to give credit where it was due. Ghislain smirked and finally spoke.
"Thanks to you, we've dealt with the North's biggest nuisance in one fell swoop. I'll thank you for that, just this once."
"We both did what we needed to. You know what I want, don't you?"
"Of course. And since it works in my favor, I'm letting it be."
Amelia scoffed.
"Confident, aren't you? How long do you think you'll be able to run wild as you please?"
"Even if things don't go my way, it's still better than leaving the world to those lunatics trying to destroy it. Don't you agree?"
Amelia didn't refute that.
The Salvation Church was genuinely insane. Compared to those spreading monsters across the continent, it was better for someone like her to take control.
The silence between them stretched, creating another awkward moment.
Amelia shook her head. It was best to stick to business and leave quickly.
"About the spoils of war and the eastern migration—"
Before she could finish, Zwalter rushed over, shouting.
"Amelia!"
Amelia paused, placing a hand on her chest and bowing her head slightly.
"It's been a long time, Marquis Perdium."
"Thank you. Truly, thank you."
Zwalter's voice trembled with emotion, and his eyes glistened with tears.
He had spent his entire life at the northern fortress, never knowing peace. All he ever did was worry about how to stop the barbarians and bring stability to the North.
His ancestors bore the same burden, and Zwalter had been unable to escape it.
"Because of you, the people of this land were spared, and the North's long-held wish has been fulfilled."
The barbarians had been hard to eliminate because their tribes were scattered far and wide. Even Ghislain had been forced into an uneasy truce, extracting only promises from them.
But this time, the barbarians had gathered on their own accord, and their massive army was annihilated. Now, only the elderly, women, and children remained in the North—no warriors.
With their custom of surrendering everything to the victor, the remaining barbarians would soon integrate into the Lutania Kingdom.
While Ghislain played a significant role, the greatest credit undoubtedly went to Amelia.
Zwalter expressed his gratitude repeatedly.
Amelia understood his feelings but couldn't accept his thanks wholeheartedly.
'I did this because I needed to, but…'
She hadn't cared about the barbarians in the past, thinking she could always deal with them later. Even Perdium's struggles hadn't mattered to her.
This time, she had acted because her ambitions required it, reluctantly accepting Ghislain's proposal.
That pure gratitude from Zwalter only made her feel more uncomfortable.
Zwalter was one of the few people she recognized as a person of character. Knowing his sense of responsibility and nature, she couldn't help but feel more uncomfortable.
"I did what I needed to do."
"No, no. Even if it was necessary, who would have the courage to face such a massive army? Thank you, truly. And to achieve such a decisive victory—remarkable."
If it had ended there, the atmosphere might have remained warm. But Randolph, overly delighted, ruined it.
"Hahaha! To think the young lady—no, Countess Rayfold—also excels in military strategy. Why not take this chance to renew your engagement?"
Ghislain and Amelia both turned cold glares on Randolph, whose obliviousness finally registered as he felt the intense hostility.
"Well, um… Just joking… If you don't like it, forget what I said…"
Though unsure of what he had done wrong, Randolph clearly understood he had made a mistake.
As the atmosphere turned sour, Amelia shook her head. She wanted to leave this uncomfortable scene as quickly as possible.
Rejecting Zwalter's invitation to rest at the castle, she turned to Ghislain.
"You'll keep your promise? Half the spoils and support when I move to the East."
"Of course. You don't have to worry about that."
"Who's worrying? I'll be going now."
As Amelia turned to leave, Ghislain suddenly asked, as if remembering something:
"Can I keep whatever remains after you move East?"
Amelia smirked and replied with a mocking laugh.
"Do as you like. I'll just take it back later."
Ghislain laughed in the same manner.
Nothing that entered his grasp had ever been given up easily. If she wanted it back, she'd have to wager a lot.
As he watched her walk away, she suddenly stopped, turned around, and pointed a finger at him.
"Your head butler."
"Hm? Claude? What about him?"
"When sending people for the spoils or negotiations, make sure they don't run into my people."
"Why?"
"Because he keeps taking a gold coin every time, calling it a 'bribe.' It's really annoying."
Ghislain clutched his forehead and laughed.
It seemed that Amelia wasn't the only one annoyed by this person.
***
At the westernmost edge of the continent lay the Kingdom of Lombars.
And at the farthest western reaches of that kingdom was a land known as the Land of Death.
No one dared approach that place. Even the royal family of Lombars abandoned it, leaving it untouched.
Because in that place resided one of the most infamous individuals on the entire continent.
Step, step.
A figure clad in a tattered dark gray robe emerged from that land.
Around their neck hung a necklace made of skulls, and their body was adorned with trinkets inscribed with arcane symbols.
Deep within the hood of the robe, darkness obscured the figure's face.
"... How pleasant."
The voice echoed with a magic resonance. Yet, it was clear from the tone that the figure was truly delighted.
They strolled leisurely, taking in the surrounding scenery.
After walking for some time, they arrived at a city and took a deep breath.
"... Delightful."
People afflicted by a plague were dying. Corpses were scattered everywhere.
This city had been abandoned. In fact, so had many others.
Unlike the Lutania Kingdom, other kingdoms were severely devastated by plagues and rifts.
The world was hurtling toward ruin. The stench of death lingered everywhere.
The figure reveled in the atmosphere.
"... It's a shame such fine materials weren't as abundant before."
Chuckling at the sight of the corpses, they began walking again. Though their pace seemed slow, they advanced swiftly.
Suddenly, they increased their speed for a reason.
"... A rift."
They were heading to witness the calamity that had struck the continent.
The figure stopped upon finding a group of soldiers. It was the army of the Lombars Kingdom, struggling to fend off a rift.
The soldiers looked like weary remnants of a defeated force. They were gradually being pushed back, unable to contain the rift.
A guard, spotting the figure, approached and spoke.
"This area is dangerous. You must leave."
"Hm."
The figure tilted their head, causing the guard to hesitate.
A tattered gray robe, a skull necklace, arcane trinkets, and a face obscured in darkness.
The guard froze, trembling, as recognition dawned.
"C-could it be...?"
The guard backed away, shaking. The figure was infamous throughout the Lombars Kingdom.
Even those who had never seen them in person knew their appearance. Every citizen of the kingdom had been told countless tales.
No one dared to impersonate such a figure. They weren't even mentioned by name.
Such was the extent of their fearsome reputation.
"What's going on? Who is that?"
The commander of the city guard, along with other soldiers, approached. But they too froze upon recognizing the figure.
Instinctive fear compelled them to distance themselves. Thus, the figure easily entered their camp.
"That... That person..."
"Are they truly from the Land of Death?"
"Why are they here... Could it be...?"
Both the commander and the soldiers retreated, their faces pale with terror.
No one dared to meet the figure's eyes. To be captured by them would mean even one's soul would become a slave.
The figure ignored the frightened soldiers and continued forward. Though such reactions were rare, they were not unfamiliar.
Shhhh...
As they approached the rift, a sinister aura began to emanate from the ground beneath their feet.
And when they finally reached the area shrouded in blue mist...
Screeeeech!
Countless riftborn lunged at the figure.
"... So many amusing creatures."
The figure muttered to themselves as they surveyed their surroundings.
The corpses of countless soldiers who had fought the rift lay scattered about.
Gazing at the wave of oncoming riftborn, the figure waved their hand.
Creak, creak, creak.
The corpses around them began to stir, their bodies creaking as they rose one by one.
Roooooar!
The corpses let out agonizing, soul-wrenching wails.
Then, as if they were alive, they took up their weapons and began to march forward.
That wasn't all.
Creak, creak!
Bodies buried underground clawed their way to the surface. These were the remains of countless people who had perished on this land.
Rotting corpses and skeletons joined the fray, moving toward the riftlings.
Rooooar!
Screeeeech!
Boom!
The undead and the riftborn clashed in fierce battle.
The undead fell easily. The riftborn were too numerous, and each one vastly stronger than the undead.
But the figure was unfazed.
As long as their magic persisted, the undead would rise again and again.
Still, the sheer number of riftborn was overwhelming.
"... It was worth coming out. To see so many of these creatures, truly, the end times are upon us."
The figure waved their hand once more.
Rumble!
Dozens of dark voids opened around them, radiating malevolent energy.
Whoosh!
From within, knights clad in black armor emerged, riding shadowy horses wreathed in black energy.
Death Knights and Phantom Steeds.
These were the ultimate undead soldiers, summoned only by the highest level of necromancers.
Whoooosh!
The arrival of dozens of Death Knights began to shift the tide of battle.
Behind the figure, hundreds, thousands of corpses continued to rise, charging toward the riftlings.
Rooooar!
Zombies, ghouls, skeletons, and all manner of cursed beings appeared in an unending stream to fight the riftlings.
Creeeaaak!
The bones of a massive beast rose from the ground, intertwining to form a towering structure. It was a throne made of bones.
The figure ascended the throne, their eyes glowing ominously from the shadows.
Gazing at the swarming riftlings, they spoke with a cryptic tone.
"As expected, you cannot be made into my servants. Your souls are bound to another."
This was the man who, in Ghislain's past life, had been counted among the Continent's Seven Strongest.
The "Master of the Dead."
[T/L: Please support me and read 385 extra chapters: https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans ]