About sixty miles from the northern castle, in the village of Fremont, a group of sweat-drenched warriors hid behind a hill. All of them held their breath, their faces taut with tension.

"It’s coming!"

The earth shook with heavy footfalls. An undead elephant, its bones laid bare, charged into the village with its massive trunk held high.

"It’s the Named, ’Glutton’!"

They had eliminated over a hundred undead in the village, but no one had been able to touch the Glutton. The warriors revealed themselves on the hill and drew their bowstrings.

"Fire!"

Arrows rained down but failed to inflict even minor damage on the massive undead. If anything, it only seemed to enrage it, and it began to charge toward them.

"We can’t beat it on our own."

"Stick to the plan! Lure it to the canyon behind the village!"

The warriors quickly exchanged words and retreated, the Glutton hot on their heels.

They soon lured the undead into a narrow canyon. Waiting for the right moment, they shouted.

"Captain! Now!"

While the undead elephant was chasing the warriors, a man waiting on the hill launched a surprise attack.

"Hyaap!"

He raised the flag in his hand and brought it down squarely on the undead’s forehead. With a sharp crack, the tip of the flag wounded the Glutton’s forehead, but the beast’s thrashing sent the man flying.

The man tumbled roughly onto the dirt. Even with broken bones and blood streaming from a gash on his thigh, he grinned.

"We... won, you bastard!"

The Glutton stomped forward, its eyes blazing with a murderous light. On its forehead, where the flag had struck, a target-like mark was now drawn in what looked like black paint.

The man shouted, "Everyone, get down!"

Everything happened at once.

A deep rumble shook the earth as the mountains and trees trembled. Even the Glutton, which had been charging without a care in the world, froze. The sky suddenly bruised, turning pitch black.

A deafening ’swoosh’ tore through the air as a line of pitch-black Jet-Black shot forth like a meteor. To the warriors, it was as if space-time itself twisted, a black line tearing through reality toward them. What followed was a deafening explosion that threatened to rupture their eardrums and a tsunami of earth that surged into the air. As their vision was obscured by dust, only a few warriors saw the black line strike the Glutton’s forehead precisely.

The line didn’t just hit its forehead; it pierced through its flesh, leaving a huge, caved-in hole in its head.

-’Giiiiiiiiiiii!’

The infamous Glutton shrieked. Then, its massive body swayed.

It collapsed powerlessly onto the dirt ground with a tremendous crash. The warriors who had been lying flat on the ground lifted their heads, saw the sight, and erupted in cheers.

"We did it! We finally defeated the Glutton!"

"Glory to the great Grand Duke!"

The warriors raised their weapons high, chanting the Grand Duke’s name. The villagers who had been hiding finally came out, relieved. Another victory had been won in the North.

---

And at that same moment, over sixty miles away in the inner castle, the wind rustled through the Grand Duke’s hair. She lowered the bow she had been holding.

"W-Wait a minute! What did you just do?" Simon asked again, stunned.

"It was nothing special," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "An assassination."

"Huh...?"

"I shot down an enemy over sixty miles away."

Simon stared blankly out the window where the arrow had flown. Outside was just the ordinary sight of a snow-covered village.

"Can you even see the target?"

"Of course not. I merely felt it." She tilted her head. "This is related to being a Legion Commander, so let’s continue this conversation while we get some fresh air."

---

Simon and the Grand Duke went outside. He kept glancing at her, his face slightly flushed.

"Is there a problem, insolent one?" the Grand Duke asked as she walked, her bow slung over her shoulder.

"No, it’s just..." Simon awkwardly scratched the side of his head. "Aren’t you cold?"

They had stepped out into a fiercely blowing wind, yet she was still wearing only that short training outfit.

"The bitter cold cannot break the pride of a Northerner."

Simon thought to himself that he would never understand the culture of the Northerners. The two of them stopped in front of a large tree growing within the castle walls.

"Let me set one premise," the Grand Duke said, stopping and turning around. "I will teach you everything I can, but you and I are different." She pointed alternately at Simon’s chest and her own. "Every legion has its own unique character. The power of a Legion Commander varies greatly depending on their individual tendencies, the Administrator’s abilities, and the Ancient Undead they possess."

"That makes sense."

"First, we must identify your capabilities and then decide on a direction to strengthen them. One moment." She stopped walking, took the bow from her shoulder, and aimed it at the sky. Once again, with a deafening roar, she fired an arrow and then slung the bow back over her shoulder as if nothing had happened.

"You’re... busy," Simon remarked. "I’ve been curious, what’s the principle behind those arrows?"

"Hmm, yes. This is a good place to start." She sat on a bench near the tree. "In the North, there are those called ’Flag-Bearers’."

In the Kalos North, a ’Flag-Bearer’ was a captain-level position. They were called this because they had the authority to carry a flag that could guide the Grand Duke’s arrows.

"When an enemy appears that is too powerful for the warriors to handle, the Flag-Bearers risk their lives to charge in and plant a flag on the enemy." She mimed tapping her index finger on her palm. "The flag contains a micro-undead that I use, and that undead leaves a mark on the opponent’s body like a target. I have promised to sense the presence of that undead from this castle and fire an arrow toward it anytime, anywhere."

She lifted her pitch-black bow with a soft whisper of movement. "And this is the Bow of Gale, belonging to the 2nd Legion’s Administrator, ’Hate’. It can strike down enemies from a great distance."

It was indeed a weapon similar to Simon’s Greatsword of Ruin. But he was focused on something else.

"You feel the thought-form of a legion-type undead and shoot your arrow there?"

"That is correct."

"H-How far can you feel their thoughts?"

She lowered her bow, her expression unreadable. "The entire northern territory that I rule."

If one were to name the most distinct characteristic of the Grand Duke of the North, Jin Arscalt, it would be her extremely wide ’range’. She was capable of sensing the thought-forms of her legion-type summons throughout her entire northern territory. She could simply spread out her legionized undead, and if an enemy appeared, she could move them to confront it. Originally, the territory ruled by the Arscalt family was much larger, but now that the monster and undead onslaught had intensified, the range her thoughts could reach from her castle had effectively become her ’territory’.

’Then, don’t tell me...!’

Simon’s jaw went slack. The undead soldiers he had seen moving on their own on his way to the North... the Grand Duke had been controlling all of them remotely. It was beyond surprising; it was astounding. There was a reason people hailed her as a hero of humanity.

"Of course, it is not an infinite power," she said, touching her forehead. "The farther the distance, the fainter the thought-form becomes, and I can only give them simple commands. And if I were to constantly hear thousands of thought-forms, wouldn’t even I go mad? I regulate it appropriately."

"Still, that’s incredible," Simon breathed in admiration.

"I ended up being able to do this after trying all sorts of things to protect the North. Now then, insolent one, how far do your thoughts reach?"

Simon scratched the back of his head. "I think they reach almost as far as I can see, but I haven’t measured the exact range yet."

"That’s fine. We can test your range here in the vast North."

Simon had spent most of his time on Roc Island, so he had almost never commanded legion-type undead from a distance. When he had to operate an independent unit, he entrusted command to his Ancient Undead while he was busy fighting in Pier’s armor.

She grinned at the somewhat embarrassed Simon. "There is no need to be so hasty. Our situations were simply different."

Simon had many captain-class undead, so he focused on developing his own abilities rather than his command range. In contrast, the Grand Duke possessed only two Ancient Undead. Instead of increasing their number, she researched the most effective ways to use them. Above all, the northern territory was vast, and she had to win multiple battles at once to protect her people. Her obsession with protecting everyone within her reach manifested as an abnormally wide range of ability.

"Separate from me, you must have abilities you excel at," she said, firing another arrow somewhere into the distance. Even in the midst of their conversation, she had destroyed a Named undead and saved countless Northerners.

’Amazing.’ He was glad he came to the North to meet her. It was the first time he had met a proper senior Legion Commander, and it felt like his standards had been raised dramatically.

"Now then." Her questions continued. "What is the maximum number of undead you can control?"

A Legion Commander could theoretically control an infinite number of legion-type undead. So, she was asking about the maximum number of summon-type undead he could control as a regular necromancer.

"It’s a little embarrassing, but... it’s nine now." The number had recently increased after creating the Chaos Dullahan, but he felt shy saying it in front of her.

"You are doing well."

"Huh?"

"Kizen’s guidelines are correct. You haven’t received training to increase the number of controllable undead, have you?"

Simon nodded.

"The established theory is that if a necromancer who has been learning black magic for less than two years expands the limits of their thought-forms too early, their mental state can be shaken or even collapse. It is better to focus on building control and knowledge, and slowly increase the maximum number of undead you can control. Of course," she said, pointing at Simon’s chest, "we’ are a bit of an exception."

Simon’s eyes widened.

"We command Ancient Undead that would drive a normal necromancer mad just by making mental contact, and we have already commanded numerous legion-type undead. Whether intentional or not, a Legion Commander’s mental fortitude is extraordinary. During this period, we will work on increasing your maximum controllable undead count. As the number increases, your capabilities as a Legion Commander will also grow."

Simon nodded, his chest swelling with excitement.

[Khuhuhu!] Pier’s clone, who had been watching, let out a dry chuckle. Honestly, it was too early to increase his undead count. According to established theory, it was something for the first semester of the third year at the earliest, but it seemed Nephthys had judged that there wasn’t much time to spare. She must be expecting Simon to grow significantly as a Legion Commander during this period.

"That should be enough for assessing your capabilities," she said. "Finally, a practical test. I want to see your skills."

"Leave it to me!" Simon grinned and bumped his fists together. A practical test. It was the area he was most confident in.

"Tell your Administrator to have your forces on standby." As she raised her arm, her steed and a wave of Phantom Dullahans could be seen pouring out from the distance. "It is a joint sortie of our two legions!"