They arrived safely in Vilkenos. Simon parted ways with the Grand Duke, agreeing to meet again the next morning, and began to walk through the bustling night streets of the North. It was a fair distance to his inn, so he decided to enjoy a leisurely stroll.

Drinking parties were in full swing everywhere. Red-faced, bearded men raised their beer mugs, singing loudly and off-key. Duels were a common spectacle; it was safe to assume that any circle of people in the North was likely gathered to watch one. In this land where strength and courage were virtues, people constantly sought to prove themselves. A complaint? Duel. The food was bad? Duel.

Bump into someone on the street? Duel. The clang of steel rang out, punctuated by the onlookers’ peculiar cheers of ’That’s it!’ and ’Push him harder!’

As he was taking in the scenery, he heard a soft humming.

"Hmm, hmm..."

Today, too, Erzebet was stuck to his side like glue. He glanced at her as he walked. He had just learned about ’Geheim’, a new technique for unleashing the potential of an Ancient Undead, but he still didn’t quite know how it manifested.

’Think about why your Ancient Undead choose to follow you.’

He had some idea. Erzebet had admired his father, Richard, and now she followed him, the son. In that case, what he had to give her was...

Simon’s face flushed, and he shook his head vigorously. His opponent was an undead. A difference in race? A difference in species? It was much more than that. This biological gap was simply insurmountable.

"Legion Commander?" Erzebet tilted her head, her eyes following his. "You seem to have a lot on your mind. Is something troubling you?"

"Ah, it’s nothing," Simon said, forcing a smile.

Ancient Undead, who had lived for hundreds, even thousands of years, were the most mysterious beings in the world. Those contracted to a Legion Commander, in particular, all had some sort of deficiency and followed their commander to fulfill it.

’In exchange for her loyalty, what can I do for Erzebet?’

As Simon was pondering this, they arrived in front of the inn. Erzebet had once again bought wine, cheese, and fruit. She didn’t eat them herself, but she seemed to enjoy the time they spent chatting together.

’I should talk to Erze about Geheim tonight.’

Just as Simon reached for the inn’s doorknob, he froze.

A strange sense of unease washed over him. A look of contemplation crossed his face for a moment, but then he grabbed the handle again.

"Legion Commander," Erzebet said, her voice low and her face stiff.

Simon simply offered a faint smile, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.

The room was packed. Warriors of the North, all armed, filled the small inn, glaring at him with menacing eyes. A hostile atmosphere hung thick in the air. Simon walked calmly through them. Near the kitchen, the innkeeper and his wife were hugging each other, their faces pale with fear.

He saw familiar faces. The man whose face was still swollen from last night’s beating was there, along with his companions.

’Retaliation?’

Simon let out a light sigh. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"You’ve caused quite a stir, outsider," said a middle-aged man who had planted himself on the stairs leading to the second floor. He drained the mug of beer in his hand, his Adam’s apple bobbing as beer trickled down through his beard. Having finished his drink, he tilted his head.

’This guy’s the leader.’

Simon immediately recognized he was no ordinary person. He wore white furs that looked like they came from a monster, and on his head were sharp, triangular animal-like ears. He had the features of both a beastman and a Northerner. Most striking of all was the flag leaning against his opposite shoulder. This man was a Flag-Bearer.

He held his palm out to the side. At that, the very man Simon had beaten ambled over, knelt on one knee, and slapped his chin onto the Flag-Bearer’s palm.

"This one here," the leader said, gripping the man’s chin tightly and shaking it. "He’s got a rotten personality, but he’s young and showed potential. I had my eye on him as my successor."

"But now, a nasty rumor has spread all over the North that he got his ass kicked after picking a fight with an outsider—a pretty-boy noble, no less." Every time his palm moved, the man’s face shook violently, his cheeks bunching up grotesquely. It was a ridiculous sight, but the surrounding warriors showed no change in expression. "So my reputation among the Flag-Bearers is in the gutter."

As he let go of the man’s chin, he kicked him in the stomach.

The man rolled violently across the inn floor, crashing into a wall before coming to a stop.

"You have to understand my position," the standard-bearer said, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands. "There’s no other choice."

The whiskers he’d plucked from his chin drifted to the floorboards, which groaned under his weight as he began to walk. He passed Simon and continued toward the door.

"So much for the honor and pride of the North."

The standard-bearer’s steps halted. Simon was looking back at him, a grin spreading across his face.

"Not a very honorable approach, is it?"

"You bastard!"

Unspeakable curses erupted from all around, and the sharp ring of steel filled the air as weapons were drawn. Simon, however, remained unperturbed.

"I am a guest of the Grand Duke," he continued calmly. "I showed you mercy after winning because I wanted to avoid any trouble for either of us. But to have my goodwill repaid in such a manner... I find it rather irritating."

The standard-bearer turned around. "A guest, you say? Everyone in Vilkenos knows you made a pass at the Grand Duke right before she marched into battle and were summarily rejected."

A wave of derisive laughter echoed through the inn.

"And even if you truly are the Grand Duke’s guest," the man sneered, slowly raising his arm, "nothing will change. It’s not as if you’re the first guest to disappear overnight in the North."

His arm sliced down, a signal that sent every warrior in the inn roaring toward Simon. The room filled with the sounds of crashing and breaking. The standard-bearer, having no intention of joining the fray, left the matter to his subordinates and stepped outside.

"It’s bad luck to see a woman’s blood before a battle, so I’ll spare you," he said, glancing at Erzebet, who stood just outside the inn. "A pity you’ve lost your master, but you’d do well to watch your mouth in the North."

Erzebet simply smiled. ’What a strange woman,’ he thought, and walked away.

He let out a breath into the cold wind. He felt a pang of unease about burying a young outsider with no connections here, but it couldn’t be helped.

’He must have had some skill to defeat my successor.’

But this was what happened when you tried to flaunt mediocre power. He should have just tolerated a bit of bravado. The standard-bearer clicked his tongue and walked on, craving a strong drink that would burn its way down his throat. He was about to find a suitable tavern on the main street when a frantic voice called out.

"Captain! Captain!"

One of his subordinates from the inn came running, his face pale. "We’re in terrible trouble!"

"What is it?"

The subordinate trembled, his mouth hanging open. He waved his hands wildly, trying to explain, then shook his head and shouted, "Just come and see! You have to see it for yourself, Captain! You have to!"

The standard-bearer returned to the inn with his man. Not much time had passed, but the place was unnervingly quiet.

’Is it already over?’

Leaning his standard on his shoulder, he strode into the inn. "Alright, you bastards, clean up this me—huh?"

His eyes widened. The walls of the inn were drenched in blood. Warriors were embedded in the plaster walls, while others were pinned to the floor, their lower bodies hanging limp. In the chilling silence, only pained groans echoed.

And there, atop a mound of bodies piled like a grisly hill, a blue-haired boy sat sprawled insolently, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"You’re back?"

The moment their eyes met, a shiver coursed through the standard-bearer’s entire body.

"How is this possible? Who... Who in the world are you?"

"I told you, I’m a guest of the Grand Duke. No," Simon corrected himself, standing up and dusting off his hands in a mocking gesture. "Let’s just say we’re allies."

He walked over, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Meanwhile, Erzebet leaned against a wall, feigning dizziness.

’Ugh, so cool,’ she muttered under her breath. ’I want to devour him.’

"You useless bastards!" the standard-bearer roared, dropping his standard and throwing off the fur cloak slung over his shoulders, revealing brawny muscles honed by countless battles. "Hup!"

Jet-black exploded from his body. So, this man was a necromancer, too. Fur made of pure jet-black sprouted all over his body as it began to transform.

’Metamorphosis!’

Even at Kizen, many students specialized in this form of black magic. In an instant, he became a panther cloaked in shadow, baring his fangs. He even condensed jet-black in his right hand, drawing it out into the shape of a sword.

"I’ll make this painless," he snarled.

The standard-bearer charged, the inn’s floorboards buckling under the force of his advance. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye and swung the jet-black sword at Simon, but a flash of light erupted before Simon, splitting the sword in two with a sharp crack.

’My jet-black sword!’

He looked down to see a long, metallic tentacle extending from the floor. At the same time, Simon strode forward and stomped hard on the standard-bearer’s instep.

"You’re not getting away now."

His right arm, which had been held back, was suddenly encased in a swarm of countless bones. They formed an armored gauntlet several times the size of Simon’s own arm, making it look massive.

’Heavy Bone Gauntlet.’

As the colossal arm lifted, the standard-bearer’s face hardened. A blow from that would—

"Wai—!"

With a deafening crash, Simon’s waist twisted, delivering a perfect, full-power blow. The standard-bearer, struck by the bone gauntlet, shattered the floorboards and was driven deep into the ground below.

"C-Captain!"

The warriors who were still conscious, the innkeeper couple, and the subordinate who had run to fetch the standard-bearer could only stare, their mouths agape.

"I didn’t kill him," Simon said as he dismantled the bone gauntlet, the armor reverting into a swarm of bones. "But I can’t just let this go..."

Muttering to himself, Simon looked down. Something was touching his abdomen. The eyes of the standard-bearer’s subordinate turned bloodshot.

"C-C-Captain! Are you insane?!"

Even as he was being slammed into the ground, the standard-bearer had managed to grab the fallen standard and touch Simon with its feathered tip.

"Keh. Kehehe..." Trembling amidst the wreckage, the standard-bearer lifted his head, his broken teeth falling out with a gruesome clatter. "Die. Just... die!"

’Thwack!’

Simon kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious, then checked his own body again. The area touched by the feather had transformed into a circular shape, like a target.

A heavy premonition struck him. Every cell in his body screamed a warning. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, and a cold sweat ran down his spine. Simon’s gaze shot to the window.

The air filled with a great whoosh.

The black night sky was swirling like a typhoon, forming a massive circle.

"Damn it all! Everyone, run!" shouted the standard-bearer’s subordinate as he bolted outside.

Having grasped the situation, Simon smirked and spread his legs shoulder-width apart.

’Now things are getting interesting.’

The standard-bearers had one essential role: to designate a ’target’, even at the cost of their own lives.

And the Grand Duke always answered the call.

A window creaked open at the very top of the castle gate in Vilkenos. A black-haired woman was raising a bow.