Raising the Northern Grand Duchy as a Max-Level All-Master-Chapter 114.1

Arina Rune Renslet (1)

Above the snowy plains.

“It’s a success.”

A black sorcerer murmured while observing the strike force rushing toward the workshop.

Wrapped entirely in bandages with a menacing green glow radiating from his eyes, he was none other than Isaac’s body.

“I don’t know what trick Isabelle is preparing, but… this won’t be an easy fight for her either.”

He mulled over the unsettling words he’d heard while with the White Serpent before spitting in irritation.

It was too late to turn back now. All he could do was focus on the present.

“Even if this mission succeeds, there’s still a problem. It’ll take an immense amount of time to make the North part of the Devil’s Den domain.”

The Devil’s Den had been brought to the brink of collapse due to recent events, leaving only a handful of surviving black sorcerers.

But Isaac wasn’t overly concerned.

Over 200 years ago, the Devil’s Den had already been annihilated once before.

As a lich, Isaac had all the time in the world. Over the centuries, he had rebuilt the den, kidnapping children and grooming them to serve its purpose.

‘The North has plenty of talented children to teach. It might even be enjoyable this time around.’

To him, rebuilding was a simple matter of time and patience.

‘There’s only one issue—the Empire. In the worst-case scenario, the Empire’s Mage Tower and its Order could take the fruits of our labor for themselves.’

The only outcome he feared was doing all the work only for the Empire to reap the rewards.

‘But that’s a problem for later.’

For now, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

Isaac directed his body toward the workshop.

‘Failure is not an option.’

The possibility of failure didn’t even cross his mind. For Isaac, this mission promised only glory or annihilation.

‘What exactly are they preparing over there? Could the Archduke’s injury really have healed completely?’

Flying toward the workshop while following the strike force’s trail, Isaac couldn’t shake his unease. The conversation at the wall lingered in his mind like a thorn in his throat.

‘Honestly… I was too hasty, wasn’t I? Rushed and impatient. Time has always been on my side.’

Isaac was well aware that even with the White Serpent’s awakening, he had acted recklessly.

The North’s rapid growth, the Empire’s ambitions—all these external factors had pressured him.

But the truth was simpler.

‘Perhaps I’m just… tired.’

Two hundred years of undeath had taken a toll on his mind.

Though his body had transcended mortality, his spirit had not. This imbalance was why his immortality felt incomplete.

“How did Isabelle endure this solitude?”

Isaac suddenly found himself marveling at Isabelle’s resilience. For 200 years, she had endured alongside him.

“What a remarkably stubborn woman.”

Even as the witches who had first settled the North withered and died, Isabelle—born with a trace of fairy blood, a direct disciple of Haran, and cursed by Haran herself—had not perished. ṛÄNò𝔟ËṤ

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She aged, but ever so slowly.

“Well, thanks to her, I wasn’t entirely alone.”

Isaac’s body let out a dry chuckle.

For two centuries, the witches and the Devil’s Den had waged a shadow war across the North.

The reason the North had maintained its intelligence network, Frostfang, on par with the Empire’s systems, was to counter this very conflict.

“……”

Isaac’s body closed its eyes, reminiscing about the past.

***

The Past.

Rune Renslet had never neglected his training as a ruler.

He had always been certain that one day, he would face the White Serpent.

“White Serpent! Jörmungandr! If I can just kill you, the North will—!”

Kuuuoooooo!

It had been a battle so ferocious that the High Tower and the Great Wall had been partially destroyed.

Witches suffered heavy casualties, and half of the North’s knights were either killed or crippled.

Even Rune Renslet himself had sustained grave injuries.

“Valiant knights of the North! Follow me, Rune Renslet, your lord!”

Overusing his mana, Rune’s complexion had grown pale and dark. But with a roar filled with resolve, he charged toward the White Serpent.

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

“Witches! Spirits! Aid the warriors of the North!”

“Of course!”

Rune Renslet wasn’t alone.

He was joined by witches, knights, and his family.

“Hraaahhh!!”

With a mighty strike, Rune’s massive blade tore through the serpent’s abdomen.

[Noooo!]

The blow left a scar running the length of Jörmungandr’s body, spanning over a hundred meters.

[Kuaaaaahhh!!]

Of its seven hearts, four were in the blade’s path.

Three were completely destroyed, and one was severely damaged.

‘This is it!’

As Rune crushed the serpent’s hearts, Isaac—who had been secretly supporting the battle—used the surge of mana from the berserk Jörmungandr to cast his ultimate curse.

[Black sorcerer! What are you doing?!]

‘White Serpent, this is for your salvation. Could your current body withstand the mana pouring out from four hearts?’

[…Understood.]

‘But you’ll have to sleep for quite some time.’

Learning from past failures, Isaac had exercised extreme caution.

‘I knew it! Isabelle and the witches had some sort of countermeasure—a potent curse combined with protective wards!’

Though Haran’s curse made it impossible for him to kill Isabelle, it didn’t extend to the Renslet family itself.

***

The Present.

“This wretched connection will finally come to an end.”

Isaac snapped out of his reverie as he gazed at the snowy expanse below.

The closer he drew to his destination, the more often old memories surfaced.

“Isabelle… Archduke… whatever preparations you’ve made, it won’t matter.”

He glanced at the strike force of orcs and druids racing across the snowfield. Despite running on two legs, their charge rivaled the speed of warhorses.

A faint, satisfied smile crept onto his face.

***

Within the Workshop.

Arina paced back and forth, unable to hide her unease.

“Huuuu…”

Her current mission was to protect the workshop and Arad Jin.

But she knew that wasn’t her real task.

No one said it outright, but she understood all too well.

The unspoken rule was clear: don’t be a burden.