Chapter 113.1

Monster Wave (2)

Outside the wall.

Though they fought in the heart of enemy territory, neither the barbarians, monsters, nor orcs dared approach.

Dying by getting caught in the crossfire of a battle between superhumans and a monster was the most pointless kind of death.

‘They’re not here.’

‘The king of the Northern Orcs, Hunster, is missing.’

‘And so is the druid chieftain, Nuchka.’

While holding back Jörmungandr, Balzac, Isabelle, and Sun constantly surveyed the battlefield, their expressions growing darker.@@novelbin@@

‘If such key figures are absent…’

The trio naturally recalled an event from not too long ago.

[Yes, that’s correct.]

Their thoughts were interrupted by the telepathic voice of Jörmungandr—more precisely, its fourth heart, Isaac.

[The strike force led by the orc warlord and the druid chieftain is already en route to that industrial zone you call the workshop. Their arrival will be a success.]

“What? How?! The wall’s barriers should have been meticulously checked!”

Isabelle’s expression stiffened upon hearing Isaac’s words.

[They didn’t need to fly over it or climb it.]

Isaac’s telepathic tone dripped with mockery.

[Though I haven’t reached the 8th Circle, transporting a few dozen individuals is trivial when I draw upon the power of the White Serpent.]

“…!”

The thrill in Isaac’s voice as he boasted of his success was unmistakable.

“Balzac! Leave this to me and Sun—get to the workshop immediately!”

Isabelle urgently shouted, but—

[Not a chance.]

Isaac, now fully fused with Jörmungandr, had no intention of letting Balzac escape.

Flash-flash-flash!

Brilliant purple and green magic circles unfolded around the serpent, adding the destructive power of magic to its already overwhelming physical might. Ṙа₦O͍ᛒЕŝ

Jörmungandr’s appearance was now akin to that of a mythical dragon.

[A body akin to a dragon!]

[Magic akin to a dragon’s!]

[Who could possibly stand against this?]

The combined forces of Jörmungandr and the black sorcerer Isaac surged with menace. On top of that, several surviving black sorcerers from the demon Realm clung to the serpent’s back, bolstering its power.

Flash-flash-flash!

Layers of barriers, curses, and veils rapidly materialized, cutting off Balzac’s attempt to retreat.

“…”

“…”

The trio’s faces hardened as they stared at Isaac and Jörmungandr.

“At this point… we have no choice but to trust them.”

“They’ll prevail, as they always have.”

“This might even be a blessing in disguise. Overcoming crises often leads to brilliant growth.”

The three briefly exchanged glances, then shrugged off their tension.

[How laughable. Do you expect another stroke of luck, like with that man Arad?]

Isaac’s voice, tinged with irritation, echoed through their minds.

[Do you think I haven’t accounted for that? I’ve equipped the strike force with every protective magical artifact crafted in the demon Realm.]

“You pitiful Isaac. You never change.”

Isabelle clicked her tongue in disdain.

“Arad isn’t the only one there. The North’s most elite knights are stationed at the workshop. And most importantly, Her Highness is there.”

[The Archduke? Ha! Of course, it’s Arina I’m after. Did you think I wouldn’t know that she suffered grave injuries in the Abyss of the Demon Realm?]

“Quite some time has passed since those injuries, Isaac.”

[But those weren’t ordinary wounds, were they? Her dantian! Her mana core must have been destroyed!]

“And how do you know so much about that?”

Arina’s condition was one of the North’s most tightly kept secrets. The public only knew she’d sustained serious injuries while hunting in the Demon Abyss but had recovered quickly.

And while the injuries had healed, the issue was her inability to restore her power.

[Do you think the Empire was the only one who manipulated Doyle, that Frost Knight?]

“So it was you.”

[Black magic can command the spirits of darkness, making it particularly adept at playing with human emotions.]

“…”

[Thanks to us, I had a front-row seat to Doyle stabbing Arina in the abdomen. Through the dark spirit I embedded in him, I saw everything.]

Eerie laughter echoed through Jörmungandr’s form, Isaac’s malice palpable.

“Seems that’s all you know, though.”

[And why would I need to know more?]

As if refusing to be outdone, Isabelle, Balzac, and Sun smirked.

“The orc king Hunster and the druid chieftain Nuchka… Well, that’s quite a lineup,” muttered Balzac, the Frost Swordmaster, as if talking to himself.

“Indeed. Lately, we’ve been concerned about Her Highness’s stagnating growth,” Sun added with a nod.

“Though the concept of manageable danger is absurd, it’s true that a proper life-or-death trial was overdue.”

[…What are you talking about?]

Isaac, puzzled by their conversation, sent a telepathic message filled with disbelief.

[That’s your sovereign. How can you talk so casually? If Arina dies, the North is finished. The Renslet line ends.]

“At first, I thought the same. Honestly, I felt that way until moments ago.”

“Even imagining a North without Her Highness, without the Renslet line, fills me with dread.”

Balzac and Sun nodded, seemingly agreeing with Isaac’s words.

“But our perspective has shifted.”

“We realized that overprotecting Her Highness isn’t the Renslet way.”

[…What?]

The enormous white serpent tilted its head, its confusion evident.

[This makes no sense. Do you even know who’s approaching your sovereign right now? It’s Hunster, the king of the Northern Orcs—the very one who killed the previous Archduke, Baikal!]

“Which is why we should thank you, Isaac.”

[?!]

“For granting Her Highness the chance for vengeance.”

Isaac considered the possibility that they were bluffing, but…

[…….]

It was evident they meant every word.

“At this point, it’s unlikely we’d make it there in time even if we broke through the barrier.”

“So instead, we’ll turn this crisis into an opportunity.”

“And in the meantime, your focus on us has weakened the assault on the wall.”

[!!]

The fighting on the wall had indeed slowed.

Distracted by its exchange with the trio, Jörmungandr was no longer thrashing about as violently as before.

The soldiers, knights, and witches atop the wall managed to hold off the enemies scaling the icy ramps.

“They say there’s a beast in the South called the lion. To make its cubs stronger, it pushes them off cliffs—an admirable creature.”

The three continued to chat casually, as if buying time on purpose.

[You’re saying you’ll raise your sovereign as one raises a lion cub?]

Isaac’s incredulous tone echoed in Balzac’s mind.

“Well, something like that.”