Chapter 683

Clip-clop— clip-clop—

Beyond the curtain of darkness, the towering Northern Barrier loomed ever closer. Perched atop Moro’s saddle, Ian fixed his gaze on the wide-open gate set into its center.

Past the dim passageway stretched nothing but silence. The howling blizzard and the sheer height of the wall were likely swallowing every sound from the other side.

Or maybe we arrived too early.

Ian gave a faint shrug. It wasn’t as though he could have slowed their march any further. Time had been tight from the start, and the snowfall only continued to worsen. Had they set out even a day later, the journey would have been far more punishing.

Whoosh—

Pressing a hand to the hem of his hood as wind tore through the open gate, Ian glanced back. The legion trailed behind him like an endless tail.

Spear-bearing warriors advanced on foot, while mounted riders and centurions carrying sacred flame torches moved in disciplined lines along either flank.

Clip-clop— clip-clop—

At the heart of the formation rolled the mobile brazier Miguel was driving. Though hastily assembled by the dwarven craftsmen, it cradled the sacred flame perfectly, untouched by the raging blizzard as if the storm itself dared not draw near.

Behind it followed the carriage carrying the princess and her attendants, then the supply wagons. Past those, the line of warriors continued without break, vanishing into the snowfall.

Maybe it’s only natural that they see us as potential rebels.

The corner of Ian’s mouth twisted faintly. The number of legionnaires marching behind him now exceeded even those present during the erosion of the Black Wall—and that was after leaving behind all minors, the elderly, and an entire centurion unit as a precaution.

Every barbarian who had settled across the snowfields, along with those from the main encampment, had gathered at Hope City.

Compared to the endless expanse of the snowfields, their numbers were still small. Even so, this force alone would have been enough to overwhelm a frontier kingdom without much difficulty.

Clip-clop— clip-clop—

And throughout the journey, not a single member of the legion had fallen behind. Even Mukapa, guarding the group’s carriage, remained unharmed—his pony as well, wrapped so thickly in fur that it looked more like a wolf than a horse.

The blessing of the braziers must have played a part.

—

Hmm...

A low murmur, faintly amused, echoed through Ian’s mind the moment they fully emerged from the tunnel beyond the gate.

It was Yog, of course.

—They’ve been waiting very politely.

Yog had awakened roughly half a day earlier and, in that time, completed another molt. It hadn’t grown any larger, but its scales had become denser, darkening to a deep, glossy black. Apparently, this made it a little more tolerant of divinity. Even Yog didn’t fully understand the mechanism behind it—but that hardly mattered.

"Waiting?" Ian murmured as he finally lifted his gaze toward the wind-scoured clearing ahead.

A fortress stretched sideways as though leaning against the barrier itself. In the open ground directly before it, rows of soldiers stood in flawless formation.

The sight alone was enough to draw a slight twist from Ian’s lips.

So that’s why it was quiet.

They had completed their preparations long ago and were simply waiting for him. As the barbarian legion followed him through the gate, Ian’s eyes found Lucas, standing at the forefront of the assembled troops.

Someone from Ninglosth?

At Lucas’s side stood a knight Ian didn’t recognize, face hidden behind a visor and wrapped in a hooded cloak. Nearby was Hester, holding Nila’s reins, along with another figure who appeared to be the commander’s adjutant.

Snort—

Moro’s breathing grew rougher, its gaze fixed squarely on Nila.

"I know you missed it, but rein it in," Ian whispered, stroking the horse’s mane. "Let’s not embarrass ourselves in front of everyone."

Moro snorted in response and lifted its head, resuming its advance at an exaggeratedly leisurely pace. It was clearly aware of the soldiers’ attention.

Fully armed, spears in hand, every one of them had turned their gaze toward Ian.

"Unit—attention!"

Lucas’s booming command rang out just as Ian passed fully beyond the fortress walls. As the supply wagons parked within the sheltered clearing came into view, Lucas called out again, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

"Salute the legion commander!"

The soldiers slammed the butts of their spears into the ground in perfect unison and bowed their heads, left arms tucked behind their backs. The commanders and adjutants followed suit, placing their right fists over their hearts as they bowed with equal formality.

What’s with all this fanfare?

As Moro continued forward without slowing, Ian’s lips twisted faintly. They were calling him

Legion Commander

as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

A quiet snicker echoed through his mind.

—Seems a bit modest for all that fuss.

Ian’s nose twitched slightly.

Of course, the number of soldiers lined up before him wasn’t large. At most, they made up perhaps a tenth of the barbarian legion—few enough to remind him of the stand at Bellium. Just as Lucas had said, every soldier dispatched from the front must have been recalled.

Clip-clop— clip-clop—

Even so, there was nothing laughable about it.

They weren’t merely short on manpower. Every one of these men had risked their lives to be here. The barbarian warriors following behind Ian fell into silence, offering them quiet respect.

Snort—

Moro came to a stop before Lucas. Ian’s gaze swept over him, the knight standing at his side, and Nila behind them.

"At ease."

Thud.

The soldiers struck their spear shafts against the ground once more and lifted their heads. Their attention returned to Ian at once, but Lucas and the unfamiliar knight remained bowed.

They were clearly waiting for a speech to begin.

I figured as much.

Clicking his tongue, Ian turned his gaze back to the assembled soldiers, as though resigning himself to the task. He might not be in the mood, but he couldn’t lead them into danger without at least a few words of thanks or encouragement—especially when he recognized several familiar faces among the ranks.

—The smell of fear and anxiety is strong. They’re quite scared.

Yog’s amused comment faded as the footsteps behind Ian abruptly came to a halt.

The barbarian warriors entering the fortress raised their fists in unison, signaling a stop. It was a gesture of deference, not interruption. Even the blizzard seemed to relent slightly, no doubt owing to the mobile brazier rolling steadily within the walls.

"I offer my sincere gratitude to all of you who chose to stand and defend the North."

Ian swept his gaze across the snow-choked grounds as his voice carried outward, subtly reinforced by a trace of magic.

"However, the monsters advancing on Calbrook at this very moment will not be mere beasts of the Black Lands. They will be servants of an archdemon."

He met each soldier’s eyes in turn. None looked truly surprised, as if they had already been warned, but several exhaled slowly through their noses. The tension clinging to their gazes was almost palpable.

"Therefore, here and now, I will give you one final chance to choose. Those who are afraid may lay down their spears and step aside."

Eyes widened across the formation. Lucas and Hester, who had been listening with their heads bowed, stiffened as well. This was clearly not what they had expected.

"If you step aside now, you will return to your posts and continue guarding the barrier."

Ian did not stop there.

"No one will condemn you for it. Life is precious to everyone. Accepting the choice I offer you is not cowardice. In some ways, it may even be the braver path. So those who wish to live, step aside."

Silence followed. No one moved.

Far from lowering their weapons, the soldiers stared back at him, their eyes lit with a strange, resolute gleam.

Scanning their faces once more, Ian spoke again. "Is there truly no one with the courage to step aside?"

"No, sir!"

The answer came instantly—clear, strong, and unmistakably familiar. Caleb stood among them, spear clenched firmly in his grasp. When their eyes met, he gave a small, resolute nod.

"The archdemon you will face is Akihatara. The monster once known as the Godmother of the Feathered Crown, the Mother of Ten Thousand Demons, the Blood-Soaked Wings, along with its kin. Knowing that, do you still refuse to retreat?"

"We will not retreat!"

"We will follow the Demigod!"

This time, the soldiers roared in unison. It was as if they were casting out their fear with their voices, and when they looked at Ian again, their eyes shone all the more clearly for it.

Ian scanned their faces one last time and finally nodded.

"Then from this moment on, you are my legion. We are brothers and comrades. We will fight to protect the North, and we will never retreat."

"Even if death awaits us—"

"For eternal battle!"

This time, the shout did not come solely from the defense forces. The barbarian warriors raised their spears and fists as well, their voices joining the cry.

The surroundings seemed to grow brighter. At some point, the sacred flame burned more fiercely, and a faint warmth spread along Ian’s left arm.

Lu Entre and Karha were surely watching this scene. Perhaps they were even granting their blessings to the soldiers gathered here.

However, the sudden silence that followed had nothing to do with that. Ian had raised his clenched right fist high. Moro stamped the ground once, and every gaze snapped back to him.

"Not all of you will return alive. But I swear this—your blood will not be shed in vain. The archdemon will die by my hand."

The eyes of the soldiers looking up at him shimmered. It wasn’t merely the heat of the sacred flames stirring them.

After sweeping his gaze across them once more, Ian lowered his arm.

"I issue my first command. Begin preparations to depart. Steel your resolve as well. We don’t have much time to rest."

"Yes, sir!"

"We will begin!"

With thunderous replies, the soldiers finally sprang into motion, clustering around those who appeared to be their squad leaders. The barbarian legion, which had remained motionless until now, also resumed its advance into the fortress.

Ian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and hopped down from Moro’s saddle.

"That was a speech I will never forget, Agent of the Saint," said Lucas.

As Moro snorted softly, Ian glanced at Lucas and let out a quiet scoff. "Hardly. Don’t say unnecessary things, Commander."

"I mean it."

Lucas stopped and turned to look at the soldiers moving toward the supply wagons.

"To be honest, I only informed them just before your arrival that they might be facing an archdemon. Without your words, it would have taken far longer to restore their morale."

"You told them something that important just now?" Ian frowned.

Lucas lowered his head with a bitter smile. "I apologize, but time was too tight. And I suppose I believed that once you arrived, everything would fall into place."

"So that’s why they looked so shaken...."

Should I call that competence—or irresponsibility?

Shaking his head faintly, Ian dismissed the thought. Yog’s quiet giggling brushed against his mind, accompanied by a whisper that it liked this fellow.

Snort...

That was when Nila moved past Lucas and approached Ian. Hester released the reins and stepped back as the horse rubbed its cheek against Ian’s arm, completely ignoring Moro standing just behind him.

Ian smirked and stroked Nila’s mane.

"Indeed..." A low murmur of admiration rose from behind Lucas.

Only then did Lucas blink and say, "

Ah

—my apologies. I should have introduced him sooner."

He extended an arm toward the knight standing behind him. "This is Sir Edith Solpinel, commander of Ninglosth."

"Glory to the Radiant Light."

Stepping forward beside Lucas, Edith lifted his visor. A sharp, dignified face typical of a Northerner was revealed, framed by a neatly kept black beard. The adjutant behind him bowed as well, hands clasped behind his back.

"It is the honor of my life to stand before the great Demigod."

"The pleasure is mine. I know this could not have been an easy decision. Thank you for joining us." Ian returned the bow with a nod.

A broad smile crossed Edith’s face. "I heard from Commander Lucas about the throne that was left empty. After that, to still misinterpret the Agent of the Saint’s intentions would be nothing short of blasphemy."

Ian’s gaze shifted naturally to the side. Lucas wore a sheepish smile. "There was no better way to convey your sincerity. And we did not have the luxury of time for lengthy persuasion."

"Well. At least you were not late."

"The Ninglosth defense forces were en route to Travelga, so we were able to join just in time."

As Ian smacked his lips thoughtfully, Edith bowed his head slightly. "I am only ashamed that the forces I brought are so meager."

"Do not say that. Every one of them looks like a fine soldier." Ian shook his head.

It was not empty praise. Though few, they were all heavily armed and clearly well-trained. Even if their individual strengths varied, their true value would shine in coordinated combat.

A pleased smile spread across Edith’s lips.

"Your words humble me. I look forward to serving you, Your Excellency."

"I look forward to working with you as well."

"And please, speak to me more comfortably. It is only proper."

That's rather uncomfortable.

As Ian furrowed his brow at the thought, Lucas placed a hand over his chest and interjected, "Then might I ask the same of you as well, Agent of the Saint? Haven’t we been through more than enough together?"

For a moment, the look in Lucas’s eyes was almost desperate.

Ian let out a sigh and finally nodded. "All right."