Raising the Northern Grand Duchy as a Max-Level All-Master-Chapter 111.2

“Eradicate them. Burn it all.”

That day, I and the Dark Sorcerer of the Devil’s Den met our deaths.

“?!”

When I awoke from death, I found myself inside an ancient structure built in the Golden Age style.

It was a place unknown to the Empire, Renslet, or the Witches’ Council—a ruin known only to me and the Dark Sorcerer of the Devil’s Den.

“Did it work?”

This refuge, prepared for a day like this, had served its purpose perfectly.

Just as the magicians of the Golden Age once sought sanctuary here, so had I.

“Good heavens…”

When I opened my eyes, I saw not my original pupils but a vivid green glow emanating from them.

Trembling…

My hands, visible in my field of view, were withered like a mummy’s. From afar, they might be mistaken for skeletal remains.

“Ah…”

Thanks to these Golden Age ruins, I had managed to separate my body from my life essence despite not being highly ranked.

The price? Becoming a half-baked lich, a ghoul magician.

But it worked.

“Ahhhhhhh!!”

Even though I had gained eternal life, I let out a scream of despair as green light poured from my eyes.

“What have I done?!”

My physical body was undead, but my mind was even more human than before.

For a long while, I screamed and lamented my actions.

A rumble, as though caused by an artificial earthquake, shook the ruins.

“?!”

Snapping out of my daze, I hurriedly exited the ruins.

Under normal circumstances, the harsh cold outside would have left me trembling. But as a half-lich, I felt no chill.

The outside world was a gray, desolate land with a sky ravaged by a perpetual storm.

Mutant monsters roamed freely, a frequent sight.

This was the Abyss of the Labyrinth.

[Kuiiiii?]

“!!”

The moment I stepped outside, I froze in terror.

Coiled like a mountain, a colossal white serpent was staring down at me.

[Did you summon me?]

It was the legendary white serpent, Jörmungandr, speaking to me through telepathy.

“S-Summon you?”

[Did you not? I thought you called for me.]

The serpent’s black tongue flickered out before slipping back into its mouth.

‘Ah!’

Realization dawned on me.

The ritual we had performed in Haven—this was the result.

The entity who had answered the summoning was Jörmungandr.

[The reason I could answer the call is that our goals align.]

“Goals…?”

[You desire revenge, do you not?]

“!!”

[I require something as well. To become a true dragon, I need their flesh.]

Visions of Jörmungandr’s targets flashed through my mind.

[The hero chosen by the heavens and the witch bearing the sacred curse. I need the bodies of these two mortals…]

Acidic saliva dripped from the white serpent’s mouth as it thought of those two.

Rumble, rumble.

Was it the venomous aura emanating from the serpent? Or the lingering effects of becoming a half-lich? Perhaps it was the extreme emotional swings peculiar to black magicians? 𝐑𝘈𐌽𝙤฿ÈŜ

“Anything! I’ll cooperate with anything!”

The clear humanity I had just moments ago—the regret and guilt—vanished like smoke.

What filled me instead was the pale, detached emotion characteristic of a lich.

“White serpent Jörmungandr, welcome to this new Devil’s Den.”

Now, only resentment, desire, curiosity, and an insatiable hunger drove me.

***

The Northern Great Wall of Renslet and the Great Wall of the Empire’s Eastern Ruins differed in scale but shared one similarity:

They were immensely long.

It was unthinkable to deploy troops across their entire expanse.

This was especially true in the North, where populations were perpetually sparse. Even the Empire, with its vast numbers, could not fully man its Great Wall.

Instead, small units of ten soldiers were stationed at intervals along the wall.

Rooooar!

Ssshhhiiick!

“Halt! Halt!”

“Ready! Ready!”

The same applied to those who attacked the Great Wall.

No matter how large their numbers, it was impossible to launch a simultaneous assault along its entire length. The wall was densely enchanted with barriers and defensive magic.

Thus, sieges at the wall always focused on a single section, overwhelming it with concentrated force.

Clang, clang, clang!

“All units, battle stations!”

An alarm blared across the Northern Great Wall.

A massive monster wave was advancing toward the wall near the High Tower.

“The white serpent! The legendary white serpent Jörmungandr is coming!”

Joining this wave was Jörmungandr, the North’s most fearsome monster, stretching nearly 300 meters in length.

A concentrated mass of malice so potent that even the High Tower trembled at the thought of facing it.

“Is this good luck or bad?”

“Rally the expeditionary forces to defend the wall!”

The Northern Expeditionary Forces, who had been preparing for deployment, naturally shifted to wall defense.

“The monster wave is visible now,” Isabelle said as she lowered her telescope.

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“Quite considerate, aren’t they?”

“Who?”

“Those creatures,” Balzac replied, glancing at Isabelle.

“Almost cute enough to kill.”

“Sun, I’m sure you feel the same,” Balzac quipped.

Sun, not Isabelle, responded.

“We would have had to march out into the freezing cold for the expedition. But now, they’ve come to us instead.”

Sun, gazing past the wall, suddenly turned to Isabelle.

“Witch of Spring, how is your life?”

“Over there,” Isabelle said, pointing to the central tower of the wall, where Arina stood resolutely.

“Not that life,” Sun said, shaking his head.

The Arina present was an illusion created by Isabelle.

“She’s in the safest place in the world,” Isabelle replied.

“Ah, so it’s the same this time,” Sun muttered, nodding in understanding.

“But what if a special force infiltrates the capital, as they did last time? Wouldn’t it be better to send her to Remm, Haven, or somewhere similar?”

“That’s the one thing she absolutely refuses to do.”

“Truly, our life is as stubborn as ever…”

“Unyielding, isn’t she?”

“Which is precisely why we follow her.”

Sun and Balzac glanced briefly at the High Tower’s outskirts and chuckled softly. Isabelle smiled faintly as well.

At 200 years old, Isabelle always spoke formally to everyone except other witches.

The upper echelons of the High Tower, especially Balzac and Sun, retained the use of honorifics when speaking to Isabelle despite knowing her age.

It was a deliberate courtesy to avoid creating the impression that witches were lording over the North.

Over time, this courtesy became a habit and eventually a tradition, persisting even as witches were reborn as Renslet magicians.

“…”

“…”

The light-hearted conversation ceased abruptly.

The monster wave had arrived, now visible to the naked eye.

Rumble, rumble.

The ground and the wall trembled as though struck by a small earthquake.

Isabelle lifted her telescope again.

Now close enough to see with the naked eye, the white serpent Jörmungandr loomed large in her lens.

Staring at the serpent, Isabelle smiled faintly.

“The white serpent Jörmungandr… Isaac must be in there.”

Though her lips curled in a smile, her golden eyes grew cold and deep.