Chapter 135
Beginning of Winter
Berkheim pushed himself up.
After standing night watch, his body felt unbearably stiff.
Falling asleep amidst thunderous noise and screams was no easy feat—
but when one does it for a lifetime, it becomes routine.
“Ugh… my damn bones…”
Grabbing his knees, he stood and picked up his axe.
He frowned at the stench rising from his body, but there was nothing to be done.
Being drenched daily in the blood of demonic beasts—
it would be stranger if he smelled like flowers.
And if that ever happened, it would mean he had truly gone mad.
The chaos outside hadn’t subsided.
“Aim for the joints!”
“If you want to live, kill them! If you run, it’s your wives and children who’ll die!”
“Uaaah!”
“Aaagh—s-save me!”
Scratching his head, Berkheim kicked the squad members still collapsed in the barracks.
“Hey, hey, get up, you bastards.”
“Ugh… Baron… I just closed my eyes for a second…”
“In that time, five or six men probably died.”
The soldiers, their faces swollen and twisted with exhaustion, forced themselves up.
“It’s freezing as hell.”
Wrapping themselves in blankets, they gathered their gear again.
“Hey! Get up, damn it!”
One soldier shook another awake.
But the man didn’t move.
“We’ve gotta switch shifts. You wanna stand guard on the walls all night!?”
“…Is he dead?”
“No way. He was coughing a bit in his sleep, but—”
Berkheim stepped in to check.
…
After confirming the man’s pulse and breath—or lack of them—he lifted the blanket.
The stench of excrement, urine, and rot filled the air.
“He’s gone. Must’ve lost too much blood.”
“Damn bastard… said he had a long life ahead, that he’d make it through this winter.”
The soldier muttered.
No one sank into grief.
They simply regretted losing a comrade first.
“Take him away later. Give him a burial after your shift.”
“If we survive.”
“Yeah. If we survive.”
Berkheim stepped out of the barracks first.
It was a grim scene.
Dismembered corpses littered the ground, and torn entrails hung over weapon racks like laundry.
“Your weapons’ll rust faster like that. I told you idiots to clean it up.”
As if clearing snow, Berkheim grabbed the frozen entrails with his bare hands and tossed them aside.
They crumbled like brittle wood against the white snow.
Even so, the stench clung to his hands.
“Well… can’t blame them.”
He muttered, looking at a soldier’s corpse lying with eyes wide open.
Its upper and lower body were severed, entrails spilling out.
Steam still rose faintly from the fresh cuts.
Kiiirrrk—!
A white-furred horned monkey.
Even crouched on all fours, it was nearly as tall as Berkheim, with massive horns.
Its elongated snout and densely packed teeth were sharp as blades.
Hook-like claws extended from its four limbs.
“Who the hell let a horned monkey loose again?”
Fast and agile, the creature could scale even fortress walls if not stopped.
Its mouth was drenched in blood—it had clearly rampaged already—
and it was chewing on someone’s gauntleted wrist.
“Tch… guess you’re my first kill of the day.”
Stretching lazily, Berkheim rolled his wrists and ankles.
Kiiiii—!
The horned monkey lunged.
“…Hmph.”
Berkheim glanced behind him.
Right behind him was the barracks.
Dodging would be easy—
but if he did, the soldiers inside would die or be seriously injured.
Here, people were assets.
Even one loss mattered.
“Huuh—”
The creature’s claws closed in.
Berkheim exhaled lightly.
In the next instant—
The horned monkey became nothing more than meat.
The arm that had swung its claws was severed,
and Berkheim’s axe had split from its head down through its chest.
“Damn… heavy.”
Pushing the carcass aside and pulling his axe free, Berkheim let out a breath.
He had overexerted himself slightly by drawing aura in an instant.
A faint blue aura still lingered on the blade.
“Starting the fun without us, are you?”
The soldiers emerged from the barracks one by one.
“You want fun? Then go die somewhere else.”
Berkheim wiped the warm blue liquid splattered across his face with his palm.
Though the blood was blue, its smell and taste were no different from a human’s.
“If there’s no fun, how are we supposed to live here?”
One soldier joked weakly, staring at the horned monkey’s corpse.
But that brief moment of levity didn’t last.
Fweeeeet—!
A whistle rang out.
From the direction of the civilian quarters.
Berkheim broke into a run, the soldiers following behind.
Their “gear” amounted to little more than axes, swords, or spears.
They wore nothing but wool-padded gambesons.
The demonic beasts of this land could tear through even plate armor—
it was better to stay light and rely on evasion to survive.
BOOOOM—
The ground shook.
From the direction of the outer fortress wall, nestled between the cliffs.
“Seems the Count doesn’t sleep.”
“Well, His Excellency only sleeps once every three days during winter.”
Eighty percent of the reason Winterband endured the winter
was Helmut von Goethe.
A Count of Goethe who had reached the realm of a 5th-class warrior—
he personally dealt with most of the demonic beasts approaching the outer walls.
Even so, creatures like horned monkeys and bloodstone spiders
would climb the walls, scale cliffs, or burrow underground
to infiltrate the inner fortress.
Those that slipped through were handled by aura users like Berkheim and veteran soldiers.
Their goal was simple—
eliminate the beasts within the inner fortress before they reached civilian areas.
Though their numbers were small compared to the hordes outside,
they appeared unpredictably and endlessly,
forcing the soldiers to rotate shifts constantly.
Even so, casualties occurred daily.
If Count Goethe had not been defending the outer perimeter,
Winterband would have fallen long ago.
Fweeeet—! Fweeeet—!
Another whistle.
Twice this time.
A signal—another unit requesting support.
“Damn it… what a pain.”
“We’ll handle that side.”
“Do it.”
The squad split in two.
Splitting manpower meant a higher chance of casualties.
But there was no better option.
No system or procedure could account for every variable in Winterband.
The only way to survive was to endure near-death situations
and gain experience through them.
“Whichever side finishes first, regroup.”
“Yes, sir!”
Fweeeet—! Fweeeet!
Fweeeeet!
Whistles echoed from all directions.
Each had a different pitch—
a way to prevent soldiers from converging on the same location.
Berkheim led the remaining men and kept moving toward the direction where they had first heard the signal.
It was clear—since the Wraith Squad had been dispatched to Vinfelt, things had grown tighter.
They were the longest-surviving unit, and despite not having a single aura user among them, they dealt with demonic beasts faster and with fewer casualties than anyone else.
‘That’s some fatherly resolve.’
Even knowing full well what their absence would do to the soldiers, Count Goethe had sent them to Isaac.
To Berkheim, it felt like a waste of valuable manpower—
but having served the Count for so long, he understood him well enough not to object.
The reason the Count could hold his position—
despite sleeping only once every three days, despite constant mana depletion and the strain of a mage’s well—
was because of one thing:
The certainty that, as long as he stood his ground, his family and his people would remain safe.
If that certainty were to crack in the name of efficiency,
the Count would no longer be able to focus on defending Winterband.
For that reason, Berkheim had yet to report Isaac’s recent exploits—
even though he had heard them from messengers while the Count was away.
“A mage?”
The place Berkheim and his squad arrived at was the central square of the inner fortress.
A carriage stood there, surrounded by armored guards.
At the center was an old man holding a staff embedded with a large mana stone.
His graying hair fluttered as he hurled massive fireballs.
A wooden building nearby was already engulfed in flames.
Their attackers—three horned monkeys.
One of them was clearly of higher rank, nearly twice the size of the others.
“Impetus Ignia, Forma Lumen!”
The mana stone on the old man’s staff glowed red, blazing fiercely.
A sphere of fire condensed and shot toward the beasts.
The destructive power was undeniable—
but far too straightforward.
The horned monkeys scattered, avoiding the blast.
Only their fur was singed, while the ground burned uselessly.
“Agneor Keratum!”
Flames burst from the staff, wrapping around one of the smaller creatures’ legs.
Its claws glowed red as it screamed.
Seizing the chance, the guards raised their swords and aimed for its neck.
But—
Slash.
With a single swipe from the large horned monkey,
a guard’s head was sent flying.
“Irralim!”
The old mage chanted hastily.
The mana stone shifted to blue, and the large beast’s movements slowed.
A binding spell.
The guards rushed in.
“Tch… that’s not how you stab it.”
One of Berkheim’s men clicked his tongue as he watched.
A guard thrust his blade into the beast, but it failed to penetrate deeply.
“Ghk—!”
Another horned monkey pounced, crushing him under its weight and shredding him with its claws.
Fweeeeet! Fweeeeet!
The old man suddenly blew a whistle.
Berkheim frowned—why was this old mage carrying a whistle used in Winterband?
But the mage’s furious shout ended his thoughts.
“Are you just going to stand there!? Help!”
His voice, infused with mana, thundered across the square.
“…Ah, right.”
The mana condensed in Berkheim’s heart surged instantly through his limbs.
He leapt high, raising his axe.
The large horned monkey—its movements slowed by binding—
was split cleanly from the neck down to the ribs.
The remaining beasts were quickly riddled with blades by his squad.
“Haah… haah… damn it. Coming all the way here at my age…”
The old man—Reich—grumbled, breathing heavily.
He glared at Berkheim.
“I blew that whistle how many times!? Were you planning to help only after everyone died!? Because of you, we lost two good men!”
He wasn’t wrong.
If Berkheim’s squad had intervened immediately, those two guards would have lived.
“My apologies, elder. Your skills were so impressive, I got distracted for a moment.”
Berkheim tapped his shoulder with the handle of his axe, smiling awkwardly.
“No time for jokes. You recognize my face, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now that I see you up close, it’s unmistakable. And the crest on the carriage.”
The carriage bore the Royal Academy’s emblem,
and the guards’ surcoats displayed the owl insignia.
“Where is the Count?”
“At the northern outer wall.”
“Lead me there.”
“…Baron?”
Just as Berkheim was about to move—
A cavalryman came charging through the inner streets at full speed.
Hiiiii—!
The horse reared, snorting heavily as the rider yanked the reins.
The rider dismounted immediately, leaving the trembling animal behind.
“What’s got you in such a hurry? Something worse than beasts coming?”
“…You already knew?”
The rider blinked in confusion.
“…What?”
“Botmer’s main force—approximately two thousand.
Five hundred each from the houses of Bidelstein and Lübeck.
Another thousand under the banners of Baron Lipe, Hausen, and Mark.
Plus a thousand mercenaries.
A total of five thousand.”
“…Shit.”
One soldier muttered.
Berkheim’s expression hardened.
Instead of questioning further, he glanced at the burning wooden structure.
It had been a food distribution depot.
There were likely no casualties—
but much of their winter rations would be lost.
“We need to move.”
Reich said.
“I’ll guide His Excellency myself. The rest of you—put out the fire.
And elder—no fire magic inside the inner fortress.”
“…Understood.”
Reich nodded at the warning.
“What’s in that?”
Berkheim asked, pointing at the chest carried by one of the guards.
“A communication device. That’s why I came all this way.”
***
After Isaac passed Ulleorn’s trial,
Great Chieftain Asra and Grand Inquisitor Raphael both left Vinfelt for their own reasons.
Isaac immediately wrote several letters and sent them via carrier birds—
to Bern City, to Goethe territory, and to Winterband.
With Botmer raising such a massive force, this was not something Isaac could handle alone.
He needed allies—coordination.
Afterward, Isaac devoted himself entirely to the circuit that had formed in his heart.
It was a circuit in an unnatural place.
Originally, a mage’s vessel resided in the head,
while an aura user’s vessel was in the heart.
Mages manipulated external mana through the pineal gland in the brain,
while aura users circulated internal mana through the heart to strengthen their bodies.
For centuries, it had been accepted that the two could not coexist.
There had never been a single recorded exception.
And yet—
Isaac now contained both worlds within one body.
His head and his heart each served as vessels.
His mind was cold, calm, and clear.
But his heart burned like molten lava.
Strangely, the two systems did not clash.
Instead, they interlocked—complementing one another.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Since the seventh circuit formed, his heartbeat sounded unusually loud.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
But then—
Another heartbeat.
Not his own.
“Hyung… are you asleep?”
Besimer’s voice.
After Asra left, Besimer—who had kept to his tent—finally came to see Isaac.
Isaac had expected this.
“No. I’m awake. What is it?”
Isaac opened his eyes and stared into the darkness.
Before meditation, it had been daytime—now it was night.
The sensation of aura was different from the Wolf King’s power.
Unfamiliar. Strange.
No—more like…
itching. Burning.
“I came to collect a blood debt.”
“…Wait. I’ll come out.”
Isaac had been waiting for this as well.
The mana surging through his veins made him restless.
Whether it was the Granak blood within him,
or the violent energy awakened by aura—
Either way—
He wanted to fight.