Equidema was crushed under the enormous hand, its massive body reduced to a gory mess. Crack! All that remained of the monstrous creature was a mangled corpse and a pool of blood. The onlookers were frozen in shock, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Ghislain’s sharp voice cut through the stunned silence. “Everyone, fall back!” Ghislain’s military training emphasized immediate and reflexive obedience to his commands, a discipline that paid off in moments like this. The soldiers, responding instinctively, quickly retreated without a second thought. Even Alfoy, ever resourceful in moments of danger, grabbed Piote and fled with an impressive burst of mana. Whatever else could be said about him, his survival instincts were unmatched. Boom! The massive hand slammed into the ground again, moving slowly but with immense force. Crack! Crack! Crack! The earth split open, and the ground quaked violently as if an earthquake had struck. Even those who had already retreated a fair distance couldn’t keep their balance and tumbled to the ground. The Rift creatures emerging from the fissures were instantly obliterated by the shockwave. Even Ghislain and his most experienced fighters struggled to maintain their footing amidst the chaos. The Rift's Colossal Threat Everyone stared at the colossal hand emerging from the Rift with expressions of sheer disbelief. “What... what is that?” “Something like that lives in the Rift?” “Does this mean the thing we thought couldn’t come out before... was actually this?” The Rift had expanded significantly, now large enough for multiple Equidemas to emerge simultaneously. Yet even this widened Rift could barely accommodate the size of the hand. If this was just the hand, how immense was the creature itself? A collective gulp echoed through the group. They all turned to Ghislain, their eyes pleading for an explanation. Ghislain took a deep breath to steady himself before answering. “It’s the master of the Rift. We won’t be able to close it until that thing is dealt with.” Waiting for the Monster Belinda cast a wary glance at the Rift before asking, “So... does this mean we have to wait for it to come out?” “That’s right,” Ghislain replied. “We need it fully outside to close the Rift permanently.” “With Equidema dead, the Rift’s expansion...?” “The expansion will slow, and the domain will start to shrink. The creatures within the domain will still be active for a while, but... I doubt they’ll last.” As the Rift’s domain diminished, the remaining creatures would eventually vanish. For now, Equidema’s death offered a moment of respite. Belinda let out a small sigh of relief but pressed further. “If that thing emerges, will the domain still matter?” Ghislain’s expression darkened as he shook his head. “No. Once it’s out, the domain is irrelevant.” “What... what does that mean?” “Unlike Equidema, that creature isn’t bound by the domain. Its sheer presence will allow tens of thousands of creatures to exist and follow it anywhere. It’s essentially a walking Rift.” The soldiers’ faces paled, and a wave of unease swept through the group. Ghislain allowed himself a bitter chuckle. “If Equidema was the vanguard, that thing is the main force.” Assessing the Threat Belinda hesitated before asking, “It can’t use ranged attacks... right?” Ghislain nodded. “Fortunately, no. It fights up close, relying on brute strength.” “That’s... a small mercy, at least.” If the creature had ranged capabilities on top of its overwhelming physical power, humanity’s survival would have been a distant hope. The group fell silent as they watched the enormous hand retract into the Rift. The situation was so dire it left them at a loss for words. Belinda, trying to break the oppressive silence, ventured cautiously, “Can we even kill it?” “It’s possible,” Ghislain said firmly. “But humanity will need to grow stronger. It’s not invincible.” Belinda squinted at him. “You sound like you’ve fought one before.” “I... well, no,” Ghislain stammered, quickly regaining his composure. The awkward silence that followed was palpable. Belinda crossed her arms and fixed him with a probing gaze. “How do you know so much about this? You’ve known about the Rifts even before they appeared.” Ghislain remained unfazed. “Lavier told me. Remember the priest from the Salvation Order?” “Lavier? He didn’t say anything when we captured him. How do you know this much detail?” The Mystery Deepens The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. Ghislain had always seemed to know too much. In the past, they’d brushed it off as a quirk. But now, with the stakes so high, their curiosity was undeniable. Ghislain had an answer ready, one he’d used countless times before. “I read it in a book as a child.” “......” “You should all read more. Knowledge is power.” “......” Belinda scowled, remembering her futile efforts to make him read anything as a child. When he finally started, it was mostly frivolous stories. She sighed. “Still keeping secrets, I see?” Ghislain grinned. “You’re the one who taught me that a man with secrets is attractive.” Belinda groaned, briefly regretting her past teachings. The Battle Continues Ghislain clapped his hands to refocus the group. “This Rift is secured for now. With Equidema dead, the domain will shrink, and we have a moment to regroup. Prepare to move to the next Rift.” “Yes, sir!” The soldiers erupted into cheers. Despite the looming threat of the Rift’s master, they celebrated their unprecedented victory. No army in the kingdom had ever achieved such a feat. The thought of the Rift’s master still lingered in their minds, but they pushed it aside. “Lord Ghislain will know what to do when the time comes.” “He’ll handle it, just like he always does.” “We Just Need to Trust Our Lord.” This unshakable belief was the true strength that enabled Ghislain to lead the North. The soldiers prepared to return to their formations. The blue mist had already begun to thin, seemingly dissipating further now that Equidema had been defeated. Before leaving, everyone made a point to speak to Piote, offering their gratitude. After all, he had played a crucial role in this mission, whether he wanted to or not. “You were incredible!” “As expected of a Saint... no, a Holy One!” “To think you could endure such attacks without a scratch!” Piote scratched his head awkwardly. In truth, he hadn’t done anything. He had simply endured the blows, completely clueless at first as to why he was even being targeted. Only after feeling his sacred power channeling through the holy relic did he realize his role and the relic's abilities. Even Ghislain’s close aides came forward to praise him. Equidema had been unnaturally fixated on Piote. Without him, this battle would have been far more difficult to win. Alfoy approached Piote with a smug grin. “We couldn’t have done it without you and me. Be proud of yourself.” “...” The others nodded in agreement. Alfoy had indeed hurled Piote directly into danger, making his statement technically true. Alfoy had also borne the brunt of Piote’s resentment, ensuring it didn’t spill over to anyone else. Ghislain clapped Piote on the shoulder. “Well done. You’ve been a tremendous help. I’ll be counting on you again in the future.” “...” Even when hearing that he’d likely be used as bait again, Piote couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He had to admit, using himself as a decoy made hunting these monsters far easier. Though he had no intention of rejecting this responsibility, one question gnawed at him. “Why is it always me? Or rather, why do those creatures hate sacred power so much?” The monstrous Equidema had exuded an inexplicable hatred for sacred energy, pursuing him with a terrifying fixation even as it was hunted down. Piote’s curiosity was genuine. Ghislain shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they’re like dark mages or demons. Instinctively repelled by it. I don’t have all the answers.” “I see...” Indeed, how could one expect to find reason in beings that didn’t even belong to this world? Likely, these creatures were something fundamentally rejected by this reality, prompting their visceral aversion to sacred power. As the group collectively nodded in agreement, Alfoy interjected with his usual cheeky grin. “Or maybe they got scammed by one of the gods. Kind of like how my little gambling magic leaves so many people crying.” Piote puffed his cheeks in indignation at the blasphemous remark, but the others burst out laughing. “Hahaha! If that were true, I’d hate sacred power too.” “Yeah, I’d despise it. That’s valid. Hah!” “Don’t worry, we’ve got our Holy One here to deal with it!” What did it matter if the creatures despised sacred power? Piote would inevitably remain the bait, regardless. Everyone celebrated their hard-won victory, their spirits lifted. Meanwhile, Ghislain couldn’t help but feel that Alfoy’s joke carried a ring of truth—for reasons he couldn’t quite place. The Northern Army Wasn’t the Only One Celebrating The royalist faction’s leaders, who had been monitoring reports from the North, couldn’t hide their joy as one victory after another poured in. “As expected of Count Fenris!” “They’ve already closed three Rifts. Such incredible speed.” “And with almost no casualties! Truly remarkable.” In other regions where Rifts had appeared, local lords’ armies were consistently pushed back. Even when neighboring territories lent aid, they couldn’t contain the Equidemas, let alone the endless swarms of Rift creatures. By contrast, the Northern Army’s overwhelming success was nothing short of miraculous. A Boastful Uncle Morris puffed out his chest, thumping it with pride. “I knew that kid would pull it off! Of course, he’s like a nephew to me. I could tell from the start he was destined for greatness! I’ve always supported him, haven’t I?” “...” The other royalist nobles grimaced, their faces betraying their distaste. This was the same Morris who had once been eager to criticize and undermine Ghislain. Now, after receiving support from him, Morris had seemingly transformed overnight. Still, since Morris was leveraging his authority as Commander of the Kingdom’s Army to empower Ghislain, they couldn’t openly object. The Marquis of Branford reviewed the incoming reports, nodding in satisfaction. “This is excellent news. It means the Kingdom’s forces can focus more on containing the South.” Currently, most local armies were tied up dealing with the Rifts, leaving the Kingdom’s forces to handle southern hostilities alone. However, the Northern Army’s exceptional efficiency gave the Kingdom the leeway to concentrate its military might on the southern front. The Marquis addressed the gathered nobles. “The Northern Army is our only force capable of handling the Rifts efficiently. Grant them full authority and provide every resource they require.” Everyone nodded in agreement. There was no dissent; the Northern Army was their sole hope. The Strain of War The regions surrounding the Rifts were economically paralyzed, and the effects were spreading to their trading partners. With so many lords committing their armies, the financial strain on the Kingdom was growing severe. If this continued, even the war against the southern Duchies would falter. Turning to the Earl of Aylesbury, the Marquis continued. “Make sure the medicines Count Fenris requested are produced and distributed as quickly as possible. Is production proceeding smoothly?” The Earl fumbled with his documents, awkwardly summarizing the situation. “Er... well... the medicine for the plague... we’re gathering materials... distributed it to the Kingdom’s forces near the capital... but some territories... still short on supplies...” It was no secret that the Earl’s wife, Mariel, managed most of his responsibilities. She ran the operations while he merely acted as the figurehead. The other nobles exchanged bored looks as the Earl stammered through his explanation. Sensing their impatience, he retorted. “What? Don’t act like you’re all so different! At least I admit it!” “Ahem.” The nobles coughed awkwardly, turning their attention elsewhere. In truth, they were little more than financiers, providing resources and troops without getting involved in the details. Mariel couldn’t attend the meeting—she was too busy coordinating production with Rosalyn. The Marquis frowned, his patience wearing thin. “Why are materials still scarce? I ordered you to acquire them by any means necessary.” “Well... the Blessing of the Fey is incredibly rare and expensive... no one wants to part with it...” “If you can’t even secure the necessary resources, what exactly do you think you’re contributing here?” Bang! The Marquis slammed the table in frustration. While the Northern Army handled the Rifts, and Mariel and Rosalyn managed medicine production, the nobles’ sole responsibility was to provide support. The Reality of the Plague Morris, annoyed by the Marquis’s rising anger, pulled out a small vial of purple liquid from his coat. “Are we sure this stuff even works? Is the plague really coming? Producing enough will cost a fortune, and we’re already stretched thin.” He placed the vial on the table, watching the liquid ripple inside. They were producing the medicine on Ghislain’s insistence, but doubts lingered. If the plague didn’t materialize, the financial losses would be catastrophic. As Morris grumbled, a noble by the Marquis’s side reminded him. “A priest of the Salvation Order confessed to plotting this. We’re following Count Fenris’s lead for a reason.” “Hah. Still, this feels sketchy. What if something goes wrong? If I take this and it kills me, then what?” “What are you even talking about?” Before the argument could escalate further, a knight burst into the room, his face pale with urgency. “The plague has begun to spread across the Kingdom!” The room fell silent as the weight of his words sank in. Morris was the first to move, quickly uncorking the vial and downing its contents in one gulp.