Chapter 322: The Prophecy Bestowed upon the North
“Gate of Annihilation, sever the chains, war cries shake the heavens;
Wings of Frost, the dragonborn descends, dragon soul extinguished;
Bridge of Heroes, battle till death, hall of heroes;
Wrath of the North, the land frozen, crown of thorns.”
The prophecy spread from the lips of the Bard Apprentice, and then dispersed across the North.
Inside a tavern hidden deep within the mountains, someone cursed, “What kind of bullshit prophecy is this? Where did you even hear it? Is it from those fortune-tellers who live off selling their asses again?”
Northerners despised all professions other than warriors. That was why no scholars or magicians ever served under a lord. In their place existed the North’s unique fortune-tellers.
But out of a hundred fortune-tellers, perhaps ninety-nine were frauds. And the one that truly possessed the ability to divine—their prophecies were most of the time not accepted by the lords.
The Bard Apprentice only smiled, not angered, and simply said, “This is a new prophecy I heard. I thought it was related to the North, so I shared it with you all.”
In the North, if one became enraged by such crude words, a bard would have long been hacked to death.
All the more so now, as these men were fugitives escaping from the lords’ hunt.
As of late, Northern lords had begun killing mercenaries outright if they refused to join a lord’s mercenary company.
Not even a chance to surrender was given.
The lords had no patience to spend half a year or even a year taming such defiant mercenaries.
Thus, these people only dared to hide inside this mountain tavern, venting their emotions.
But the Bard Apprentice had never expected these Northern Barbarians to understand the prophecy on their own. He had already arranged accomplices to guide the conversation.
At that moment, someone slammed the table, stood up, and declared, “Idiots! It’s already spelled out so clearly! Isn’t the Gate of Annihilation in the east? Dragonborn, dragon soul—that can only mean a dragon is appearing, right? As Northerners, how could you not understand the meaning of dragons?”
“That’s the ultimate trial of the Northern Trial! Whoever completes it will become the Supreme King of the North.”
Another added, “So, the prophecy means that in the eastern North, a Supreme King will be born?”
The tavern instantly fell into silence.
The Supreme King of the North—a new supreme king—the North unified, ending the current chaos!
Their eyes began to burn with desire.
Northerners yearned for battle, but not to the extent of this endless slaughter.
Moreover, since a Supreme King would emerge from the East, why could that person not be me?
Their fiery gazes heated the tavern’s atmosphere.
The Bard Apprentice watched the mercenaries’ burning eyes and inwardly sneered at these Northern fools.
It was merely a Supreme King of the North, not the emperor of the world.
He plucked his lute’s strings, signaling his accomplices that there was no need to continue. What had been said was already enough.
He had originally planned three rounds of dialogue to interpret the prophecy fully. But once the matter of the Supreme King was raised, these people were already captivated.
There was no need to elaborate further, lest these Northern fools think too deeply and complicate the intended message.
He then strummed and sang a new ballad—mocking the Northern nobles. These were currently popular songs in Northern taverns.
The tavern grew lively again, though every person’s eyes still flickered with different glimmers.
…
Naturally, the Northern nobles also heard of these prophecies. Yet even with mention of a Supreme King, none cared to pay them any attention.
War had already begun. There had to be a conclusion.
The great nobles tacitly agreed to sweep aside the surrounding minor nobles before marching against the territory of the King of the North. The five of them were dividing up the North.
Meanwhile, amidst the war, mercenaries and commoners from the western North slowly drifted eastward.
The mercenaries mainly heard the Northern prophecy. But the commoners, besides this prophecy, also received a far simpler message.
“Go east. There lies a land sheltered by the Lord. There, food is plentiful. There, all shall receive the Lord’s protection.”
Such plain words drove the gentry-oppressed people to risk their lives moving east.
Now was the key moment for dividing territories. The lords’ main armies remained on the frontlines, so only small detachments were sent to block the flow.
But faced with the overwhelming tide of mercenaries and commoners, people continued slipping through the blockade, heading east, into Rivers Territory.
The trade route through the Northwind Mountains to the North was impassable. Viscount Bevan had no choice but to direct merchants bound for the North through the Diocese of Rod’s route.
This pleased Bishop Jeven greatly.
With merchants passing through, road tolls were a minor gain. More importantly, resources within the Diocese of Rod now circulated more freely, making its lifeblood increasingly vibrant.
But while Jeven was pleased, Giles Rivers’ face darkened.
It was already March.
He had lingered in York City for ten days, squandering more than seven thousand gold coins.
He had not intended to spend so much, but he could not resist.
The exquisite silks, the fine wines, the aromatic foods, the women clad in every style of dress, and the honeyed words whispered into his ear.
Just a few cups of wine, a woman feeding him with her lips, and he was already intoxicated.
The bards in the taverns fanned the mood, flattering him until he felt like the protagonist of this world—far above any Supreme King of the North.
Growing up in the North where only killing and rutting existed, he had never enjoyed such pleasures. Overcome by emotion, he slapped the table and announced, “Tonight’s expenses are all on Baron Giles Rivers!”
In that instant, five to six hundred gold coins vanished.
Though he nearly drew his blade when sober enough to realize the price, he could not deny how much he had relished the atmosphere.
Even as he later reminded himself daily that everything here was overpriced, his spending still reached hundreds to nearly a thousand gold coins per day.
The more coins he scattered, the louder the cheers in York City, even nobles paying him respect.
When it came time to leave, even with the banner already secured, he was reluctant to depart.
Had Aen Collins not warned him that his debts had grown so heavy that the Church would sell his lands and title to repay them, he might still have remained in York City.
Upon returning to his territory, he discovered the North had descended into chaos. Nobles were warring against each other and striking at the King of the North’s lands. Two viscounts were already dead, along with over a dozen barons and lords.
As he investigated further, he realized that in the rumors spreading among people, it was because of his surrender to Greenwood and his denunciation of the King of the North that the chaos had begun.
Giles felt wronged.
Yes, he had surrendered because the King of the North could not protect him. But he had never said it aloud!
The reason accepted by the Senate of Greenwood was merely resistance against Annihilation and protection of the people.
Still, Giles did not care much. Let the westerners fight—it had nothing to do with him in the east. Even if the war reached him, he could surrender again.
After all, once one surrendered the first time, a second was nothing at all.
It was all for survival.
But by March, he began to sense something amiss.
Aen had demolished the old church, built a small Church of the Sanctuary chapel, distributed sacred scriptures, led the people in reciting them, and issued the Sacrament.
Giles accepted this, as it had been his condition with Bishop Jeven.
But soon, another contingent arrived from the Diocese of Rod.
Twenty-six men: twenty-four third-rank fully-armored warriors, and two fully-armored knights.
That was the strength of Giles’ core army!
On top of this, the four Virtue Knights who had come with Aen had not yet departed.
Giles grew uneasy.
He tactfully suggested to Aen that the numbers seemed excessive. Aen merely replied that they were there to help maintain order and protect him.
Of course Giles knew this was just an excuse. But seeing Aen’s attitude, he understood those men would not be leaving.
He cast one last look at the flag of Lundex flying above his castle, then gave up persuasion and shut himself in the fortress.
Soon after, from the south, more Greenwood merchants arrived in his territory.
They did not enter the town but instead set up trade just outside, opposite the Comrades’ Home of the Comrades Group, where the small chapel also stood.
Meanwhile, from the west, refugees fleeing the chaos of the North flooded into his lands. Order was kept by the chapel’s warriors and the mercenaries of the Comrades Group employed by Aen.
The two streams converged, gradually forming a market of tents outside Giles’ Rivers Town.
Or rather, a new town.
By early April, Giles Rivers had nearly worn out the copy of The Path of the Sanctuary—the record of the history of the Church of the Sanctuary’s growth that Aen had especially given him. At last, he made up his mind.
He went to Aen and told him that he intended to sell both his title and his territory to Aen. After settling his debts, he would take the remaining gold coins and head to York City.
Aen’s expression remained calm. He agreed without hesitation.
Thus, Aen became an independent baron in the North, owning a vast barony and commanding those Northern warriors who had once pledged loyalty to Giles.
As for Giles, after receiving the document of transfer from Aen, he immediately took his youngest son and departed for Greenwood.
…
On a slightly raised hill, Aen watched Giles’ departing figure on horseback and sighed. “Now York City truly has the feel of the world’s center.”
Odysseus said, “That is the land blessed by the Lord. It is the Lord’s Sanctuary. It is holy ground, and so it ought to be the world’s center.”
Aen shook his head. “I was only thinking… he could so easily leave this land of chaos. But I do not know if I will ever be able to extricate myself like he has.”
Odysseus replied, “You must have faith in the Lord.”
Placing his hand on the cross upon his chest, Aen said, “Naturally, I do believe in the Lord. But the Lord also said each person has their own mission. I just do not know if this is mine.”
Odysseus said, “You are afraid.”
“Yes,” Aen admitted. “Of course I am afraid. Bishop Jeven told me that the Gate of Annihilation will open by the end of next year at the latest. By then, I will face the army of the Lord of Annihilation.”
Aen’s gaze shifted eastward, where a dark mass of cloud loomed.
Odysseus said, “After this year, you may pass this land’s title to me.”
Aen laughed. “I rose from a mere merchant to become a noble. I am not so willing to give it up.”
Odysseus fell silent.
The smile on Aen’s face gradually faded.
After his encounter with the Grand Duke of Corlay, he had come to understand that borrowed authority was always borrowed.
And now, after truly tasting the power of nobility, he realized how foolish his former self had been.
Even more so when the authority he now enjoyed as a noble was already curtailed by the Church.
Aen said, “In April and May, I will be gathering warriors. Bishop Jeven will provide me with food. After we enter June, I will join forces with Marquis Severus Wallace to divide the unclaimed lands that lie between us and the Lord of Annihilation’s territory, so that we directly border the Annihilation Fiends.”
Severus Wallace had once been Pegira’s personal guard. Now he was a border marquis, occupying the last lands of the Corlay Family, along with Blackrock Point.
After Bishop Jeven relocated all the people there, that land had lain empty. During the past year, Marquis Severus had secretly purchased vast numbers of people to fill his lands. His army largely came from veterans of the Eastern Crusade who had chosen to remain loyal to him.
Of course, he had also promised out noble titles in exchange for loyalty.
Aen continued, “Although Marquis Severus lacks numbers for now, planting flags in empty lands is enough. What matters most is that he helps resist the one who stole the power of the Lord of Dominion.”
“Bishop Jeven said that aside from a fifth-rank Grand Knight with a Holy Relic, only a Virtue Knight such as yourself can resist the power of Dominion.”
Odysseus struck his chest and declared, “This is my mission.”
Aen glanced at him and emphasized, “All that is needed is to resist him. My strategic goal this year is merely to establish a border with them and accustom our warriors to fighting the Fiend Army.”
Odysseus nodded and then asked, “But if you expand your land so greatly, what of your title?”
Aen did not answer.
…
The succession of the new lord aroused little notice, save among Giles’ kin.
To ordinary folk, lords were distant figures. Only when they saw the flag of the Thornflower raised above the fortress and town walls did they truly realize a new lord had come.
As for the gentry and officials, they huddled in their homes trembling, fearing retribution even as they waited to be summoned by their new lord.
Aen did not begin with executions.
He first ordered Giles’ kin to leave the fortress and live as commoners within the territory.
Then, carrying a chest of gold coins, he strode into the barracks and commanded each warrior to grab a handful. With that, he secured their loyalty.
The only regret was that the two Northern Warriors chose to leave.
They would never serve a lord who was not himself a Northern Warrior.
Aen could only sigh, handing each of them a handful of coins as they departed.
Next, he had the Greenwood knights order each gentry family to send at least five third-rank warriors and twenty second-rank warriors into his army.
This was difficult for the gentry.
But with the knights’ blades at their throats, they overcame their reluctance and dispatched twenty-five men on the spot.
While they waited, the knights casually spoke of the current state of Greenwood’s gentry.
The next day, the gentry moved in unison, relocating outside their villages to establish manors.
As for the officials, Aen executed them all.
It was only a barony; there was no need for them. In his business days, his attendants had been more than sufficient to fulfill those functions.
With Virtue Knights, the soldiers dispatched by Bishop Jeven, the gold supplied by the Senate of York Territory, and resources from Greenwood, Aen secured Rivers Territory firmly within days.
Afterward, he issued a recruitment order: food and lodging provided, monthly salary, doubled during wartime, additional rewards for valor in battle, and compensation for families of the fallen.
Though compensation meant little to Northerners, whose sense of family ties was even weaker than that of Greenwood, the other conditions strongly attracted the refugees from the west—and even tempted members of the Comrades Group.
Once Giles fled, Aen swiftly consolidated power. The Comrades Group, being a Northern company, naturally drew many scattered mercenaries from the western North. Among them, the strongest were two Northern Warriors who had once served Giles.
They defeated Cooper and became prospective members of the Ring.
The four Northern Warriors who had first come here were now full members.
This meant the Comrades Group now had eight Northern Warriors who were Ring members. Counting Hode himself, there were nine.
“Even a Northern viscount would rarely gather so many Northern Warriors,” Hode exclaimed in wonder.
That night, beside the campfire, Hode and Zeke sat gazing toward the distant Comrades’ Home.
“Though a Northern viscount may have the loyalty of seven to nine Northern Warriors, once war begins, they can always summon more,” Zeke said. “And besides them, their warriors average six hundred men in number. Yet the Comrades Group has only one hundred fifty ordinary members—and that’s already the limit.”
“Even if Greenwood’s merchants, by Baron Aen’s grace, sell us food cheaply, it’s still slow earning gold coins through mercenary work. These days, Ring members take on caravan escort missions with ordinary members.”
“Deputy Commander Cooper’s hunts for Fiends have been inefficient. To this day, only two have been captured. Though one Fiend fetches eight hundred gold coins, the time and manpower hardly make it worthwhile.”
Zeke rambled on, explaining the Comrades Group’s current state to Hode.
But Hode was not listening. He was marveling at how once he had thought gathering three hundred elite warriors was impossible, yet now he commanded eight Northern Warriors.
And once he had dreamt of restoring the title of the Hoover Family, but now Aen had suddenly risen from merchant to Northern baron.
A baron without noble Northern blood.
Even if his barony had been purchased with gold, in this chaotic North no one would deny him recognition.
After all, nobles in the west still relied on food shipped from Rivers Territory.
Abruptly, Hode cut into Zeke’s muttering. “Aen is already a baron. But the number of warriors he commands has far surpassed what a baron should hold. Is he planning to act as Greenwood’s agent in this Northern war?”
Zeke paused, silent for a while, before answering, “Perhaps his aim lies eastward.”
“The east holds the Fiend Army and the Lord of Annihilation’s domain,” Hode said. “Even Marquis Beo Hoover was repelled by that man. I don’t believe Aen’s warriors can stand against those Fiends.”
“There is still much empty land between us and Annihilation,” Zeke said. “Perhaps he only intends to seize those vacant lands.”
“If so,” Hode said, “his territory will grow vast—at least an earldom. With refugees from the west, even without slaves, his lands won’t lie fallow. But Greenwood has few earls to begin with.”
Cold sweat trickled from Zeke’s brow as he stammered, “Perhaps he will only take the land without raising his rank.”
“No independent noble expands his land without elevating his title,” Hode said. “Title and land must match. It is the law.”
Zeke hesitated. “Perhaps Greenwood will grant him the rank of earl.”
Hode fell silent. Zeke’s breathing grew heavy.
Suddenly, Hode asked, “And what of the King of the North—Aureus?”
Zeke kept his silence.
“He was a mighty king,” Hode said. “Even aged, so long as he still lived and spoke, no one could topple Frozen Furnace City.”
Last month, Frozen Furnace City had fallen. The reign of the King of the North, Aureus, had ended. The city’s wealth was plundered, its people enslaved.
“And he must still be waiting for my answer,” Hode continued.
“Have you found your answer?” Zeke asked.
Hode gave him a glance. “He already knew my answer. Otherwise he would never have arranged things as he did, nor sent you.”
Zeke was silent.
“So,” Hode asked again, “where is King Aureus now? In this time of Northern chaos, where is he?”