Ch.236North

Leopold’s army was advancing without major difficulties, but the Empire still had a long way to go before regaining peace.

After Isabella’s crimes were made public, rebel forces across the regions lost momentum, but they hadn’t completely quieted down.

Some nobles from Ernst’s faction were still attacking around their territories and continuing the war.

Most were too deeply entangled with Isabella, and had committed so many crimes that they were convinced they would face execution even if they surrendered to Leopold.

Most of them were wealthy high nobles, and as such, they possessed numerous private soldiers, making it difficult for local lords to stop them.

Of course, the Imperial Army’s 3rd Corps, currently reorganizing on the islands, was sharpening their blades to flatten their territories.

Having developed goodwill toward Leopold after the Battle of Ainfeld, the 3rd Corps had declared their participation in the crusade as soon as they found justification.

And yet, what no one knew—

The north was hell.

—-

“Huff… huff…”

His exhaled breath froze white in the air.

Demian, his entire body stained with blood, leaned on a greatsword as he gasped for breath.

His overheated body gave off steam as it rapidly cooled.

His condition was miserable.

The fur and armor covering his body were tattered as if slashed by dozens of blades, and it was difficult to distinguish whether the flowing blood was his or his enemy’s, given his wound-covered appearance.

His deeply gouged left shoulder exposed the bone clearly, and a broken claw was embedded like a dagger in his trembling right arm.

“Haaaa…”

Demian groaned, shivering from the penetrating cold and the pain of his wounds.

The dripping blood froze before even touching the ground.

The cold, sharp as a blade, dug into his wounds, etching pain that felt like his nerves were being scraped raw.

The blood covering his entire body was cooling rapidly, stealing his body heat at an alarming rate.

Even thick fur and the heat of battle couldn’t withstand the severity of the Sky Mountains.

“…How many are left?”

There was no answer.

Not a single soldier remained to respond—all had been torn to shreds, staining the snow-covered field red.

Steam rose from intestines scattered like vines.

Even that quickly lost its warmth, freezing over and hardening.

The chunks of dismembered werebeasts still retained some heat, but that wouldn’t last long either.

Nine pureblooded warriors.

That number was enough to annihilate a force of a hundred. Even though ten knights were among them.

Had this not been the Sky Mountains, they wouldn’t have been wiped out so easily.

However, on this frigid snowfield where even breathing was difficult, humans were utterly vulnerable.

Bodies contracted, muscles stiffened, and senses dulled.

Even the thick fur worn to withstand the cold hindered movement with its weight and bulk.

Moreover, the moment one was wounded, the cold penetrated that area and began freezing the blood.

That was the end. Even decent knights couldn’t last long in such a state.

In contrast, the werebeasts, born with fur and having higher body temperatures than humans, moved unhindered in this cold.

Even when wounded, their regenerative abilities prevented major problems.

It was a battlefield where the fundamental limitations of species were starkly evident, impossible to overcome with skill alone.

“Demian! Are you okay? Can you still move?!”

Millia rushed over and embraced Demian. Pale blue complexion, trembling body, skin covered with frost—

Without sharing some warmth, he would certainly collapse soon.

“Millia…?”

Demian murmured with difficulty.

Anyone could see he was in no condition to move, let alone remain conscious.

Millia gritted her teeth and lit a torch.

A single torch couldn’t withstand this level of cold, but it was better than nothing.

“Just hang on a little longer! The mages will be here soon…!”

Normally, bringing mages along was essential when traversing the Sky Mountains—not to attack enemies, but to withstand the cold.

Demian’s reconnaissance team had included a mage as well, though they were now cooling in the corner.

“Why are you here… What about Senior Frider?”

“The senior has already retreated. We need to withdraw quickly too…!”

This reconnaissance mission was another defeat. As expected.

The Sky Mountains still refused to permit human footsteps, haughtily and cruelly draining their lives.

—-

The great invasions were almost annual events, repeating every ten years at minimum, thirty at most.

Though they suffered massive damage each time, they had remained optimistic because the combined forces of Faelrun and the Imperial Army had always managed to repel them.

But this invasion was completely different from before.

Previous invasions were like furry tidal waves.

Thousands of beasts would charge simultaneously toward Faelrun’s walls.

The imperials of Faelrun could achieve victory simply by holding them off from the walls.

It wasn’t easy… but it wasn’t terribly difficult either.

They just had to pour oil and set fire to the werebeasts climbing the walls with their claws.

Since the enemy forces were concentrated, tired soldiers could take turns resting, and they could withstand the northern cold by lighting bonfires atop the walls.

But this time was different. The werebeasts’ tactics had advanced several times over—like the gap between monkeys and humans.

It was a nightmare for the Imperial Army.

Instead of gathering to attack one place intensively, the werebeasts divided all their forces into small squads.

Then they spread out widely and began attacking the entire northern border.

Rather than committing fully to crossing the border, they would launch surprise attacks and retreat if resistance was fierce, repeating this pattern.

As if they were willing to accept injuries but had no intention of risking their lives to breach the walls—retreating swiftly without hesitation.

When resistance was weak, multiple squads would gather at that point to slaughter the imperial forces.

Even then, rather than occupying the walls and advancing beyond, they would withdraw before reinforcements arrived once they’d killed enough imperial soldiers.

A strategy to minimize their own losses while gradually reducing the enemy’s numbers.

It was an incredibly cunning approach. People could die from minor injuries, but the werebeasts would eventually regenerate as long as they weren’t killed instantly.

That wasn’t all.

Unlike the previous method of simply climbing walls for siege warfare, the invading werebeasts now employed all sorts of tactics.

They triggered small avalanches to neutralize the walls themselves, and used catapults from somewhere to hurl ice chunks the size of human torsos.

They even fired ballistae made from the tendons of their own kind. It wasn’t easy to defend against this.

And finally, the King of Baryachrus who joined the battle… was truly a monster.

The Winter Wolf Rurik.

A transcendent being who appeared with two Champions and left the Imperial Army’s Masters at death’s door.

…They barely managed to repel him, but the north had almost fallen.

Since the 1st Corps Commander Georg was still bedridden, the northern command was currently in Duber’s hands.

To counter the werebeasts conducting guerrilla warfare in small, dispersed units, Duber proposed a strategy that sounded insane to everyone:

Sending elite troops into the Sky Mountains, where werebeasts swarmed, to defeat their squads one by one.

Northern natives like Frider opposed it, but even they had no viable alternatives… so Duber’s strategy was ultimately accepted.

The result was the current situation.

A back-and-forth battle in the mountains where even souls seemed to freeze—killing werebeasts and being annihilated by them in turn.

It was a fight no different from hell.

They weren’t just taking losses one-sidedly as in defensive battles, but in exchange, the Imperial Army’s forces were rapidly dwindling.

—-

“I wonder how Haschal is doing…?”

“At least better than us. It can’t be this cold where he is…”

Demian answered weakly, shivering.

Mages and priests were clustered around him, raising his body temperature and treating his wounds.

“…Should we throw him in ice water when we get back?”

Millia muttered as if joking.

Judging by the tension in her back muscles, she might not be planning to end it as just a joke.

“I like that idea. I’ll help you do it.”

Frider smiled as if approving of the idea while changing bandages.

She too was covered in wounds, though not as severely injured as Demian.

Unlike Demian who had lived in the imperial heartland, Frider was a northerner by birth and relatively resistant to the cold.

Moreover, through this war, she had finally reached the level she had long aspired to.

Unless a Champion appeared, ordinary pureblooded warriors could no longer match her.