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“What is the meaning of this? Why are the Rifts uncontrollable?!”

Gathros failed to provide a clear answer. They had merely followed their scripture, preparing and opening the Rifts as instructed.

Despite deploying every means to control the Rifts, they had failed. Instead, they had only incurred losses, with priests and followers alike falling victim.

“…We don’t fully understand it either. All we’ve confirmed is that the Rifts cannot be controlled by our power alone.”

The Salvation Order didn’t view the lack of control as a significant issue. It was their first attempt, so they hadn’t expected perfection.

The real problem was that several Rifts had been created in the southern territories, near the duchy’s domain.

Raul’s eye twitched as he addressed the matter.

“We must divert some of the armies preparing for war to handle the Rifts. Are we seriously at the point where we have to clean up the mess we made?”

“We have no choice. The Order will lend its strength to eliminate the southern Rifts. Executor Iden and the Silver Knights will also assist.”

Raul leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.

Nothing was going according to plan.

With the Rifts out of control, they now had to fight the very chaos they had unleashed.

This was precisely the point that had puzzled Ghislain in his previous life: why had the Salvation Order created Rifts in the South?

Ironically, it was because the Order had failed to control the Rifts.

Gathros, seeing Raul’s frustration, attempted to reassure him.

“We didn’t create too many Rifts in the South, just in case. None are near critical locations. There are only a few, and they should be manageable.”

“And after that? What about the countless Rifts spread across the continent? And what happens if ‘it’ appears? Can we stop it?”

“…”

“Our goal isn’t to destroy the world. Wasn’t the Grand Plan meant to create a new one?”

“You’re correct. Ultimately, it will depend on finding our ‘King.’ That is the only way to resolve this.”

“And do you truly believe that? Does such a being even exist?”

“It is written in the scripture. We have preserved our lineage for centuries to awaken the King.”

Bang!

Raul struck the table again, growling in frustration.

“You can’t even control the Rifts you opened! How can you be so sure the ‘King’ exists?!”

“Raul, do not overstep your bounds.”

“….”

“Have you not seen the ‘Gates’ open? The promised time has come, and the King is already in this world. We simply have yet to find him. Our mission is to awaken him and create a new world.”@@novelbin@@

Gathros’s heavy words silenced Raul, who fell into a brooding silence.

The existence of the Rifts had proven the scripture’s claims true. If the scripture wasn’t entirely false, the King’s existence was a real possibility.

Gathros, sensing Raul’s hesitation, spoke soothingly.

“The scripture is ancient, and our interpretation may have been lacking. But opening the Rifts has already sown chaos across the continent. That alone is enough for now.”

He wasn’t wrong. Without the Rifts, every army on the continent would have turned against the Salvation Order and its allies by now.

Had it not been for Count Fenris derailing their plans, things might have gone differently.

“If we find the King, can the Rifts be controlled?”

“They should be. They must be. The key likely lies within the Beast Forest. We need to secure Rutania’s royal court and the forest as soon as possible. And we must locate the ‘Guide.’ It is certain the Guide is somewhere within Rutania… but we cannot track them down.”

Gathros’s voice trailed off.

Despite their efforts, the Salvation Order had failed to uncover the Guide’s whereabouts in Rutania. While they wanted to intensify their search, the Pro-Royal faction’s vigilance made it difficult to act openly.

Count Fenris remained their greatest obstacle.

Raul gestured to his advisors.

“Bring me the updated intelligence on Fenris and the Northern Army.”

Shortly after, a stack of reports was handed to Raul. As he flipped through the documents, he muttered.

“As expected, the most dangerous figure is this ‘Alfoy.’”

One of his advisors nodded.

“Yes, there are numerous suspicious details about him.”

“Such as?”

“He was present when Count Fenris eliminated Delmuth, the 7th-Circle mage. He also played a significant role in the Battle of Silverlight. It’s too coincidental.”

“Are you suggesting this rumored 7th-Circle mage is him? The one who single-handedly stopped Rodrick’s army of mages?”

“It seems likely.”

“But there are too many conflicting rumors. Some say it was that Vanessa—Fenris’s former maid. Even the territory’s residents claim she’s the greatest mage.”

“It’s just ignorant gossip. It’s clear Fenris is hiding the truth. Officially, Alfoy is listed as a 5th-Circle mage. But not long ago…”

“He was 3rd-Circle.”

“Yes. The progression is absurd. Fenris likely had no choice but to reveal his increased rank, using rumors about consuming a Dragon Heart as a smokescreen.”

“Then Vanessa is only a decoy?”

“She is likely a diversion. Alfoy is the one operating behind the scenes. The title ‘Man Who Defeated a God’ isn’t given lightly.”

“Indeed, that sounds plausible.”

Raul nodded. Despite multiple investigations, Alfoy remained an enigma. If he was truly a 7th-Circle mage, many puzzling details would finally make sense.

Raul sifted through more documents before speaking again.

“This so-called ‘Bribe King’ has also eluded us.”

“That is correct. He was the strategist behind Silverlight’s defense. It was his plan that decimated Rodrick’s vast army.”

“It’s no wonder we were defeated, with individuals like this slipping through our grasp.”

Raul clicked his tongue. They had been so focused on Count Fenris, a Master, that they had overlooked other exceptional figures in his camp.

This explained why Count Desmond had fallen so utterly.

Raul placed portraits of Claude and Alfoy on top of the stack and declared coldly.

“These two must be eliminated at the first opportunity. We need to sever Count Fenris’s arms and legs. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sooner or later, they would have to face Count Fenris in a direct confrontation. When the time came, Raul intended to ensure these key figures were dealt with beforehand.

Raul glanced at another advisor and asked, “What of the other nobles?”

“…They’ve all turned their backs on us.”

“Damn it.”

Since Marquis Rodrick had left the faction, many other nobles had followed suit, unwilling to stand against the Four Great Orders.

Only a handful of southern vassals remained loyal—and only out of fear of the duchy.

Raul clenched his fists, his anger palpable. He had invested heavily in these nobles, only for it all to be for naught.

One name, in particular, gnawed at him.

“Amelia. That woman bled me dry and left.”

She had extracted everything she could, cutting ties the moment the Salvation Order’s plans began to unravel. Though Raul understood her reasoning, he couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal.

With a heavy sigh, Raul leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Ultimately, everything pointed back to Count Fenris as the root of his troubles. Now would have been the perfect time to move, with the Northern Army preoccupied with the Rifts—but there were simply too many fires to put out.

In a voice like ice, he gave his next order.

“Destroy every shrine of the Four Great Orders remaining in the South. Execute all the priests.”

“…Understood.”

Most of the priests had already fled the South, but some had stayed behind to continue spreading their faith and aiding the people.

They would all be hunted down now. With the Orders as their sworn enemies, there was no room for mercy.

“And organize an army to handle the Rifts as quickly as possible. We need to shrink their territory before they spread further.”

Clearing the southern Rifts was essential to beginning the war. The sooner, the better.

This was as much a battle between the Northern Army and the duchy as it was against the Rifts. Whichever side eliminated their Rifts first would gain the upper hand.

“The Northern Army’s speed is unexpected, though.”

Raul couldn’t guarantee they would finish first. If the Northern Army and Royal Army invaded the South while they were still fighting the Rifts, it would be a nightmare scenario.

Even so, Raul had some secret preparations in the works.

He turned to Gathros.

“What of Dentaria?”

“The Rift there is expanding smoothly. It will soon extend to the northern fortress. Thanks to the land’s rich energy, it’s growing far larger than any other Rift.”

"This situation works in our favor," Gathros said with a calm grin.

"Indeed, your plan has succeeded. Woroca has already rallied the warriors of all the tribes. They plan to strike the North while Ferdium is occupied fighting the Rifts. The Northern forces will not be able to withstand the fury they've long suppressed."

Raul nodded, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

Count Fenris would never allow Ferdium to be left unchecked. He would undoubtedly head for the northern fortress.

No matter how strong Fenris was, he couldn’t simultaneously fend off the rapidly expanding Rifts and an army of barbarians unified under a single banner.

Even if he managed to emerge victorious on one front, the North would lose everything it had built up to that point.

Meanwhile, the South would take advantage of the distraction to eliminate the Rifts and mobilize.

Raul licked his lips, his expression twisted with malice.

"This time, you won’t get your way, Count Fenris."

Until now, their plans had been ruined repeatedly by Fenris, forcing the duchy to react rather than act.

But this time, it was Fenris’s turn to dance to their tune.

At the Northern Fortress, Caipiler

The fortress of Caipiler, occupied by Ferdium’s forces, was currently—and almost unnervingly—at peace.

Food supplies were abundant, equipment was excellent, and thanks to Fenris’s innovations, mana cultivation techniques had become widely accessible, enhancing the strength of even novice knights.

For the first time, the fortress exuded the majesty and discipline befitting a border margrave's stronghold.

Even the barbarians, who once frequently clashed with the fortress’s forces, had remained quiet. Dependent on the North for provisions, they had no choice but to behave.

As a result, the soldiers stationed at the fortress had little to do other than eat, sleep, and train.

Of course, Zwalter, with his characteristic caution and meticulousness, ensured that patrols and vigilance remained intense.

"Ugh, caught again," grumbled Scoban, wiping his nose as he gazed across the vast northern expanse.

Having come to deliver supplies to the fortress, Scoban had once again been roped into patrol duty. The junior knights were fully immersed in their training, so he had been drafted to fill the gaps.

Beside him, Ricardo, his handsome and sharp-tongued subordinate, sighed and spoke up.

"Do we really need to patrol all the way out here? This was the territory we patrolled back when we were still fighting barbarians."

"Come on, you know how paranoid our lord is. After everything he’s been through, can you blame him?"

"But aren’t we much stronger now? We’ve got over a hundred knights. We’re practically a grand territory at this point."

Scoban nodded in agreement.

"All thanks to the Young Lord. He’s the Northern Army’s commander now. I think we’re at the top of the food chain these days."

"Who would’ve thought the Young Lord would rise this high? I certainly didn’t."

Their conversation drifted into reminiscing about the past.

They recalled seeing Fenris’s early exploits firsthand, such as when he slaughtered an entire horde of orcs.

Scoban, who had shared the story with his comrades, had once been branded a liar and turned to drinking. He had made some money from bets since no one believed him, but even he would never have believed such tales if he hadn’t witnessed them himself.

Thinking back on the transformation of Fenris, from an unruly troublemaker to a towering figure, filled him with nostalgia.

"Hey, remember when the Young Lord ran out of the castle…?"

"Or when he got locked up in our prison after venturing into the Beast Forest…?"

Sharing such absurd memories brought them a strange sense of camaraderie.

As they patrolled, they talked and laughed about old times. It was an easy route, one they had taken many times before.

Chattering helped the time pass more quickly.

When they had wandered far from the fortress, Ricardo made a comment in jest.

"Come to think of it, wasn’t it always chaos whenever you were on duty? Barbarians attacked, or some disaster struck, right?"

"Hey, I’m not cursed or anything!" Scoban retorted.

"I’m just saying, wherever you were, something happened. Like the Young Lord’s first feat—fighting orcs—and everything that followed: wars, the Beast Forest, battles with barbarians. You were always there!"

Scoban frowned deeply at Ricardo’s teasing.

"Don’t even joke about that. You’ll jinx it."

"Hahaha, relax. Nothing like that’s going to happen now. The Young Lord’s not around, anyway."

"Yeah, you’re right. We can just live in peace now. Hahaha!"

The two laughed heartily, enjoying the tranquility.

The peace felt precious after all the struggles they had endured—especially the chaos tied to Fenris.

As they chuckled, a junior knight nearby pointed to something in the distance and asked, "Captain, what’s that?"

It was twilight, the evening light sufficient to reveal the landscape clearly.

Far off, a dense blue mist rolled across the plains, undulating as it crept closer.

The laughter vanished from Scoban and Ricardo’s faces.

The sight was eerily familiar. Both had been briefed countless times about the characteristics of Rift-infected regions.

Sweat beaded on Scoban’s brow as a chilling thought crossed his mind.

‘Is this… really because of me?’

Though he hated to admit it, Ricardo’s teasing seemed to hold a grain of truth.