Raising the Northern Grand Duchy as a Max-Level All-Master

The Heroes of the North

Jormungandr, the white serpent, relentlessly searched for an opening.

No matter how superhuman Balzac, Sun, and Isabelle were, their limits were tied to their human physiology. Over time, endurance and stamina favored Jormungandr and Isaac.

[Rooooar!]

At a critical moment, Isaac and Jormungandr seized their chance.

It came just as the barrier’s shield was about to be restored, forcing the forces on the wall to briefly shift to the flanks to activate the defensive arrays.

[Isabelle hesitated.]

And Isabelle, sensing the Grand Duchess’s precarious state, faltered.

Whoosh—

With a powerful swing of its massive tail, Jormungandr struck the spire where Arina’s illusion stood.

Boom!

The spire crumbled, and the illusion of Arina vanished without a trace.

“This means we’ve won.”

Both Isaac and Jormungandr knew the illusion wasn’t the real Arina.

But it didn’t matter.

“This is our victory celebration.”

The last time Isaac’s avatar saw Arina, she was on the brink of collapse.

Even if she survived, she would be a broken shell of herself.

And even if Arad’s advanced healing managed to restore her body, some things couldn’t be undone.

“A woman’s lower mana core is closely tied to her womb.”

Without her mana core, the Renslet line would produce no more heirs.

“I’ve won! I’ve finally won!”

Even if this offensive ultimately failed, Isaac’s revenge had succeeded.

Isabelle floated in mid-air, her face uncharacteristically pale and blank.

“Witch of Spring! What’s wrong?”

“Has something happened to Her Highness?”

Balzac and Sun called out to her, but Isabelle couldn’t respond.

Her trembling gaze wasn’t fixed on the ruined spire but on the Arad factory far beyond the outer edges of the High Tower.

The once-chaotic battlefield at the Great Northern Barrier fell eerily silent.

“…”

“No…”

Even the three northern—Isabelle, Sun, and Balzac—were momentarily stunned.

I forgot about Her Highness’s illusion!

Balzac turned to the crumbled spire, his face filled with regret.

He had been so focused on countering the dark mages clinging to Jormungandr that he’d neglected the illusion.

What now?

It was too late to tell the troops the spire’s Arina wasn’t real.

There was no guarantee they’d believe it, and even if they did, the Renslet family’s integrity would be tarnished.

And Isabelle… her sudden hesitation…

Balzac’s thoughts were interrupted by the growing realization that Isabelle’s hesitation had been the tipping point.

“Witch of Spring! What is happening?”

When Balzac turned to Isabelle, his words caught in his throat.

In over a century of life, he had never seen her face so twisted with despair, rage, and panic.

“Has something happened to Her Highness?”

The look on Isabelle’s face caused Balzac’s and Sun’s hearts to drop.

This is my fault… Isabelle thought, lost in her own spiral of regret.

Why didn’t I realize it sooner? You fool… I should have sent help back then!

Her whispered self-recriminations, spoken as if in a trance, ignored the battlefield around her.

Her distress, along with Sun’s and Balzac’s shaken composure, had a visible effect on the troops.

“It can’t be true!”

“We’ve lost… It’s over…!”

“The North… Renslet… it’s finished!”

Soldiers began to waver, some retreating from their positions.

“Don’t retreat!”

“Fight for vengeance!”

“If you’re a Renslet, fight with your fury!”

Officers and knights tried to rally the troops, but their words fell flat.

ROAAAAARRR!

Jormungandr and the monster horde seized the opportunity, launching an all-out assault on the weakened defenses.

The massive shadow of Jormungandr loomed over the fallen spire, ready to crush it further.

Flash!

A gray light burst from the spire’s ruins.

Fwoosh!

The dull, grayish light shot upward, piercing Jormungandr’s body.

Screeeeeech!!!

The light struck the location of Jormungandr’s first heart.

Rumble…

The white serpent collapsed, unable to withstand the pain and shock.

“What… what just happened?!”

“Could it be…?”

“Of course! Her Highness wouldn’t fall so easily!”

Hope reignited in the eyes of the soldiers, knights, mages, and priests on the wall.

“That’s more like it.”

“Hahaha! You did it, Your Highness!”

Balzac and Sun, recognizing the gray light’s origin, broke into wide smiles.

“Arina… she’s not dead?”

Isaac’s curse had been completed; he was certain of it.

Only Isabelle, unable to comprehend what was unfolding, stood in stunned silence, her mind racing.

Step, step, step…

A figure emerged atop the fallen Jormungandr, walking with steady purpose.

Her silvery-blue hair glinted in the light, and her piercing sapphire eyes shone with resolve.

Wrapped in gray sword aura, she was unmistakable.

“Arina…”

Arina’s expression, as she stood over the defeated Jormungandr, was serene—her piercing sapphire eyes calm and resolute, free of worry or hesitation.

***

—Mary, are you really planning to head to the wall in that condition?

Before coming here, she recalled her conversation with Arad back at the factory.

—I didn’t perform a full diagnostic, but I could tell your body’s under a lot of strain.

At first, Arad was adamantly against Mary’s decision to go to the wall.

—If you push yourself any further, it could be dangerous!

But no matter what he said, the determination in Mary’s—Arina’s—eyes didn’t waver.

—You’re stubborn as an ox. Fine. Stopping you would be pointless. You could just overpower me and leave anyway.

In the end, Arad relented, allowing her to go.

—Alright, you can head to the wall. I’ll stay here and focus on treating the injured and repairing the damage.

Though Arina had noticed Arad being unusually cautious and deferential toward her, she was too preoccupied with her concerns about the wall to dwell on it.

—But promise me you won’t overexert yourself.

While her physical condition was better than expected, the situation at the wall, as described by the reinforcements, left her no room to sit idle.

—If you’re not feeling well, inject this potion and these medicines directly into your heart.

Arad’s unusually protective behavior felt unfamiliar to Arina, yet it pleased her, so she accepted his precautions.

—Just in case, take this and wear this as well.

With Arad’s reluctant permission secured, Mary—Arina—gleefully set off toward the wall.

Once she reached an isolated area, she dispelled her transformation magic and changed into her combat attire, retrieved from her spatial bag.

At an incredibly opportune moment, Arina arrived just as her illusionary self’s tower was collapsing.

The timing allowed her to hide within the wreckage and launch a surprise attack.

“Let’s end this… remnant of savagery.”

Seizing her chance, Arina raised her blade and struck at Jormungandr.

The fight had been transformative for Arina in many ways, but the lingering curse complicated her growth.

The ancient four-heart curse cast by Isaac, tied to the white serpent, obstructed her body’s reconstruction.

Time is running out.

Her current state was paradoxical: she could access power beyond a Sword Master, as she had just demonstrated, but it came at a cost.

Her body was fragile, like a precarious bomb that could go off with one wrong move.

She could fight as a Grand Sword Master for mere moments, but doing so risked her life. It was fairer to call her a five-minute Sword Master or a timebomb Master.

What Arina didn’t know was that even this precarious condition had been improved by Arad’s interventions.

Without the potions, elixirs, and other treatments Arad had administered while she was unconscious, she would have been in a vegetative state at best.

Relentless, as always.

Arina forced herself to take shallow breaths. Jormungandr’s venom, secreted in its saliva, and the poison in its blood and hearts were potent.

“So this is the poison that killed our founder…”