The Frost Field, a secret land forbidden to humanity. A legion of soldiers crested a mountain ridge, pushing through a biting gale and a blinding blizzard.

"Ahahaha! This is glorious! Absolutely glorious!" Chronos, perched atop a giant Undead Crab, roared with laughter. With every shake of his body, the crab clacked its massive pincers. "Those Northerners must be in an absolute panic! The very thought of the Grand Duke’s sour face makes my heart flutter!"

"Sir Chronos." Count Voldmont walked up beside him. "The soldiers are growing exhausted. Some are freezing to death. Are you not marching them too quickly?"

"Haha! Don’t make a fuss over a soldier or two, Count!" Chronos laughed brightly, unfurling a new magic circle on his palm. "The Grand Duke’s pursuit could arrive at any moment! We must hurry, destroy the Northern God, and claim the Frost Field for ourselves. Heave-ho!"

With a satisfied glance at his creation, he flicked his wrist, sending the magic circle floating into the air like a balloon. The Count’s gaze naturally followed it. High above the marching army, a colossal magic circle shimmered like an artificial sun. The new circle drifted up and slotted into an empty space, its circuits instantly connecting to the greater whole. Like interlocking gears, the formulas across the array began to shift.

"A gift for you, my dears!" Chronos shouted over his shoulder. "I’ve simply paralyzed most of your pain receptors! You won’t even feel the cold now!"

The magic circle overhead glowed an even deeper crimson. A reddish aura enveloped the soldiers, and their pace quickened.

"I must admit, I’m a little surprised, Count," Chronos said, turning to Voldmont. "I despise tedious work like fine-tuning curses, so my default setting is to curse every human except for myself and Romario. How is it that you’re moving around perfectly fine?"

"It is thanks to these artifacts, all imbued with curse resistance." The Count opened his coat, revealing a dizzying array of enchanted accessories. "I prepared them specifically for my meeting with you, Sir Chronos."

"Hahahaha! You are as thoroughly prepared as they say! You’ve got me there."

The Count’s eyes shone with grim purpose. "Once this is over, as promised, I will receive dominion over the Northern territories."

"Of course, of course. Why wouldn’t you? That’s what the ’Watcher’ is for, after all." Chronos stroked his chin and glanced behind them. "That said, it’s about time for the pursuit party to show up..."

"The Grand Duke will not come," Commander Romario stated in a low voice from the head of the column. "She is not one to risk failure by acting rashly. We will focus on the destruction of the Northern God."

"Right, right."

Count Voldmont unfolded a map, checked his compass, and pointed ahead. "It’s just over there."

The Kingdom’s army finally crested the last peak and looked down into the valley below. The eyes of both Romario and Chronos widened.

"Chilling," Romario muttered.

"Exquisite," Chronos breathed.

Watching their contrasting reactions, the Count bowed his head respectfully. "There lies the ’Abyss,’ the sanctuary of the Northern God, ruler of the Frost Field for over a thousand years."

The valley floor below them was a churning sea of crimson. The Abyss was a hollow basin nestled among the mountains, filled with all manner of undead nests. Newly spawned creatures scurried about, and at the very center of it all was a giant, gaping hole bored into the earth—a pit so deep and dark its bottom was lost to sight.

"So the Northern God is hiding in there, is it?" Chronos licked his lips, a hungry grin spreading across his face.

Just then, Romario, who had been staring down at the Abyss, quietly turned around. "They’re coming."

"Huh? What is? The Grand Duke’s pursuit?"

"No."

A deep rumble shook the entire mountain. From the countless snow-capped ridges surrounding them, avalanches began to pour down. The cascades of snow moved as if they were alive, changing direction to converge on the Kingdom’s army.

With a sharp ’shing’, Romario drew his sword. "The army of the Northern God."

Indeed, within the churning snow, countless large and small eyeballs glinted with malevolent light.

Chronos cackled, unfurling magic circles on both palms. "Allow me to demonstrate!" He launched the circles into the air, where they merged with the massive array above. The red light intensified, and the soldiers’ eyes began to burn with an unholy fire. "How I, Chronos, Necromancer of a Myriad Host, deal with an ambush!"

---

The North had decided not to pursue the Kingdom’s army, but to mobilize on the scheduled date. During those two days, the Grand Duke had little time to oversee Simon’s training; she had to focus her efforts on restoring Haite and rebuilding the 2nd Legion.

Simon, in turn, began his personal training. The Grand Duke had laid out a detailed regimen for him before she left, so all he had to do was follow it. In his spare moments, he focused on a different task: discovering the ’Geheim’ of his Ancient Undead.

[You’ve been spending a lot of time with me lately, haven’t you, squirt?] Herseva’s voice teased. The woman, whose long hair was spun from sand, sat perched on a staff that floated in mid-air. [What’s on the agenda today? Mummy control? Or shall we finally open the world of sand?]

"That consumes too much power, and we’re about to deploy," Simon replied, stopping to sit on a rock and rummage through his bag. "Today, I’d rather talk than train."

[Talk about what?]

"About your life before you became an undead." From his bag, Simon produced not weapons, but painting supplies. He unfolded the legs of an easel with a ’click’ and set a canvas upon it. "And about the place you once lived."

[I told you, I don’t remember it well!]

"Then this is a good opportunity to take your time and try," Simon said, taking out his paints.

[Are you going to paint?]

"Killing two birds with one stone. Don’t pay any attention to this." The canvas was from his Royal Studies class at Kizen. It was meant for practicing the unique scripts of various kingdoms, but Simon had always been more interested in drawing, so he had bought paints as well. He wasn’t a great artist, but he had some experience painting landscapes during his quiet days in Les Hill.

[So, are you going to paint or listen to my story?]

"Both." Simon applied a quick base coat to the white canvas. "You said you were a king before you became an undead, right?"

[Of course! I was a king who led many subjects!] Herseva began to chatter. Before becoming undead, she had been a Dungeon Master. But she couldn’t remember why she was in a dungeon or how she became its ruler. Perhaps that was why she always grew a little embarrassed when asked about her past, grumbling about why he kept asking when she had no memory of it.

But Simon detected a strange undercurrent in her voice: longing. He knew he couldn’t let that feeling slip away.

"How long were you a king?"

[I don’t know. I didn’t have a concept of time back then... but it felt like I reigned for a very, very long time.]

"I see. And how did you feel, as a king?" Since her memories were so fragmented, Simon focused on her emotions.

[Let’s see...] She paused, considering. [Lonely?]

"Lonely?" Simon stopped his brush, surprised. "But a king rules over many people. I wouldn’t think you’d have time to be lonely."

[Well...] she said, scratching the side of her head. [My memory is hazy, but... my subjects were a bit... strange.]

"Strange how?"

[They didn’t react. They were like machines. They never did anything for me on their own initiative. They just did their jobs, stiffly.] The energy drained from her voice. [If I asked them to play, they would play. If I asked for a hug, they would give me one. They only moved when I gave a clear command. They never once approached me first.]

[That’s why I prefer how things are now.] She looked up at the blue sky. [I get to listen to Pier’s nagging, fight with Erzebet all the time, build sandcastles with Prince... even Akhemus is kind, in his own stoic way. They all approach me, even when I don’t ask. They do things I don’t expect. Sometimes it makes me angry, but...] A small smile touched her lips. [That’s why I like it. This new life.]

Simon smiled faintly. "I’m glad to hear that."

He continued to gently press her for stories of her past. Herseva spoke of whatever fragments came to mind as she sifted through her memories. Simon began to form an impression. The emotions she felt when speaking of her city were undeniably longing, wistfulness, and admiration. And yet, she clearly hadn’t been happy with her life as a Dungeon Master.

’She wasn’t satisfied with her life as a Dungeon Master, yet she yearns for it?’ Something didn’t add up. The more he listened, the more Simon realized the truth. It wasn’t her life as a Dungeon Master that she longed for.

’It’s something from before that.’

He didn’t know how she had become a Dungeon Master, but it seemed she had lived another life before that one. Her Innate Ability was the key. She could construct the life she admired out of sand. The reason her subjects had been so unresponsive was likely because she had created them herself.

[Isn’t it funny?] she asked with a bitter smile. [To long for a piece of a dream I can’t even remember.]

She wasn’t sure if that life was a true memory or a fiction born from her own imagination. That was why she found it so foolish to be hung up on a life she couldn’t recall.

"Whether it was real or not isn’t what’s important," Simon said, a gentle smile on his lips. "What matters is what you think, and the meaning you give it. And that just makes me even more curious to hear your story."

With a final tap of his brush, Simon set it down. A slightly bashful expression on his face, he lifted the canvas to show Herseva.

[Ah.]

Her eyes widened. It was the golden city she had created in her world of sand. But this was different.

"I tried to paint the home you imagined, but with a bit more color," Simon explained.

Her golden city had been made entirely of sand, a world of monochrome. But the city Simon painted was vibrant. Wooden houses stood beside brick ones, grass and trees grew in abundance, and the people in the streets were smiling.

[Ah.]

Honestly, it wasn’t a masterpiece, but the effort he had poured into it was clear. A tremor ran through her sandy form.

[Aah.]

She thought—she was crying. A body of sand could not produce tears, but the emotion was real. If she had a physical body, she knew tears would be streaming down her face. Simon stepped closer and gently wiped at the corners of her eyes with his fingertips. She was overcome with joy. The fact that there was someone who acknowledged and respected a part of her that might not even exist...

[Th...ank you.]

As if in response to her emotions, Jet-Black began to surge from her body with a low rumble. She was casting her ’Golden Transformation’ magic, attempting to recreate the city Simon had just painted.

Simon flinched, stepping back as a strange sense of elation washed over him. This feeling...

’It’s just like when Prince used Corpse Explosion...!’

With a great roar, Herseva unleashed her Golden Transformation, and a city grander than any she had ever created outside her world of sand began to rise from the earth.

[Aaaaaah!]

Watching the soaring buildings, Simon was certain. ’This is it.’

It was Herseva’s Geheim.

[Ah!]

With a shrill cry and a loud ’crack’, her creation crumbled, collapsing like a sandcastle against the tide.

Simon watched with a wry smile. ’It seems she still has a long way to go.’

[Augh!] she groaned, shaking her body in disappointment.

"Why did it fail so suddenly?" Simon asked.

[My imagination isn’t strong enough! I can build the city’s center just fine, but I don’t know how to create the outskirts!]

"If that’s all it is..." Simon rolled up his sleeves and sat before the canvas again. "I can paint as many pictures as you need. Let’s try again! Can you remember anything else about the city?"

And so, after many long attempts, on the eve of the war with the Northern God, Herseva’s Geheim was finally ready.