As the massive, unwieldy formation of the northern tribes was cut cleanly in half by the Imperial cavalry, the disciplined Imperial infantry moved in to exploit the breach, completing a flawless encirclement.
Soon, under the bloody and merciless onslaught, the northern tribes' morale and fighting spirit were utterly crushed.
Rage and bloodlust could dull the fear of death—for a while—but only as long as victory seemed possible and casualties remained bearable.
Under the relentless assault of Imperial steel and unbreakable shield walls, the fiery spirit that Numa Seika had managed to ignite in his people began to cool. And when his central formation was destroyed—when their commanding banner fell—it was as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over the entire army.
With victory nowhere in sight, their leader defeated, and their symbol of hope gone, fear began to take hold. Instinctively, the primal desire to survive rose within the hearts of the northern warriors.
It wasn't long before the first surrender came.
...
Weapons lay in heaps across the battlefield. Head bowed and shoulders slumped, lines of northern prisoners were driven forward by Imperial soldiers, marching across the field of blood and corpses.
"So this is the one who slaughtered Esdeath's tribe and killed her father? Hm... he does look the part of a prince," Selene remarked casually.
Her curiosity satisfied after only a brief glance at the barely breathing Numa Seika, she quickly lost interest. After all, unlike Esdeath, Selene didn't share that same sadistic streak.
"Hak Foo, have the medics keep Numa Seika alive. If he dies now, Esdeath will throw a tantrum again. Once she arrives, hand him over."
She paused, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Speaking of Esdeath—you like strong opponents, don't you, Hak Foo? I'm sure she won't disappoint you."
With that, Selene turned to leave.
"Please wait, Milady..."
Selene frowned slightly, glancing back. "What is it?"
Hak Foo dropped to one knee, holding up a strange single-edged spear with both hands. "Milady, this belonged to the northern chieftain Numa Seika. Despite my repeated strikes, I was unable to damage it. I believe it to be some kind of treasure—and I present it to you."
"You've done well..." Selene said as she took the weapon. She knew Hak Foo had no interest in arms—his strength lay in his fists, and aside from his gauntlets, he used no weaponry at all.
Examining the spear, she frowned slightly. It appeared ordinary—simple design, unadorned surface. Nothing about it seemed remarkable.
Yet ordinary steel shouldn't have withstood the power of a Honkai-enhanced warrior like Hak Foo. Could it be... made of a special alloy?
The thought took root instantly. Snapping her fingers, a flash of violet light shimmered in the air. A pure-white, ornate sword materialized in her other hand.
"Let's see if your material is the same," she murmured, channeling a thin layer of Honkai particles into both weapons. "Hmm...?"
Feeling the faint, identical resonance between them, Selene's expression brightened. "It's... orichalcum!"
Her earlier suspicions were confirmed. After the late Emperor's death, she had investigated the materials used to forge this very sword—it had been crafted from leftover orichalcum originally meant for Teigu production.
And now, a mere northern prince had wielded a weapon forged from the same legendary metal.
That could only mean one thing—somewhere in the frozen north, a vein of orichalcum still existed.
Turning her gaze toward Kinshasa, who was busy overseeing the capture of prisoners, Selene called out sharply, "Kinshasa!"
"Yes, Milady!"
"Clean the battlefield. Have the regional garrison take over prisoner management from the rear lines."
Then she turned to Hak Foo. "Prepare the vanguard. Lead the forward army and advance immediately. Take the northern tribes' capital—the Fortress City."
(Selene couldn't help but think, 'Fortress City'? What a ridiculously unimaginative name for a capital...)
"Yes, Milady!" Hak Foo saluted and strode off.
...
The wind howled, and the snow raged. Deep within the northern tundra, a colossal fortress city loomed quietly amid the endless white expanse.
Far from the fortress front lines, where no large-scale bombardment had been used, news of the battle's conclusion had yet to reach the rear. On the fortress walls, a group of northern soldiers wrapped in thick gray-green fur coats carried out their usual patrol with growing unease.
"Damn this cursed weather! It's been getting colder every year... and it's still dropping!"
One guard tightened his coat, but no layer of fur could stop the biting chill of the far north. The northern tribes were known for their endurance against cold, hunger, and hardship—but they were still human, not beasts like Tyrant.
The constant minus-forty-degree temperatures were already torture enough, but now the cold was pushing toward fifty below. It was unbearable.
"If only we could defeat the Empire and take some of their land... I don't even want much, just a bit south of the Great Northern Wall would do. It's so much warmer there."
"Yeah... may our prince bring us victory this time. Maybe then we'll finally get to live a better life."
"Enough complaining. Check every inch of this wall. Once the relief shift arrives, we'll head back to the fire pit."
The squad—barely a dozen men—continued their rounds, their breath misting in the freezing air.
"Phew... huh? Hey, look! Down there at the base of the fortress—someone's there!" one guard shouted, pointing into the swirling snow.
"A messenger?"
"Can't see clearly—the snow's too thick... wait, is that blood?!"
"Damn it... something's happened at the front! Quickly! Go alert the captain!"
A sense of dread swept through the veteran's chest. He barked orders to his men, then sprinted toward the tower.
Moments later, the gate opened, and dozens of soldiers rushed out, weapons drawn.
When they reached the motionless figure collapsed at the base of the wall, their leader crouched beside him. "...It's one of ours."
"The front must have fallen. Hurry—inform the king!"
As they began lifting the half-frozen messenger, a deep, rough voice suddenly called out from the blizzard behind them.
"No need. You won't be getting that chance."
"Mantis Fist!!"
...
Beyond the wall, deep inside the fortress city, a massive pyramid-like structure—ornate and out of place amidst the bleak wasteland—stood at the city's heart. This was the royal palace of the northern tribes.
Hundreds of elite royal guards stood watch outside, their equipment far superior to that of the regular soldiers. Each man was tall, strong, and unflinching—a testament to their king's personal guard.
Suddenly, an earth-shaking explosion echoed from the outer walls.
"Kill!!"
The air filled with the thunderous roar of battle. The entire fortress city trembled.
"Enemy attack!" Within moments, waves of armored royal guards poured into the palace courtyard.
Then the great doors of the throne hall burst open. A burly middle-aged man with a beard nearly a foot long stepped out, clad in black heavy armor and gripping a massive cleaver-like blade. His eyes blazed as he stared toward the fortress gates in the distance.
"My king!" cried his soldiers, rallying behind him. In that instant, the warriors of the north found their courage again.
"Follow me! We fight!"
He said no more. With a fierce swing of his blade, his commanding aura flared, and his troops roared in response.
"Yes, my king!!"
But before they could even reach the gate—
BOOM!!
The wall collapsed.
Clatter... Clatter...
"Kill——!!"
From the cloud of dust and debris, countless black-armored Imperial soldiers surged forward like a flood, their thunderous footsteps shaking the earth.
In an instant, chaos consumed the city. The sound of slaughter swept through the streets like a storm, echoing through every alley.
With most of the able-bodied warriors already slain or captured under Numa Seika's command, the fortress city was left with only a few palace guards, patrolmen, and civilians—elderly, women, and children.
At first, some had rushed toward the commotion, thinking their prince had returned in triumph. But when they saw the wave of Imperial soldiers storming through the gates, swords gleaming and eyes cold, terror struck.
Panic spread like wildfire. Screams filled the air. A few brave souls tried to resist, raising weapons in defiance—but were instantly cut down, their bodies torn apart under the Imperial advance.
The fortress city dissolved into chaos. People ran in every direction, trampling over one another in blind terror. It was as if the end of the world had come.
The northern king watched in grim silence as the invading Imperial troops trampled through the streets, crushing his guards, his people, his legacy.
He clenched his blade until his knuckles bled.
"My son... my army... gone. Then there's only one path left."
He straightened, his eyes blazing with defiance.
"I am king. I do not surrender. I will die standing."
"Children of the north! Follow me—KILL!!"
...
Two hours later, the fortress city lay littered with corpses. The Imperial banners flew high above its shattered walls.
Riding her unicorn through the blood-stained streets, Selene surveyed the carnage. Organized resistance was gone. Only scattered groups of surviving tribesmen continued their futile struggle in the shadows of the ruins. Most had been slain—or were on their knees.
The northern tribes... were no more.
"Where is Hak Foo?" Selene asked, glancing toward her vanguard's adjutant.
"Reporting to the Great General—Captain Hak Foo is currently inside the royal palace."
"The palace, huh..." Selene's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Let's hope the royal family's treasure doesn't disappoint me."