Raul filled his lungs with the biting winter air as he gazed at the scene before him. Massive ice crystals jutted out like fangs from the crevices of the snow-covered mountain gorge. The valley had frozen solid, preserving its shape in an eternal grasp of ice. Layer upon layer of frost had turned the ice crystals into a pale, white barrier of sorts.
Keeping his body low, he peered beyond them. By the time the numbness had begun creeping into his hands and feet, movement finally appeared.
'A royal guard.'
Even without the emblem of the royal house on display, the rigid posture and disciplined gait were enough to give it away.
Raul narrowed his eyes, watching the figure's movements. There was no need to mention the sheer foolishness of wearing metal armour in this weather. Yet, while the cold had stiffened his own limbs, the royal guard seemed utterly unaffected by the freezing air.
Could that suspicious man's words have been true after all?
'Everything around the king has already been devoured…'
He quietly weighed the gravity of those words.
The capital, Kargasthol, was an eerie place. The safest city in the kingdom, the seat of the king, the last unbroken stronghold.
The land of the last surviving humans.
But if the apostle's words were true—if everyone surrounding the king, in other words, every human in the capital, had been replaced by them…
Why had they clung for ten years to this fleeting illusion that was once called a kingdom?
Fighting on the frontlines in the name of protecting their nation, watching their comrades' bodies be stolen, locking their doors while suspicion festered among them—
What had the field army truly been protecting for the past decade?
If the kingdom was nothing more than a hollow shell, an illusion with no substance—
Then what had they spilled their blood for?
The commander and the others likely never wrestled with such questions. Even when Leovald was hailed as the hero who saved the nation, everyone knew it wasn't out of heroism.
That man had merely made a choice to survive.
Many people live their lives with a plan—building a family, settling down, deciding what work to pursue to make a living. But in times like these, planning was nothing more than a luxury.
To plan for years, months, or even weeks ahead, one must first be certain they'll survive tomorrow, or the day after. But when life is as fleeting as a mayfly's—when you don't even know if you'll live through today or die tomorrow—what's the point of making long-term plans?
Street urchins never learn how to pave their own path. All they know is how to choose from the options given to them. To wander the plains forever, living as a hunter—or to abandon the familiar road and step onto an unknown path. Leovald had simply made his choice.
That's why the commander wouldn't be shaken, whether the kingdom was real or not.
'And Dame Nathalie, too.'
That hunter wouldn't care either way—whether the country stood or fell, she would have lived alone in the forest regardless.
'And Paulo… That simple, foolish bastard wouldn't understand a thing.'
Paulo was a farmer's son. People like him never even considered leaving their tiny mountain valleys. To them, the world beyond their farmland was irrelevant. And the other field soldiers weren't much different.
'Then…'
Had they all been fighting for something that didn't even matter to them?
As Raul remained silent, the royal guard lingering before the ice crystals finally began to move. The knight opened his mouth, issuing orders.
'…!'
Leaning forward to catch any clues, Raul flinched when a group emerged from behind the ice.
'Paulo.'
And the familiar faces of the First Field Army.
The knights, utterly exhausted, staggered forward like prisoners, heavy shackles clamped around their ankles. Each one carried a basket on their back, which they set down before the guards.
'Dragon bones?'
They were different from those refined into weapons. Something about them made his instincts recoil, as if a primal aversion had been carved into his very being. It felt like fingers tearing through his stomach with nothing but raw, clawing revulsion.
Even from this distance, the sensation was overwhelming. Those field soldiers—who had been forced to mine and transport those bones directly—must have already lost all sense of feeling.
The guards emptied the baskets, loading the dragon bones onto a cart, then blindfolded the weary knights. Shackled at the feet, stripped of their sight. The field army was now nothing more than livestock, ready for transport.
'So that's why they never escaped.'
These were the same soldiers who had once struggled to keep up with Leovald's pace. The ones who had left home, lived on the battlefield, and—
Grown ever more ruthless.
No matter how tightly the royal knights monitored them, it was hard to believe they had the confidence to herd the First Field Army—practically walking siege weapons—into one place.
'Tch. No wonder they haven't broken out or smashed anything yet.'
Hidden in the shadows, Raul traced the guards' route with his eyes, memorizing their movements as they transported the captured soldiers.
The commander and the apostle's orders were simple: Locate where they were being held, assess the level of security, and—if possible—make contact with Paulo to discuss a rescue plan.
He prepared to follow.
Had it not been for the swarm of beasts emerging from the opposite ravine, he would have gone after the wagon without hesitation.
'…!'
Even from a distance, it was clear these weren't ordinary monsters. They were larger, more menacing—alpha predators.
'Something's off about this mix.'
A hulking, horned beast with a savage glare. A creature slithering low to the ground, its body slick with rotting moss. A monstrous bird, its three heads adorned with metallic wings.
Whoosh!
The bird snapped its heads around—fixing its gaze directly on him. Raul swallowed a curse, forcing himself to hold his breath.
Clack. Clack. Clackclackclack…
The beast's beaks chattered, the sound echoing through the gorge, rippling outward in waves. The vibrations drilled into his bones, twisting through his organs like invisible claws.
Raul had never seen this species of monster before, but experience had taught him that predators often made such sounds—either to intimidate prey or to pinpoint its location.
Silently, he reached down, fingers curling around the shaft of his spear. If he was going to act, it was better to strike first before he was discovered and attacked.
And then—
A bird, startled by his presence, fluttered away from the tree he had been hiding behind. The motion shook the snow-laden branches, sending a soft cascade of white drifting to the ground.
'There.'
The monstrous bird seemed to mistake the disturbance for the bird's movement rather than his own. Its sharp gaze lost interest, turning elsewhere.
A moment later, a heavy thud echoed through the gorge.
'A monster?'
More creatures emerged, dragging lifeless carcasses and heaving them over the cliff's edge. The bodies, already crushed and broken, turned to mush upon impact, barely retaining their original forms.
'Disgusting…'
Over time, the corpses piled into a grotesque mound. When they were done, the creatures slid down the slope, descending into the valley below.
And then—
With beaks, fangs, and claws, they seized the bodies and began dragging them behind the ice formations.
The monsters vanished behind the ice with the corpses, only to emerge empty-handed some time later. The process was slow—each trip took a considerable amount of time. By the time the grotesque mound of bodies had completely disappeared, the sun was already setting.
Taking advantage of their repeated, methodical movements, Raul inched his way down into the gorge. As he drew closer, faint voices began to reach his ears.
"Not even halfway done yet…"
But the sound didn't come from human vocal cords.
'A talking monster.'
Now he could see it more clearly—the fallen corpses were ordinary beasts, but the creatures handling them, the ones dropping them into the gorge, were all of the speaking kind.
'They say these things evolved, fusing together to form stronger shells.'
Raul recalled what the survivors and the apostle had explained during his journey toward the Vernis Mountains. He kept his presence hidden, silently observing the speaking monsters.
One of them spoke.
"Not enough. Not enough. Not enough…"
Another creature scratched at the ground, shaking its head in agreement.
"The shell is big. The contents are lacking."
"No problem. There's plenty nearby."
"Plenty?"
Raul held his breath, focusing on the cryptic exchange. A low growl rumbled in response.
"Beasts. And vassals."
"Humans who came to the mountains. Hunters who came to hunt. Both prey and predator. They can fill it."
"Should we hunt?"
"No need."
The speaking beasts, which had been restlessly scraping at the ground and growling, suddenly fell silent. Their bodies twisted and writhed before they stretched themselves out completely.
"Enough?"
"Enough."
And with that, they left.
Raul waited, ensuring they were truly gone before he moved again.
He slipped past the colossal ice wall—where the frozen river had solidified in place—and followed the tunnel beyond. It gaped open like the throat of a massive beast, leading deeper underground.
The further he descended, the heavier the air became. Thick, choking, suffocating.
And at the end of the path—
A pit.
A vast, stagnant pool of something thick and black-red. The stench was unbearable. The surface quivered, rippling as if it were alive. The black-red liquid slithered forward, sluggish yet deliberate, as if drawn to some unseen destination—just like filth flowing through a sewer.
'Is that…'
Following its path deeper underground, Raul came upon a sight more grotesque than anything he had ever imagined.
A colossal dragon-shaped… statue?
Had it not perfectly matched the descriptions of the legendary Evil Dragon, Vernis, he might have mistaken it for one.
Its blackened scales jutted out like serrated blades, horns and spines protruding like a demon's crown. Most of its body remained buried beneath the rock, with only its gaping maw visible—stretched open as though wracked by a burning thirst.
The red liquid dripped steadily into the dragon's mouth, vanishing into the depths of its unseen core. It was almost like rain trickling into a parched throat. Or like molten metal being poured into a mold.
Raul connected the birth of the talking beasts with the scene before him—
And realization struck.
Could they be… reviving the evil dragon?
***
Meanwhile, Duke Marchez conducted an experiment on a captured beast. This time, using a dragonbone sword—one completely stripped of its refining agent.
Since I had already revealed my identity as an informant, the duke no longer relayed messages through intermediaries or summoned Leonardo separately. Instead, he reported directly to me.
"The beasts exposed to the miasma exhibited abnormal reactions."
"Abnormal reactions?"
"We classified them into different groups and observed their responses to continuous exposure. At a certain point, those subjected to periodic contact with the miasma began displaying a consistent behaviour—they kept moving in a single direction. Southward, to be precise."
"…Toward the dragon's head?"
Duke Marchez gave a silent nod.
I recalled that the dragonbone swords had been distributed across the mountains, granted to the royal subjugation force. And I also recalled the people who would always carry those swords.
'Godric, that insane—'
The conclusion was simple.
One of the king's true objectives behind launching this massive hunting war was the revival of the evil dragon. And everything within these mountains—every beast, every corpse—was merely raw material for its resurrection.