Since Jack Harper's side treated corpses as raw material, by the time the three surviving veterans of Dark Oath returned, there wasn't so much as a body to mourn.
"Those bastards—killed Elise and didn't even leave the alchemist's corpse!" Golden Flash roared, spinning to glare at Lady Night. "You were babysitting them the entire time, yet a rookie blew a hole in our plan right under your nose—and you ran off alone! Now we don't even know where those two are. You—"
Lady Night went pale but shot back, "Golden Flash, don't get cocky. You have no right to blame me. I merely followed orders. If the enemy pulled out surprises, that's on the alchemist's head, not mine. Besides, I'm not a front-liner—if my puppets were still intact, do you think I'd leave?"
Golden Flash was about to retort when two blasts of frigid wind slammed into them—wrought not by an enemy, but by their captain's outstretched arms. The gust encased the pair, forcing them to silent calm.
The long-bearded, robe-clad captain regarded them coolly. "Everyone in the Reincarnation Space has already died once. After this many missions, haven't you learned? Unless someone shatters the divine realm's barrier, death is inevitable."
He eyed them for a beat, then added, "But life or death only matters if you have value. The alchemist's unit got betrayed by a rookie—unforgivable. Yet our real target remains that Rime kid. Even if the alchemist wasn't a warrior, his Hulk transformation plus those magic arrays could level a Saint Cloth. Not even I could fell him in one blow."
Golden Flash frowned. "What if he's off hunting the Northern Awakeners? On Brandon Caswell's Headless Horseman mount, his flight speed is quadrupled."
Their captain waved dismissively. "No need to worry. The Reincarnation Book issued this mission to spark a massive battle. If he tries to wipe out the Awakeners early, he'd only draw out the most fearsome—Priscilla. Suicide. And if we strike first, we risk the protagonist's half-awakened state or the 'Black Twins' interfering. But if we force a showdown with Rime himself, we can handle it. He's likely in hiding now."
"Boss, what's our move?" Lady Night asked.
"We've already set the board," the captain said. "We've charted the Western Abyss route and secured our advantage. The enemy's bottleneck still lies with the Awakeners. In the Northern War's opening clash, Rime has nowhere to run. We kill him outright. He's grown so fast over two missions—every moment we stall gives him more chance to turn the tables."
Lady Night scowled. "What if he bails on the mission and refuses to fight? He's racked up tons of survival points from Elise and the alchemist. Add Brandon Caswell's rewards, and he might survive any penalty. Plus, this confrontation stems from the Styx Blood Vengeance curse—not a formal team battle—so if he withdraws, the plot backlash might not trigger. And I can't outrun that Headless Horseman mount anyway."
The captain raised a finger. "The alchemist left a contingency if we failed to kill the target early—a kill-and-trap scheme for the Northern War. Though the alchemist is dead, I believe the plan still works. It just needs your power."
Far to the north, in the frozen expanse of Alphonse, snow fell without end, as it did every year.
At the threshold to those lands, the town of Pied lay buried under drifts. Even its hardy residents stayed behind locked doors, sheltering from the raging blizzard.
So when a deadly clash erupted just outside town, no soul within knew.
On one side stood four golden-haired, silver-eyed girls in white steel armor. On the other, seven hulking giants—ten meters tall, muscles like greased iron cylinders, faces twisted in snarls.
Claymores versus Awakened Beings. Normally four Claymores tackling a single Awakened Being was costly. Facing seven first-generation male Awakened, among the strongest, spelled near-certain slaughter—unless a No.1-ranked warrior led them.
And from the first moment, it went to hell. Not even a minute in, one Claymore soldier was crushed into pulp. Thirty seconds later, the second was torn limb from limb. Three minutes in, the third was clutched in the giant's fist until only a geyser of blood sprayed from the cracks between its fingers.
Only one warrior remained—a doll-faced girl with wispy bangs. Though over 1.7 meters tall, she looked no older than fifteen. The fallen called her "Captain," yet before that monstrous Awakened, she was frozen by fear. Her voice trembled, "What is this… What's happening… Why is this happening?" as dozens of thick flesh tendrils lunged toward her.
At that moment of despair, a new figure tore into the battlefield.
A rider astride an armored warhorse, moving at speed no Awakened could match. In the split second before the tendrils impaled the girl, he swept her up at the waist, hoisted her to the saddle, and bolted away into the blizzard. Frustrated, the giants spat tendrils in chase, but even their monstrous whips—faster than crossbow bolts—couldn't catch the mount. They watched helplessly as horse and rider vanished.
Only after galloping tens of kilometers did the warhorse slow. The youth set the Claymore girl down, then without a word, urged the steed onward, ignoring her calls as they faded in the wind.
Approaching Pied Town anew, the rider leapt down, flicked his reins, and watched the towering black warhorse melt into a beam of light before slipping it back into its tether. He donned his cloak and stepped inside.
Pied's buildings were built to withstand the north's fury: thick walls, sturdy frames. At its heart rose a three-story domed church; surrounding it, two- and three-story homes made the town feel like part of a much larger city.
Past the central plaza, the youth reached his destination: a reserved inn. He entered, dropped his cloak, and faced the companion waiting there.
"I've rescued No.7 Claymore—the Waltzing Love, Aha—as planned," he said. "That adds one more top-ranked warrior to the Claymore side in the Northern War."
Elliot Gray waved dismissively. "Remember, Rime, I go by 'Sage' now. Don't use my real name. And you didn't attack those Awakened Beings, did you?"
"Of course not. They're direct minions of the Northern Abyss. If I'd killed them, I'd have drawn 'North Horse' Iris herself—and none of us would survive," Jack replied. "So how's your part of the plan?"
Elliot shrugged. "You think I'm Superman? A job this big can't be done in two days. But don't worry—Aha's intel plus mustering manpower will take ten days, maybe two weeks. We've got time. Use it to train."
Jack nodded, then warned, "The Dark Oath squad probably has eyes in this town. Be careful."
Elliot chuckled. "No sweat. I used alchemy to alter my face and form before leaving. No one will recognize me. As for you—heading to the Holy City to trigger the linear plot? Blessing or curse, I can't say. I told you the plan. The outcome is your call."
Jack nodded again, slipped on his cloak, and strode back into the night.
After infusing his body with the Water of Life, Jack's speed had leaped forward. The Headless Horseman mount gained the same boost: on flat ground, it now ran over 600 km/h. In flight—quadruple that speed—it soared supersonically. Jack could punch through the sound barrier, but riding at such velocity was another matter. Despite maxed-out riding skill, the shockwaves kept tossing him off the saddle. After several failed tries, he set aside his dream of sonic flight.
With that, Jack Harper vanished into the snowstorm.
The stage for the Northern War had only just been set.
At the world's center, where factions like South Cat, North Horse, and West Loli vied for power, stood the Holy City of Laposhun. Founded on worship of the Twin Goddesses and hostile to both Claymores and the organization "Stav," it was the largest human settlement in this realm.
Before meeting Elliot Gray, Jack had found the world baffling. It resembled medieval Europe—yet there were no nobles or kingdoms. If decades of demon raids had shattered national systems, why did a powerless religious city endure? History taught that in crisis, people flock to the strongest protector. No army-state remained, yet Laposhun stood firm.
Elliot finally explained the Claymore backstory: this demon-infested territory was merely a sea island—though vast, a larger continent lay nearby. Two nations there waged war—one wielding massive "dragons," the other racing to develop a counterweapon. They engineered demons on the island to research them, spawning Claymores and Awakened Beings. Nations fell not to demons but to the dark machinations of the organization. Laposhun was left intact to placate refugees and sustain experiments.
Of course, many holes remained. Claymores had trained for nearly a hundred generations—centuries passed—yet the continental war still raged. Spies knew of the organization, so why the delay? Were Awakened Beings truly superior to dragons?
Elliot sighed. Claymore's author was notorious for tossing out world-shattering twists that left readers reeling. So if more surprises awaited, Jack wouldn't bat an eyebrow.
But Jack hadn't come to uncover world lore—he was hunting an Awakened Being.
Unlike demons, Awakened Beings rarely lived in cities. Though the island isn't a continent, it rivals Ireland in size—tracking one in the wild was suicide for an ordinary person. Only Organization No. 3's Divine Eye, Galatea, could sense them—and she'd returned to the fold after the Western Abyss. Jack had no link to her, so he followed Elliot's lead to the lone Awakener known to shelter in Laposhun for over a century: the former No. 2 warrior, "Bloody" Agatha.
"Quite a catch," Jack mused as he entered the city. "If I can't handle her, I'd best give up on the Silver-Eyed Lion King." He reminded himself: Claymores locate demons and Awakened Beings by sensing Yoki—hence Awakened's aversion to towns, where their Yoki beaconed them like lighthouses. Laposhun hosts ten thousand souls; without Yoki detection, even if Jack bumped into Agatha, he wouldn't recognize her… But Agatha excels at suppressing her Yoki. In the original story, if Divine Eye Galatea hadn't happenstance-hidden here, not even the organization would know an Awakener lurked in Laposhun… Let's hope Elliot's guess is right.
Jack recalled Elliot's advice: "In this world, power is single-threaded—Claymores and Awakened only sense each other through Yoki. They neglect all else. Agatha will never use makeup or dye to fool ordinary folk—only Claymores can harm her, so they're her only concern. That means she should stand out among civilians. This society's stunted growth makes average people shorter than modern Europeans—an 1.8 m woman is a beacon. Given she's preyed on travelers for years unseen, she must target transients and avoid Claymores. What profession lets a stunning beauty spend solitary time with strangers without fear of Claymores—and keep it secret?"
At that moment, Jack knew Elliot's implication: Agatha's cover in Laposhun was obvious.
A prostitute.
That's why Jack Harper felt confident he could track her in this unfamiliar city.
Laposhun was a religious city, but not fanatic. True, believers abided by strict codes, yet basic human needs remained. What daylight virtue concealed, the night revealed.
In the basement of one building, dozens of lively travelers gathered under pounding drums of music, the swirl of dancers, fiery spirits, and dim torchlight.
A tall, black-curled dancer peeled off her form-fitting garments one by one, tossing them into the crowd. Whistles and cheers rose as her snow-white skin shone in flickering torchlight.
When the last scrap of cloth fell, the show hit its peak. One lucky patron would share her bed—whether gold-spangled or charm-filled depended on her whim.
A burly man vaulted onto the stage, only to be kicked off by the dancer's swift foot. Laughter rippled. She swayed her hips, sculpted curves rippling, and approached a slender youth, draping him in a black cloak.
"Oh ho, Miss Karma wants a taste of fresh mango tonight?" someone teased as she led the bashful boy offstage.
"Why… out of all these people, why choose me?" the youth asked.
"Heehee… I can't stand those muscle-bound brutes. The moment I saw you, I knew—you're the one I've been waiting for," the beauty purred, sliding her chest against his arm.
The youth's blue eyes turned ice-cold. "Oh? Is that because… my entrails taste better?"
Boom—
A thunderous crack sent them flying apart. Four spider-leg claws shot from the woman's body, impaling the youth, but a dark-gold armor materialized on him, deflecting the attack. He landed a fist square to her chest, hurling her through the air.
"Cough… Who are you—a new Organizational warrior?" the woman gasped, ignoring her fallen cloak.
That youth was Jack Harper. He shook his head, drew his great axe from a space pouch, and charged.
The black-haired beauty was Agatha—the Awakener Jack had hunted for two days, crawling through six nightclubs to find her. She leapt aside, flashing a sultry smile. "How fun. You've got a warrior's strength without the taint of demon Yoki. I'm hungrier for your insides than ever."
Jack snorted. His earlier punch had carried ice energy, but Agatha's surging Yoki had negated the cold—proof her power soared above other Awakened.
Looks like weapons only.
"Wind-Cleaving Axe!"
Agatha wasted no time. She revealed her Awakening form.
This night would haunt Laposhun forever.
A thunderous roar split the air as dozens of buildings crumbled. No screams followed—everyone's gaze was fixed on the horror rising from the rubble.
A dome-shaped chitin platform, larger than a ship, perched on eight spider legs each over ten meters tall. It spanned two blocks, dwarfing even the central church.
At its center lay a naked black-haired woman, her hair coiled like a crown. No one dared lust—dozens of chitin tendrils shot from the platform, snatching survivors from ruins, ripping them apart, and baptizing her in blood.
Now, she fixed her attention on the dark-gold-armored youth wielding a cobalt great axe.
"Oh dear, how unfortunate," she cooed. "I've lived here for decades, hidden among the living, even controlling my appetite. You've undone it all—compensation will be costly." Her lips smiled, but the tendrils fired again in a relentless storm.
"Hmph. How about a spectacular death instead?" Jack Harper leapt from a rooftop, dodged the chitin barrage, and summoned his Wind-Cleaving Axe to strike one of the platform's support legs, seeking to cripple her mobility.
Clang clang clang clang—
His supersonic axe bit chitin, spraying purple blood, but failed to sever the limb. The tendrils pressed in, forcing Jack to spring back.
"Tch—Elliot Gray's story said that seven years later, Clare and six surviving Claymores each struck once and severed all eight legs, killing Agatha in a few moves. Why can't I even chop one?" Jack grumbled. His formidable axe felt like a dagger against this mountain of a Awakener.
He didn't know Elliot omitted a key detail: by then, Clare's companions had grown mightily—even those once ranked in the thirties could rival single-digit warriors. And united, Claymores multiply their strength.
"Fine. Let's go cavalry." Seeing he couldn't stand ground under the tendrils, Jack summoned the Headless Horseman.
Mounted, his speed spiked. He left Agatha's reach, circled, and launched:
"Supersonic Charge!"
Riding low through the rubble, the warhorse hit nearly 300 m/s. Jack's cosmos-fueled swing unleashed a vacuum blade that sliced through one of Agatha's chitin legs. Massive purple blood flooded the wreckage.
"Damn it!" Agatha shrieked, stunned by the tactic. Losing a leg, she readied another charge, but Jack turned to strike again—so she fired hundreds of tendrils and then leapt like a monstrous flea, all seven remaining legs propelling her over the city wall in a single bound.
Jack staggered at her agility—like a tank doing ballet. He raced after her as she vanished in the night.
"Wait—she's already regenerating?" Jack caught up to find the severed leg three-quarters regrown, his headache intensifying.
Alone, he couldn't match her healing by attrition. Her rapid regeneration was like granting extra lives.
"I remember Elliot said her weakness is the head connection. But to sever it, you don't cut the neck—you cut the hair. The pale body is a façade; the real body is that giant platform, and the hair links her head to it." He scanned the night sky—no pale form lingered. Agatha had retracted into the platform.
Jack cursed, "You're cowardly—shrinking just because you lost a leg?"
Agatha's voice echoed from the platform. "Your wish is my command."
The platform writhed. Suddenly, a twenty-meter-tall, black-brown humanoid rose up—metallic upper body, carriage-sized head, a grim smile bearing down on Jack. Tendrils rained again.
"Think you can't handle me?" Jack charged.
"Do you really expect success?" Agatha taunted, firing tendrils directly at him.
Jack's speed meant he couldn't dodge on the fly—Agatha tracked him like a marksman reading the gun barrel.
But she misread him this time.
He unleashed his other trick:
Icebound Grasp.
He'd hesitated to use his Force technique before, unsure if it could withstand her power. But after analyzing her strength with Flora and his own tests, he was ready. Before the tendrils struck, dozens of azure lights flared, wrapping around the chitin whips and throwing them off course.
Seizing the moment, Jack closed in and swung at the regrowing leg:
Slash—Crackle!
This time, he channeled half his ice energy into the blow. As he severed the limb, frost crystallized across the wound, freezing it shut—her regeneration cut off.
Purple frost spread over the broken leg. It would never heal.
"Hmph. Found your weakness. But… looks like this fight will drag on. Hope the Dark Oath squad doesn't show up."