59. A Terrible Memory
“Got it.”
With a gasp, Killian exhaled a long, pale breath and let out a laugh.
However, despite the laughter, Killian was a mess.
The ogre, which should have been taken down with three precise attacks, required dozens of swings from his axe before it was finally subdued.
The monsters were evolving—rapidly. As soon as he brought the axe down, the creature’s incredible regeneration began.
In the end, he had to pull out the small axe at his waist, using both hands to barely finish the job.
The snow that had fallen in a short time had already piled up to his knees.
Killian lifted his head to the gloomy, dark sky.
‘There’s no way the snow will stop anytime soon.’
As the Duke had warned, the dark clouds loomed so thickly that it was impossible to distinguish between night and day.
Though he had grown up surrounded by snowstorms, Killian couldn’t shake the ominous feeling creeping over him.
“Raymond.”
“What?”
Raymond responded curtly while shaking the wet blood from his sword.
“Let’s move the injured knights to Fort 5—or better yet, Fort 4.”
“Why?”
Though he questioned it, Raymond had already pulled out the whistle for communication and placed it between his lips.
It had only been half a day since the wave had begun, yet already one-fifth of the knights were injured.
This was despite the Duke herding the monsters into the ice wall as efficiently as possible.
It was as if they had been corralled.
The Duke, with his ever-present whip, had drawn the monsters en masse toward the icy cliff.
Very few had strayed from the group, but each individual monster had grown incomparably stronger.
Killian shook his head as he looked at the ogre sprawled before him.
This wasn’t just an increase in strength—it was like everything had doubled: size, regeneration, and raw power.
“Should we pull all the knights back?”
Raymond didn’t give a direct answer to Killian’s question. He didn’t deny it either.
Both of them understood—if even the captains were struggling this much, how could ordinary knights withstand it?
Staying would only mean meaningless deaths.
Blowing the whistle with all his might, Raymond tightened his core and shouted,
“All regular knights, retreat to Fort 4 and prepare for long-range support!”
No one challenged his command.
***
That night, as dusk fell, Jillian returned, soaked in blue light.
Surveying the empty fort, he shook the water from his dark hair and chuckled.
“Well, it seems you’ve all been working hard for once.”
Instead of brightening at his rare praise, the captains’ faces grew darker.
“Should we retreat further?”
At the question, Jillian nodded and added,
“You as well.”
No further explanation was needed.
The captains immediately ordered the knights to retreat to Fort 3, while they themselves withdrew to Fort 4.
***
At dawn, Creta stood on the watchtower of Fort 4, peering through a telescope. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
“Unbelievable.”
Startled by Creta’s rare exclamation, Raymond took the telescope from him.
However, no matter how many times Raymond adjusted it, all he saw was blackness beyond the lens.
“Is this thing broken?”
“Impossible.”
Scoffing, Creta adjusted the focus and handed it back.
The moment Raymond looked again, his shoulders tensed.
The telescope wasn’t broken.
The sheer number of monsters was so immense that they formed an impenetrable black mass, making it impossible to distinguish individual creatures.
“This is…”
“We might need to recall the knights.”
Taking back the telescope, Creta folded it and immediately descended the watchtower, heading toward the command center.
This wasn’t a wave—it was hell itself.
Bursting into the command room without knocking, Creta called out, “Duke!”
For a moment, his vision wavered as he thought he saw Jillian’s body fractured like shattered glass.
Blinking rapidly, he realized it had been a trick of his strained eyes in the freezing cold.
Jillian stood there unharmed.
“What is it?”
“It’s begun.”
“They didn’t take long, did they?”
“They’re already visible outside Fort 7, and their numbers…”
“Are they many?”
Jillian’s casual tone as he strapped on his sword belt struck Creta as oddly unsettling.
Creta hesitated, unable to answer right away. The scale was beyond anything he could describe.
“It’s too many.”
“We anticipated this.”
Jillian replied calmly.
“You saw it yourself when the ice wall burst the second time.”
His indifferent words felt like they were piercing Creta’s heart.
Without realizing it, Creta stepped forward.
“What if we reduce their numbers with long-range artillery or set traps now?”
He suggested abandoning Fort 7, fortifying Fort 6 as the defense line, and setting traps at Fort 5 to bombard them from Fort 4. It seemed like a viable strategy.
Jillian’s expression softened unexpectedly as he looked at Creta’s eager face.
“What’s this? Are you worried about me?”
“…”
Creta couldn’t bring himself to deny it.
“Don’t worry. I won’t die.”
The Duke’s gentle tone, rather than reassuring him, sent a shiver down Creta’s spine.
“Duke!”
“What?”
“Would you just get angry for once?”
“Why should I?”
“Because your calmness is making me nervous!”
“Perhaps you have a masochistic preference for being scolded.”
Jillian teased with a bright smile.
“Duke!”
Creta, forgetting they were in the midst of a battle, raised his voice in frustration.
“Are you going to keep acting like this until the end?”
“Why not? I told you not to worry.”
“…”
“Have you considered how strange it is that you’re suddenly concerned about me?”1Well, I am concerned too😭
Jillian was now putting on his gloves. Once those were on, he would leave without hesitation or a backward glance.
“Duke Sylas said the same thing…”
Creta hadn’t meant to bring up a name that might strike a nerve with Jillian Baloch.
However, the emotions he had bottled up burst forth uncontrollably.
‘Don’t worry.’
That day, Sylas had smiled calmly as he followed the imperial guards summoned to escort him.
Right next door, the emperor was screaming in rage, veins bulging, demanding an immediate execution.
It was an uncertain situation, impossible to predict what might happen once Sylas was taken away.
Though one might think, ‘Surely, they wouldn’t execute someone like Baloch,’ the emperor’s unprecedented fury made everyone uneasy.
So, Creta had pleaded desperately. Begged him not to go.
If he could hold on for just a little while, Creta promised to rally the vassals, draft a petition to the emperor, and pacify the shaken nobles to shift the atmosphere.
But Sylas Baloch had refused.
‘I am a Baloch.’
He had said with unwavering certainty.
‘But, my lord!’
Creta had cried out.
‘If you go now, you might die!’
‘How can I refuse a summons from Termina?’
And that day, Sylas Baloch had passed Creta by.
Not with fear or hesitation but with a faintly excited expression, his long white hair fluttering behind him.
To this day, Creta could still see that white hair billowing in his mind’s eye.
And now, Jillian Baloch wore that same expression.
His face was even paler than Sylas’s had been back then.
Seeing this, Creta made up his mind. This time, he would not let it happen.
“You can’t go. Please don’t.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“This isn’t something you need to handle personally!”
“Whether I intervene now or later, it’s all the same—it’s my responsibility, Creta Barhan.”
Jillian adjusted his gloves, snapping them against his wrist with a sharp sound that echoed ominously.
A sense of dread swirled in Creta’s chest.
He stared intently at his master. Losing a master once was enough.
He didn’t want to go through the pain of losing someone again—not without fighting for them, not without doing everything in his power.
“But—”
“Creta Barhan.”
Jillian interrupted, his voice resolute.
“Then I suppose I must explain it to you.”
“…?”
As he pulled on the second glove, Jillian’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes cold but steady.
“There is someone I’ve kept waiting for for far too long. This time, I cannot afford to be late.”
It was more potent than any promise to return.
Snap.
The sound of his glove echoed sharply as Jillian motioned with his chin.
“Step aside.”
There was no reason to stop him, no argument that could hold him back.
The path Creta had blocked with his body was now clear as he stepped aside.
“The snow is heavy; you should head back inside now.”
***
The high priest lowered his head at the soft voice calling to him.
It was a young acolyte—no older than six.
“I still have prayers left to offer. You should go ahead without me.”
“No, High Priest. The Holy Lady has sent me to bring you back.”
The child’s cheeks flushed with excitement as he relayed the message.
“She’s prepared hot chocolate for us and said she’s waiting for you.”
“She invited me as well?”
“She said she’s prepared two cups and doesn’t want them to get cold.”
“I see.”
The high priest regarded the child, who beamed up at him with starry eyes.
Slowly, he unfolded his stiff knees, lifting himself from where he’d been kneeling in silent prayer.
The Holy Lady must have devised this clever plan, knowing he wouldn’t move otherwise.
The young acolyte, waiting patiently, asked curiously,
“High Priest, what were you praying for?”
“I made a wish,” he replied.
“A wish? You have wishes, too?”
“Dreaming is not forbidden, is it? What about you? Do you have a wish?”
The high priest gently took the child’s hand and began walking.
The small hand in his palm was cold—eerily similar to a memory of someone long past.
“I… want to see my mother.”
The high priest’s hand stiffened for a moment, veins momentarily visible before disappearing again.
“Has she become a star in the sky?”
“Yes. She rests now in the embrace of the gods.”
The child’s innocent words triggered a rush of memories.
Pale blue eyes, once luminous, and a voice filled with quiet guilt.
‘It’s all my fault.’
A familiar voice echoed again.
‘I should never have been born. Wouldn’t that have made everyone happy?’
The sight of a resigned smile devoid of hope or light.
That was when, against all reason, he had dared to dream.
It wasn’t mere chance that the Holy Lady had sent this acolyte.
She had chosen someone who bore a striking resemblance to that person.
How could she be so cruel?
Suppressing a shaky breath, the high priest mustered a smile for the child.
“Shall we pray for peace for your mother, the star in the sky?”
The Holy Lady’s wisdom had become a double-edged sword, cutting straight through his fragile resolve.
