Northern stood before his grotesque angel of death. The monster, as usual, maintained a feral indifference.
Whether he was a slave or no longer one, it did not seem to care.
Even the Nightterror, in fact, Northern couldn’t tell if the monster remembered knocking him out and kidnapping him. But he suspected it did.
Something then happened that made Northern’s eyes widen.
The grotesque monster lowered its head and took a step back as Northern attempted to walk.
Northern paused, a confused frown etched on his face.
‘Eh? What is this?’
The monster that he suspected might be of Hellion rank was bowing to him.
Cautiously, Northern made his way through the door, still looking with unbelieving eyes.
As he walked forward, the monster followed behind him, but Northern had glanced back more than ten times before they reached halfway to the entrance of the dark alley.
He stopped, turned to the monster with a dark frown. He pointed at it and then forward.
“How about you walk in front and I’ll walk behind you?” he instructed with a furrowed brow.
The monster, without unnecessary movements, put one leg after the other and ventured forward.
Raising his brows, Northern mused internally:
‘Interesting, they understand well…’
It wasn’t far-fetched considering there was a slight spark of intelligence in the way they looked.
They went forward, and after a couple of minutes, they reached the surface, and after a few more treks, they emerged at the yard of the castle.
There were several hideous creatures, most with bipedal legs and black fur, almost resembling the Nightterror but far inferior in size and aura of destructibility.
They did not make him cower in the least.
They were all sparsely gathered in the open sandy area, with a slightly elevated platform standing in the middle.
As they reached, his angel of death bowed again and stopped walking. Noticing his arrival, the other monsters, a little over a hundred of them, turned and bowed their heads in the same manner, parting to carve out a path to the platform for the human standing before them.
Northern, appalled, did not know what to make of this situation.
‘I figured since the lord of the castle gave me a sword, I would be some sort of warrior. But are they straight-up making me a general?’
Northern stood for a couple of seconds, stunned by surprise.
After recollecting himself, he cautiously walked to the podium and climbed. Immediately he did, all the monsters below him went on their knees.
The atmosphere became tense, as if they were waiting for something.
Northern was not sure how to communicate with monsters, so he raised his sword in the air and let out a wild, feral cry—the best his hoarse voice could muster.
Surprisingly, the horde of monsters returned his yell with an even wilder outburst, their cries shooting high into the sky, threatening to split it apart.
Northern felt his heart tremble, a faint smile making its way to his face. He didn’t know if it was a rush of excitement or a momentary fear from how heavy and thunderous their shout was.
But either way, it seemed his attempt had miraculously worked.
The monsters’ glared at him with their primal eyes gleaming with a terrifying amount of hope. It wasn’t a spark, it was a tremendous flame of trust placed in the one that stood before them—that was what their eyes reflected.
Northern collected himself and looked down with a slight show of surprise.
‘Did… did I really just become a war general?’
It seemed that was the case. He had gone ahead and become a war General to a bunch of monsters.
The corner of his lips curled awkwardly.
“Damn, I don’t know whether to be excited or to be scared,” he muttered to himself.
He slowly climbed down the platform, and when he walked out of his horde of monsters, the Nightterror was already waiting for him.
The monster gave him a long glance before stretching something toward him.
Northern’s face crumpled into a scowl.
‘This bastard… he remembers after all.’
In that split second of scowling at the Nightterror, Northern was not sure – or was he? He could have seen the monster smirk, or he could have been imagining it.
He collected his cross-bottomless bag regardless and stared at the monster with no particular emotion.
But the Nightterror was still standing in front of him with a deadpan expression.
Northern returned the stare for a couple more seconds, but it soon grew awkward. He was about to leave when another monster came into the yard with a clinking chain, at the lower end of which a white-furred, purple-growled pup vexatiously.
But the monster holding the chain did not seem to care, as if the fangled critter was merely threatening to bite.
Northern’s eyes became round.
“Mr. Fluffy!”
The vexed pup suddenly paused its arrogant snarls at the monster and threw its head forward. Its eyes lit up with sparkles the next second, its tail-less backside dancing left and right.
The Nightterror gestured toward the monster with a hand wave. The latter crouched and removed the shackles from the critter’s neck.
Even as the monster tried to free it, Mr. Fluffy snarled desperately at it—teeth still sharp and white as needles—
consistently throwing its head toward Northern, anxiously waiting to run to him.
As the chains fell, it sprawled into motion, falling and rising from its short legs as it reached Northern—circling him and kissing his boots.
Northern chuckled lightly as he watched the little mutt.
‘Would you look at this guy, I doubt we even knew each other for an hour and he’s already fond of me.’
He raised his head back at the Nightterror, who was now walking away from the yard. It stopped and turned.
Then gave Northern an intense gaze that chilled his blood. Just as the Nightterror was about to step into the entrance, a deafening horn resounded through the sky of the castle.
Northern’s face was contorted by strong horror.
‘I recognize that sound!’
Only now, it sounded closer than before.
When it had sounded last time, the prison mine had opened, and they were taken to the battlefield to die as meat shields.
For one, Northern was not a slave again, so he wouldn’t die as a meat shield. However, he was now in an even direr situation than the last.
He is a general. There’s no mistaking it, that horn was a call to war.
Northern was sure about that part.
However, if it really is what he suspected it to be… that means he’d be marching to war very soon.
Northern looked at the Nightterror, who gave him a sidelong glance before walking into the darkness of the chamber beyond.
‘Crap, crap, crap, that bastard looks like he’s enjoying something! Crap once again!’
