“Hah, hah…!”
His lungs felt like they were tearing apart.
Elian sprinted like a madman down the unpaved road of the domain as darkness settled over the land. The cold night air scraped down his throat and left the taste of blood. But he couldn’t stop. Even a moment’s delay and he risked losing his people right before his eyes.
“Aaagh! Monsters!”
“Run! Everyone run!”
The construction site was in absolute chaos. Torches lay scattered on the ground, workers screaming in terror as they scattered in every direction. And at the center of it all — there they were.
“Grrrr….”
Bodies a full head taller than any human, hulking frames covered in coarse fur, and glowing crimson eyes burning in the dark. Werewolves. And not just one or two. Counting only the pairs of eyes flashing in the darkness, there were easily more than ten.
A scouting party, they said! What kind of scouting party shows up in a whole pack?!
Elian swallowed his curses. They were cunning. Before the main force arrived, they had targeted the most vulnerable point to neutralize the defenses. The foundation of the wall — still not fully set.
CRASH! One werewolf leaped down onto the freshly poured concrete. The grey slurry, not yet cured, crumbled helplessly beneath its claws.
“No!”
Elian screamed.
“Get out of there, you filthy mutt! Do you have any idea how much that concrete cost?!”
Elian’s vision went red. That wasn’t just cement.
That’s my blood, sweat, and points right there!
That was the foundation of a Grade S defense wall — built with points earned from being groped and manhandled by the Grand Duke! And now those filthy claws were tearing through it. If the foundation cracked, the entire wall could collapse later.
“My Lord! You mustn’t come any closer!”
Hans shouted desperately, but Elian couldn’t see anything beyond the damage in front of him. He snatched up a shovel handle that had fallen to the ground and stepped forward.
“Everyone get back! Get off the concrete and move outside!”
Elian swung the shovel and bellowed. At the sound, the werewolf that had been tearing into the concrete lifted its head. Yellowish drool dripped from its muzzle. It sensed it instinctively. That pale, frail-looking human — it smelled of Mana. Deliciously so.
“KRAANG!”
The werewolf kicked off the ground and launched itself at Elian. It happened in an instant. Sharp claws came hurtling straight for his throat.
Oh, I’m going to d—
Just as Elian was about to squeeze his eyes shut —
CLANG —!
A sharp ring of metal, and a flash of blue light blazed before his eyes. Simultaneously, a wave of brutal, biting cold.
“…Huh?”
Elian opened his eyes. A massive ice sculpture stood before him. It was the werewolf that had just been lunging at him — frozen solid in mid-leap, locked in place exactly as it had been in the air. And then —
Shhring.
Behind the ice sculpture stood a man, black uniform coat billowing around him. A longsword in one hand, crimson eyes surveying the battlefield below. The ruler of the North.
“…Your Grace?”
It was Calix. He flicked his sword casually, as if swatting away a nuisance — and the werewolf’s body shattered into pieces and scattered across the ground. Clatter. Fragments broke apart like shards of glass and rained down at Elian’s feet.
“Without my permission.”
Calix murmured quietly. His voice was low, yet it cut clean through every sound on the battlefield and reached Elian with perfect clarity.
“Do not touch my Lord.”
The killing intent radiating from his body turned the surrounding air to ice. The remaining werewolves flinched and drew back. Their animal instincts were screaming a warning. That man — don’t touch him. He is an apex predator.
But they had nowhere to retreat. A scouting party’s mission was one they carried out with their lives on the line. Three werewolves launched themselves at Calix simultaneously.
“You’re in the way. Elian, stay back.”
Calix readjusted his grip on the sword. His movements were clean and elegant. Every time the blade cut through the air, white frost traced the arc behind it.
Slice. Crack!
The ones grazed by Calix’s sword couldn’t even scream before they froze and crumpled to the ground. A display of power that far surpassed the realm of any human. Proof that the Grand Duke of the North’s reputation — that he could take on an entire army alone — was no legend.
Elian stood there, staring blankly at his back. The cold that had always been used to torment him — turned against an enemy, it became the most reassuring shield in the world.
Wow… he really is an absurdly expensive bodyguard.
The admiration lasted only a second. Elian’s gaze dropped back to the ground. Calix was cutting down the werewolves one by one — but the chaos of the battle was wreaking havoc on the concrete foundation beneath them.
No. If it sets like this, it won’t have the right tensile strength.
The current state was no different from a wet slurry of water, cement, and gravel. Left like this, air bubbles would form and cracks would spread — and when the main force arrived in 48 hours, there’d be nothing to stop them.
I have to cure it. Right now.
There was only one way. With trembling hands, Elian opened his System Window.
[Current BP: 5,500]
[Available Skill: Emergency Curing]
― Effect: Infuses Mana to maximize the hydration reaction, instantly hardening the structure.
― Cost: 5,000 BP
“Five thousand….”
Elian’s lips trembled. These were the points he’d earned by enduring every shred of humiliation in that bathroom. And he had to spend them all in one shot. But if the wall fell, his people would die — and so would he. This was no longer about money.
“Damn it, my meat! My flour!”
Elian cried out with the resolve of a man going to war.
“Your Grace! Drive them toward the top of the wall! I’ll handle the rest!”
“What?”
Calix paused mid-swing — a werewolf’s neck half-severed — and turned around. The Lord had thrown down his shovel and was on his knees, both hands pressed flat against the muddy mortar on the ground.
“What are you trying to do?”
“A billion-won plastering job!”
Elian squeezed his eyes shut.
[Skill Activated: Emergency Curing!]
[5,000 BP will be consumed.]
Wuuuung —!
A golden pulse of Mana radiated outward from Elian’s palms. At the same moment, a massive plume of steam erupted from the grey slurry that had been soft just moments ago.
SSSSSSS —!
“GRRAUGH?”
The werewolves that had been scrambling across the ground lurched in panic, trying to lift their feet. But it was already too late. The Mana-infused concrete triggered a chemical reaction at a speed that defied the laws of physics. Moisture evaporated in an instant, and the particles bonded together, hard as steel. CRACK. CRUNCH!
“YELP!”
The ones with their feet embedded in the concrete screamed. The moment they tried to pull free, the ground that had been liquid just a heartbeat ago hardened like solid rock and locked around their ankles.
In an instant, a fifty-meter stretch of the wall’s foundation transformed into smooth, white bedrock. Reinforced concrete imbued with Mana. The foundation of a Grade S fortress — one that wouldn’t so much as chip if an ogre rammed into it — was complete.
“…Hah.”
Calix watched the scene with an expression of pure disbelief. He’d seen mages raise earthen walls before — but turning a ground of wet slurry instantly solid? That was a kind of magic he’d never seen.
He had an ability like this.
Inside Calix’s mind, his assessment of Elian’s capabilities was being rapidly revised upward. The werewolves with their feet trapped were now rats in a barrel.
“I’ll finish this.”
Calix gave a short, quiet laugh and swung his sword. Cutting down targets that couldn’t move was nothing at all. The situation was over in moments.
“Hah… hah….”
Elian lay face-down on the ground, drawing ragged breaths.
His head was spinning. He’d poured out the equivalent of 5,000 points’ worth of Mana all at once, and now the symptoms of Mana exhaustion had hit him. His vision went dark, and he couldn’t move so much as a finger.
But… I did it.
He ran his hand along the smoothly hardened ground. It was warm to the touch. A perfect cure — the heat of hydration still lingering within it.
“If we just build on top of this, we can hold off the main force too….”
And then, without warning, Elian’s body tilted limply to the side. Just as his face was about to hit the cold ground —
Thud. A firm, cool arm curled around his waist and lifted him.
“That was reckless.”
A low voice. Calix. Elian looked up at him through blurring vision. The reflection of himself in those crimson eyes was a sorry sight — drenched in sweat and grime, with blood trickling from his nose on top of everything else.
“Your Grace….”
“Don’t speak. You’re on the verge of passing out.”
Calix clicked his tongue and swept Elian up into his arms. A bridal carry. Under normal circumstances Elian would have recoiled — but right now he didn’t have the strength to resist.
“Did you know….”
Elian mumbled.
“This… this was really expensive…. Be careful… don’t scratch it….”
“Ha.”
Calix let out a short, incredulous laugh. Here he was, having just brushed the line between life and death — and all he could talk about was the floor. But he didn’t find it irritating. If anything, he found it endearing. Exhausted and barely able to hold himself together, and yet he’d poured every last bit of his strength into protecting his people before collapsing.
What a strange man.
Calix let Elian’s dirt-caked head rest against his chest. The faint warmth radiating from Elian’s body was pleasantly cooling the cold that had spiked in Calix during the heat of battle.
“Don’t worry.”
Calix whispered quietly into Elian’s ear.
“I’ll protect this expensive slab of yours. Not a single scratch.”
A faint smile spread across Elian’s lips. As if reassured, he gripped the hem of Calix’s coat tightly — and sank into the deep dark.
The night of the red moon.
The king of winter carried his burning Lord in his arms, walking slowly toward the manor. Behind them, the white-hardened foundation shone like an unshakeable shield.
