Chapter 432

Ricardo trembled as he looked at Scoban, his voice quivering.

"Captain... is this really your doing...?"

"Shut up! It’s not because of me!"

Scoban furiously shook his head.

This was absurd. How could he possibly be the harbinger of the disasters descending upon Ferdium? It was pure coincidence—nothing more. It had to be.

Clenching his teeth, Scoban forced himself to speak firmly.

"Let’s get a closer look."

"Closer?! You want to get closer?!"

Ricardo’s face went pale as he stared in disbelief, but Scoban nodded resolutely.

"We don’t know for sure what it is yet. It could be some other anomaly."

"It’s obviously a Rift!"

"Damn it! We still need to confirm it! We have to assess the rate of expansion and make an accurate report! Doesn’t this seem... unnatural to you?"

The eerie blue mist was spreading at an alarming rate, visibly expanding as they watched. Scoban had heard many accounts of Rifts, but none described such rapid growth.

This had to be investigated—he was a responsible knight, after all.

"We’ll just get close enough to check. I’m not planning to go inside," he assured.

Reluctantly, the patrol group advanced cautiously toward the expanding Rift. It wasn’t far, and their horses brought them to the edge in no time.

As they approached, Scoban stared at the dense blue fog in front of them, muttering to himself.

"This is... a Rift zone..."

He turned his head to survey the area, but the fog stretched endlessly in every direction. How long had this Rift been expanding to cover so much ground?

Ricardo scanned the surroundings and let out a panicked shout.

"I-It’s moving! The mist is coming toward us!"

The blue fog crept forward slowly but inexorably, visibly expanding even as they watched. At this rate, it would reach the northern fortress within days.

Scoban dismounted and cautiously approached the edge of the mist.

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He extended a hand, letting it pass into the fog. The mist wasn’t dense; visibility remained clear. It was simply vast, covering an area so large it seemed endless.

Beyond the mist, the terrain looked desolate, devoid of any sign of life.

Kaaarrrgh!

A distant shriek echoed from within the fog.

Though none of the patrol had seen it before, they all knew what dwelled inside the mist.

Scoban didn’t dare venture further. He turned to his men, his voice tight.

"Let’s head back."

Just as Scoban withdrew his hand and began to turn away:

Kaaarrrgh!

"Ahhh! Captain!"

Ricardo’s scream rang out as Scoban instinctively drew his sword, spinning around to face the threat.

Shing!

His blade, glowing faintly with blue mana, slashed through something emerging from the mist.

It was a Riftborn, its grotesque face twisted, razor-sharp teeth bared. Scoban’s strike bisected the creature, sending its upper body tumbling to the ground.

Fsss...

The severed body crumbled into dust, evaporating like ash.

The sight made it painfully clear that these beings were not of this world—foul, forbidden creations that had no place in existence.

"Ugh..."

For the first time, Ricardo and the patrol soldiers saw the horrific visage of a Riftborn, their faces turning ashen.

Kaaarrrgh!

Thud, thud, thud!

More shrieks echoed, followed by the sound of countless feet pounding the ground.

Scoban’s face went pale as he leapt back onto his horse.

"Retreat! We’re leaving now!"

The patrol immediately turned and galloped back toward the fortress, the sound of their horses’ hooves thundering against the ground.

When the Northern Army first mobilized under Fenris’s command, reports estimated that up to 100,000 Riftborn had emerged from the various Rifts scattered across the land. Even with local lords setting up defensive lines, the numbers had been staggering.

“Hmm...”

“Any reciprocation can come later. Right now, we can’t waste time haggling over terms.”

Ghislain’s argument held weight. Rutania was better off than most nations, largely because of his early preparations.

Rosalyn, while reluctant, couldn’t outright dismiss his reasoning.

“Alright. But I must say, Count Ghislain, you’ve changed.”

The man who once seemed obsessed with profit was now freely advocating for aid to others.

Unaware of his true motivations, Rosalyn couldn’t help but misinterpret his actions.

As a test, she broached another subject.

“By the way... sales for our cosmetics line have been dipping lately...”

It was only natural, given the widespread unrest. To mitigate losses, she had been considering scaling down operations and delaying payments.

But Ghislain’s response was immediate and detached.

“Stick to the contract. Payments must be made as scheduled.”

‘Why does he only do this to me?’ she thought bitterly.

Rosalyn flicked open her fan, hiding her face in frustration. While Ghislain freely handed out resources to others, he showed zero leniency toward her business dealings.

It was infuriating. Every meeting seemed to involve some form of financial wrangling.

Her frustration boiled over, radiating as a palpable killing intent. Ghislain instinctively leaned back in his chair.

‘What now? Did I say something wrong?’

He wasn’t the type to relinquish his rights without cause. If Rosalyn had explained her situation properly, he might have been willing to reconsider.

However, blinded by her own anger, Rosalyn skipped over such explanations. She was about to unleash another tirade when a messenger rushed in, panting heavily. Judging by his attire, he had come from Ferdium.

Ghislain seized the opportunity to rise from his seat.

“Oh, a message from my father? What’s the matter?”

“Your Grace! T-The rift—”

“What?”

“The rift has expanded to the vicinity of the Northern Fortress!”

The news sent shockwaves through the room. Ghislain and the others froze, their faces stiffening.

There had been no rifts in the north. Everyone had assumed the Salvation Church hadn’t had the opportunity to establish one in such a remote and barren region.

But now, a rift had appeared on the vast northern plains beyond their borders.

This was no ordinary situation. Even Ferdium, despite its strengthened defenses, wouldn’t stand a chance if the rift engulfed the fortress.

“Your Grace!” Belinda cried, her face pale.

Ferdium was like a second home to her. Allowing the rift to consume the Northern Fortress was unthinkable.

“Move the Northern Army immediately!” she urged.

Ghislain nodded slowly, his expression darkening.

It was an obvious decision. All his efforts and struggles thus far had been to protect their lands. Losing Ferdium would render everything meaningless.

As Ghislain weighed his options, his thoughts grew colder.

‘That bastard caused this mess.’

Rifts had never appeared in the north during his previous life. The nomadic tribes inhabiting the region were fiercely territorial, making it unlikely for outsiders to establish one in secret.

The Salvation Church had little reason to expend resources on such an endeavor. Their efforts had always been concentrated elsewhere.

But now, a rift had appeared on the northern plains. There was only one explanation.

‘Woroka.’

Woroka must have allied with the Salvation Church, offering them sacrifices to create this disaster.

Turning his gaze northward, Ghislain muttered to himself,

“Time is running out...”

With the rift so close to the Northern Fortress, there wasn’t enough time to mobilize the entire Northern Army. They would have to rely on the Penris mobile forces instead.

Even then, the rift’s expansion likely meant the presence of an overwhelming number of riftspawn.

Meanwhile, Woroka would undoubtedly bypass the fortress and attack Ferdium itself.

Ghislain clenched his fists.

‘And they’ll wreak havoc in the north.’

The northern territories were defenseless, their forces depleted to bolster the Northern Army.

If the Penris forces left for the Northern Fortress, the nomads would have free rein to pillage the lands, slaughtering indiscriminately and claiming the territories as their own.

It would be a logistical nightmare.

To counter this, Ghislain needed a force capable of intercepting the nomads.

‘Looks like it’s time to use them.’

The Northern Army had retained a reserve unit for emergencies, commanded by someone extraordinarily skilled. This individual, one of the few to rival the famed Mercenary King in Ghislain’s previous life, could undoubtedly hold the line against the nomads.

“Bring me a pen and paper.”

After a moment’s consideration, Ghislain began drafting a letter. As his pen glided across the parchment, he murmured to himself,

“If polite words won’t work, I’ll have to resort to threats again, just like last time.”

The memory of that previous encounter brought a faint smile to his lips.

This time, too, he would get the help he needed.