While Arina and Arad continued their warm conversation, they seemed entirely unaware of how the Frostblade knights were observing them.

"Anyway, you’ve worked really hard today. You must be tired, so go home and rest. Actually, why not take the next three days off?”

“Three days off? Oh no, that’s not necessary! I’m fine. I can keep working.”

“No, rest is important.”

“Wait… Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? Not at all. This is a reward for your hard work.”

“……”

“This is what we call a flexible work schedule.”

“Flexible… what?”

“It’s a thing. Anyway, go home and rest. And if anyone from your main job complains, let me know. I’ll go talk to the Grand Duchess myself.”

“…Understood.”

“By the way, where do you live? Shall I escort you?”

“No! It’s fine! Really, I’m fine!”

“Is that so? Well, security is important. Very well, then, head home safely.”

“Yes… Um, may I still visit the company even on my days off?”

“Why would you come to work on your day off? I’m not a tyrant.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Get some rest!”

“Y-yes…”

The Frostblade knights—Eothe, Logie, and Carrot—who had been listening in, exchanged puzzled glances, silently communicating with hand signals as they continued to eavesdrop.

“She’s being told to take a break, so why does she seem unhappy about it?”

“Exactly… Some of us can’t even get a break when we want one.”

“Could it be because she won’t get to eat Sir Arad’s cooking? Is that chicken dish really that amazing?”

“No way. It’s her day off. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, maybe in the old days, but now there’s Arad Salt everywhere.”

Most baffling of all was Mary’s reaction. Despite being granted three whole days off, she didn’t seem the least bit happy, leaving the knights puzzled.

“Whatever flexible means, three days of rest sounds pretty enviable.”

“When was the last time we had a proper break?”

“Maybe I should quit being a knight and apply for a job at Arad’s company.”

“Just hold out until this mission is over. We’re on emergency duty now, but once we get more personnel, we’ll at least get shifts for rest.”

In the end, they decided it didn’t matter much. Their sole mission remained the same: ensuring their target’s safety.

“Well then… I’ll be heading out now,” Mary said.

“Take care. You’ve worked really hard today,” Arad replied.

“…Thank you.”

Mary left with a dazed expression, caught off guard by Arad’s unexpected gesture of kindness.

‘Logie, escort Silver. Your perimeter is from here to the Renslet main castle.’

Eothe, their leader, gave instructions while watching Arina walk off toward the inner city.

‘Should we only escort her that far? What about on her days off?’

‘Within the castle, Lady Isabelle and Sir Balzac will handle her safety.’

‘Understood.’

She truly must be another child of the late Grand Duke Baikal.

Logie, the youngest in their group, nodded at Eothe’s explanation and began discreetly following Arina.

‘We’ll continue to secretly guard Gold.’

The remaining two focused on their duty, watching over Arad and his creations.

Shortly after, officials and witches from High Castle arrived and were captivated by the detector Arad had developed.

Their awe grew louder when they were introduced to the fertilizer he had created. But it was the name of the fertilizer that finally left them stunned.

Gasps and whispers filled the air as they tried to process what they’d just heard.

***

There once was a farmer who lived in a small village in the North, growing rye just as his ancestors had done for generations.

The farmer originally had ten siblings, but six of them died before reaching adulthood.

Two of them succumbed to illness and the harsh cold before they could even learn to walk, while four others were devoured by monsters and wild beasts during their teenage years.

By the time the farmer came of age, his parents, too, had perished in an avalanche while out gathering firewood.

Although he was born the third son, he became the eldest and head of the family simply by surviving.

The farmer took on his responsibilities with unwavering dedication, raising his two younger brothers and a sister to adulthood.

His efforts bore fruit.

His sister grew into a fine young woman and married a blacksmith from a neighboring village.

His two brothers, seeing the difficulty of farming life, left home to become adventurers.

The farmer could offer them nothing but two silver coins each as they departed for the city.

Ten years passed. During that time, the farmer married late in life and had five children of his own.

But joy seemed to end there.

His sister, who had married the blacksmith, died giving birth to her third child.

As for his brothers who had gone to the city, he hadn’t heard from them in over a decade. They were likely dead.

The farmer’s devotion and sacrifice seemed to have resulted only in bitter outcomes.

And now, at this moment, the farmer stared blankly at his field, muttering to himself.

“Ancestors… is it my turn now?”

Beside him stood three of his children and his heavily pregnant wife.

He had once had five children, but two had succumbed to the brutal Northern winters, buried in the ground before they were even named.

“The leaves in the field are all wilted!” cried one of the children.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” whined another.

“What do we do now…?” asked his wife, her voice heavy with worry.

The children’s innocent complaints and his wife’s anxious words didn’t even register in the farmer’s ears.

“……”

He just stood there, silently gazing at the land that had withered overnight.

What was he supposed to do now? He’d heard that the lord would provide food aid. But there was a catch—it wasn’t a gift. It was a loan against their land.

Though he was illiterate, he understood all too well what that meant.

At that moment, a witch riding a broomstick appeared in the village skies.

Witches were a rare sight, and the farmer had never seen one before. If not for these dire circumstances, he probably never would have in his lifetime.

“They say the spirits suddenly went berserk, and that’s why this happened?”

According to rumors, a wicked individual had caused the spirits to rampage, and these berserk spirits were rapidly draining the land of its vitality.

The witches had descended from High Castle to suppress the rampaging spirits as best they could.

Crack.

The farmer clenched his teeth unconsciously as he watched the witch.

“Because of those witches…!”

He didn’t believe the official story.

There was another rumor circulating secretly among the villagers.

“The farms in High Castle! The ones managed directly by the witches! They say those lands have become far more fertile!”

Rage boiled inside him.

What had he done to deserve this? Why couldn’t they have simply raised the taxes?

“May the ancestors never forgive them!”

The reverence and loyalty he had held toward High Castle his entire life began to crack.

Resentment, doubt, despair, and frustration filled the void it left behind.

***

One fateful day, as the unrest in the North grew increasingly turbulent, a figure of authority descended upon Shuen, one of the few fiefs in the North where farming was still possible despite the harsh climate.

It was an Enforcer dispatched from High Castle.

Enforcers: A walking judiciary made up entirely of elite knights.
The kind of people that even an entire village attacking at once couldn’t scratch.
They were humans in name only—figures who seemed to belong to an entirely different dimension.

The mere sight of the Enforcer, even from a distance, quelled the frustration and resentment that had risen to the villagers’ throats. His overwhelming presence made the villagers feel as though they weren’t looking at a fellow human but someone with literal blue blood running through his veins.

“I will be surveying the village and its surrounding area for some time. Leave five men to assist me with my work, and the rest of you return to your livelihoods. Those who help will be compensated in silver coins.”

“I’ll do it! Choose me!”

“No, pick me first!”

“Quiet, you fools! The chief is here!”

“Yes, my lord. Hey! You idiots, stop yelling and settle down!”

The Enforcer who had arrived in the village was somewhat peculiar. In his hands, he held a magical device about the size of two adult fists combined.

It was a circular object made of leather and wood, with a flat, mirror-like mana stone embedded at its center. Faint magical patterns glowed softly on its surface.

“Careful… be careful…”

Even though he was an Enforcer, a figure of immense strength and authority, he handled the device as if it were a sacred relic.

From among the many eager volunteers, five strong villagers were chosen, including the farmer himself, who had lucked out and secured a spot in the group.

The Enforcer and his chosen assistants roamed the village for hours. As the sun dipped a third of the way down the sky, the Enforcer suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Here! This is it! I’ve found it!”

His voice rang out with the excitement of someone discovering a gold mine.

“Here?”

The middle-aged witch accompanying him immediately responded, planting her broomstick into the ground and closing her eyes in concentration.

For about three minutes, she remained still, and then her eyes slowly opened.

“Well?” the Enforcer asked.

“Wow! Such a clever barrier! No wonder it went unnoticed!” the witch exclaimed.

“So, this is the cursed place?”

“Yes! I’ll break the barrier right away!”

Without hesitation, the witch began murmuring incantations, drawing strange powders and liquids from an ornate, peculiar-looking bag on her hip and scattering them around.

The Enforcer stood guard beside her in silence. His eyes radiated such hostility that anyone who dared approach would have been cut down in an instant.

Though the villagers, including the farmer, found the witch’s actions unsettling and dubious, none dared interfere.

“It’s done! Now, dig here!”

The witch’s spell was surprisingly quick, and the intricate barrier was shattered sooner than expected.

“Dig immediately!” the Enforcer commanded, directing the men with shovels.

They dug deep into the ground, until the hole reached their thighs. That’s when they found it.

“What… what is that?!”

“It’s real! It’s actually here!”

From the earth emerged a small black obelisk, ominous and foreboding even at a glance.

“This… this is an Imperial Golden Tower spell!” the witch muttered, her brows furrowing.

“The Empire! Those bastards planted this accursed obelisk here!” the Enforcer roared, drawing his sword and smashing the obelisk with a single blow.

A chilling wail echoed through the village as though the land itself screamed in agony.

“[Kyaaaaaaaaah!]”

“The Empire! Those wretched Imperial scum are behind this for sure!”

“They conspired with dark sorcerers to drain the North of its life force!”

In an instant, the mood of the village shifted. The previously simmering resentment now exploded in unanimous condemnation of the Empire.

“Damn the Empire! They’ll pay for this!”

“May our ancestors curse their wretched souls!”

Even the once-docile farmer, who had harbored his doubts and grudges silently, redirected all his anger and hatred toward the Empire.

This scene wasn’t unique to the farmer’s village. It was happening all over the North simultaneously.

However, a pressing problem remained.

“What do we do now?”

“It’ll take years for the land to recover… What are we supposed to eat in the meantime?”

“Damn those Imperial scumbags! Is this why they were so quick to lower food prices?”

“Ancestors, please, watch over your pitiful descendants…”

Though the source of the calamity had been found and destroyed, the immediate crisis persisted.

Around this time, a rumor began spreading rapidly across the North.

“Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“Our Grand Duchess has been fasting and praying to the ancestral spirits of the Renslet family.”

“Praying? For what?!”

“For blessings and salvation to be bestowed upon the lands of her people.”

“!!”

The news struck a chord with the people of the North, especially the farmers, who were on the brink of despair.

“We must pray too! Let us join her prayers!”

Moved by her actions, the people began organizing prayer gatherings across the North.

“If Her Grace is fasting and praying, we must do something too!”

“Let’s hold prayer meetings every morning in the village square!”

“We’ll pray here in Haven as well!”

“If Haven is doing it, our city can’t be left behind!”

“By order of Her Grace! Pray, but do not fast yourselves!”

“Such mercy! And to think I briefly doubted her…”

“But, Your Grace… even if we wanted to fast, there’s nothing left to eat…”

“Shut up and start praying!”

A wave of prayer swept across the North.

“Who should we pray to, though? Our ancestors? Should we make offerings?”

“No, let’s pray to the ancestral spirits of the Renslet family. It’s better to focus our prayers than scatter them everywhere.”

“Right! Let’s build an altar in the village dedicated to the Renslet ancestors!”

“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”

What had once been a rallying cry reserved for loyal knights and soldiers of High Castle now echoed from the mouths of every Northerner.

Please, ancestors of Renslet, take pity on this land. Bestow upon us something that can revive the dead soil.

Thus began the North’s first PR and viral campaign.

It would later become the foundation of the North’s official religion: Rensletism.