Former head of the Imperial Intelligence Sigma Division, Astra.

Officially, he was reported to have been purged.

But in truth, he was still alive.

Hidden somewhere in the harsh expanse of the North.

"I will produce results no matter what!"

Of course, his current situation was a bit unfair.

Yet, he had no grounds to complain.

From the failed assassination of the Northern Grand Duke to the rise of Mary’s Blessing and the establishment of the Renslett Church, someone had to take responsibility.

"I will repay His Highness’s grace!"

Considering the weight of his failures, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he had been executed for treason and his family destroyed.

However, the merciful Crown Prince had spared him, relegating him discreetly to a remote frontier. His family remained untouched.

"For the millennial Imperial family and the thousand-year Empire!"

For a loyal servant of the Empire, it was only natural to feel indebted.

"No matter how powerful the Northern Grand Duke is, they cannot control the entirety of the North. I’ll exploit every gap I can find!"

Astra operated in the outskirts of the Northern Grand Duchy, where the Duke’s influence was relatively weak.

From there, he poured all his efforts into rebuilding Sigma’s shattered network.

Avoiding the watchful eyes of the Duke’s enforcers and the notoriously hostile Northerners who would glare daggers at any outsider, he moved carefully, step by step.

"A message from the center?!"

Then, an opportunity presented itself—much sooner than expected.

"Archbishop Terezia is coming? To the Northern Demon Zone? And she’s meeting with… the black magicians of the Demon Den? That lunatic?!"

And it was monumental.

***

Not long after.

In a remote corner of the Demon Zone, another secret meeting threatening the North took place.

A meeting unknown to the Northern high knights, the Grand Witch, or even the Northern Grand Duke.

"What a truly cursed land this is, reeking of human folly and divine severity alike."

Archbishop Terezia, clad in a pristine white silk robe adorned with golden threads, remarked as she observed the barriers erected by the black magicians.

She waved her hand repeatedly, as if brushing away an unpleasant stench.

"And how fitting it is for such a cursed land to host a gathering of misfits like yourselves."

Her gaze turned toward the shadowy figures clad in dark robes, standing ominously in the distance.

"Take it as a compliment, fanatic."

The black magicians, their gray bandaged faces partially visible under their robes, observed Terezia with unsettling green glowing eyes.

"Fanatic? Hah! I’ll take that as a compliment too!"

Despite her zealous faith, Terezia seemed to retain a minimum capacity for situational awareness.

This was the heart of the Demon Zone, right at the doorstep of the Demon Den.

Surprisingly, Terezia dealt with the black magicians with more flexibility than one might expect.

Phew…

Astra, tasked with guiding the Archbishop, let out a long sigh of relief at her surprisingly composed demeanor.

"Why on earth would someone of her stature come here?"

Though questions continued to swirl in his mind, Astra chose to focus on his immediate duties.

"Hahaha… Given how busy everyone must be, shall we move straight to the point?" he said, attempting to mediate between the black magicians of the Demon Den and the Archbishop of the Imperial Church.

"You’ve already conveyed the purpose to me, Astra," replied Isaac, the necromancer and representative of the Demon Den.

"We are fully prepared. As soon as we receive it, we can begin."

"Y-yes, but just to ensure there’s no miscommunication, I thought it best to…"

"There’s no room for miscommunication," Terezia interrupted, her voice sharp.

"Deliver it."

With a gesture, the high priests who had accompanied her stepped forward, carrying something toward the black magicians.

It was a coffin.

"To think we’d find a proper use for this troublesome thing," Terezia muttered, looking at the coffin with a peculiar expression.

"The gods are truly merciful, granting even cursed beings like you a chance for redemption."

Her gaze alternated between the coffin and the black magicians.

"…"

Isaac also glanced between the coffin and the priests who had brought it, before finally speaking.

"You’re even worse than we are."

The reason for the Archbishop’s personal involvement became clear—it was the coffin.

Only someone of Terezia’s rank could suppress the entity contained within it.

"To face the abyss, one must sometimes become an abyss greater than it," Terezia responded, her lips curling into a sardonic smile, seemingly unfazed by Isaac’s accusation.

"With this, our transaction is complete. I wish you success."

Terezia and her high priests began preparing to leave, eager to spend no more time in the cursed zone than necessary.

Fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh.

The black magicians were of a similar mind, hastily dismantling the barriers they had erected.

"Ah!"

Terezia suddenly turned back, as though she had just remembered something.

"While I understand why we’re here, why do you black magicians hate Renslett so much?"

"Debts must be repaid, whether in kindness or vengeance. It is the way of the North," replied Isaac.

"And why is that?"

"We have lived in the Northern Demon Zone for generations, far longer than the witches have."

"Are you saying you’re Northerners too?"

"You wouldn’t be wrong."

"So, you have some old grudge against Renslett?"

"To be precise, it’s a debt owed to the first Grand Duke Rune Renslett and the apprentice of the woman in that coffin," Isaac explained, offering no more than that.

"Ah, I see. I think I understand," Terezia said with a mocking laugh.

"But are you sure about this? If Renslett and the witches fall, you could be next."

Whether it was a warning or a provocation was unclear, but the words carried weight coming from the highest-ranking cleric.

"Do you think so?"

Isaac’s sneer was accompanied by a cold retort.

"Who else is as suited to doing your dirty work as we are? The Imperial family, the nobles, the Church—they all need us. Just like right now."

Isaac’s glowing green eyes shifted toward the coffin.

"…Unbelievable," Terezia muttered, furrowing her brow in clear distaste.

She turned fully and began walking away briskly.

Astra quickly followed, trailing behind her with hurried steps.

***

The Imperial Palace.

"The transaction in the Demon Zone has been completed," reported Ricard, the current head of Sigma.

Crown Prince Kanbraman nodded slowly, his expression heavy with thought.

"The Archbishop must have endured considerable hardship."

"You’ve made significant political concessions to enable this, Your Highness," Ricard remarked.

Kanbraman grimaced, as though tasting something bitter.

"To elevate that Entir Bishop to sainthood... Ridiculous."

The Crown Prince mentioned the name of the current head of the Bishop Company, who had been making waves across the Empire.

"Power-hungry maniacs… Not that I have any room to talk."

Entir Bishop, after returning from the North, had begun employing and feeding the poor, establishing a faction with the nobility.

Naturally, the Imperial family had sought to suppress him.

"And now I can’t tell who’s more corrupt."

But then, the Church intervened.

Using Entir Bishop’s generous donations and his charitable acts as justification, the Church pressured the Imperial family.

"What if we clamp down on Entir now?"

"It would harm public opinion, Your Highness, especially given the Church’s involvement."

Even the poorest citizens couldn’t be ignored—they were many, and numbers formed public opinion. When unified, public sentiment could sway even the mightiest forces.

And in the Empire, no organization was more adept at managing public sentiment than the Church.

"We’re supposed to be uniting, not tearing each other apart…"

It was obvious that the Church was using this opportunity to curtail the Imperial family’s power.

"Entir’s actions are getting far too blatant. He used to align himself with Havana’s conservative policies. Did he quarrel with his wife? Or did the North uncover some leverage against him?"

"Despite all that, he’s still showering you with gold and treasures, isn’t he?"

"It’s not unusual for merchants to play both sides," Kanbraman replied coldly.

"My apologies."

"Those bribes are nothing more than payment to overlook the protests from craftsmen and guilds."

Kanbraman found Entir Bishop increasingly irksome. His sudden trip to the North was suspicious, and…

"Could he have found out?"

The Crown Prince’s tone hinted at deeper concerns—concerns Ricard understood immediately but chose not to comment on.

"Can we eliminate him? Through assassination, perhaps?"

"There have already been several attempts… but they’ve failed."

"Failed?"

"The mercenaries protecting him are extraordinary."

"Do we know their identities?"

"They are led by a mercenary captain named Phil, but upon closer investigation, they appear to be Carpe the Mercenary King and her Redwolf group in disguise."

Kanbraman clicked his tongue in frustration.

"North, the North must be dealt with. Only then can we resolve Entir, the Church, the Noble Assembly, and the Alliance all at once."

Ricard waited for the Crown Prince to finish his train of thought before responding.

"This is why we’re working so hard on our schemes, Your Highness. The strategy of flooding the market with cheap porcelain to undermine the Northern economy may have failed, but…"

"This time, we will succeed," Ricard said with conviction.

"Like before? Think of Astra, exiled to the Demon Zone."

"No matter how capable Arad Jin may be, he won’t be able to handle this plague."

"You do realize that Arad Jin is skilled in healing as well," Kanbraman noted skeptically.

"The plague we’ve prepared this time isn’t ordinary. It’s a plague laced with black magic," Ricard clarified.

The last scheme Sigma attempted had been a massive famine; this time, it was a large-scale plague, enhanced with black magic.

"A plague imbued with black magic cannot be treated by conventional healing methods. Only counter-magic or curses can dispel it."

"But the North has witches, who excel in curses and black magic."

"That’s why we’ve enlisted the Church’s help. The entity inside that coffin will render the witches powerless. It is the very source of the curse that binds all witches."

"Do you really believe this will work? Frankly, I’m not convinced," Kanbraman admitted.

Ricard, however, saw through the Crown Prince’s hesitation.

His Highness doesn’t want this plan to succeed fully.

The Crown Prince’s goal was clear: to inflict significant damage on the North, but not to allow the Church to gain the upper hand.

He’s trying to wrest back control from the Church.

Both the Imperial family and the Church are playing the same game, Ricard thought with a sigh.

"If this fails, what will you do, Your Highness?"

"If it fails… I’ll lament the loss. Without success, the curse binding the witches will lose its effect, and their magic will grow even stronger," Kanbraman said, feigning nonchalance.

"And I’ll find another way."

The schemes against the North had all failed, and the region was now poised for unprecedented growth.

"If that method fails, I’ll find yet another. If necessary, I’ll unleash the full Imperial army, even if it means breaking the Empire apart."

Despite his composed demeanor, Kanbraman’s eyes burned with obsession and madness.

"The North must be brought under my control. No matter what."

"!!"

Ricard, witnessing the fire in the Crown Prince’s gaze, felt his earlier disappointment vanish.

"By the way, what’s Julian up to these days?" Kanbraman suddenly asked about his son.

Brilliant, kind, and gentle—traits that were ill-suited for the turbulent times.

"Recently, he’s taken an interest in painting," Ricard replied, nervously sweating.

"…Painting?"

The mention of art, and all it implied, froze Kanbraman’s expression.

"I must! Without fail! Solidify the Empire’s foundations in my time!"

His lips remained silent, but his heart roared with determination.

His thoughts briefly turned to his delicate son before fixating once more on the North.