As the suzerain of the Free Nation of Freedom, it wasn't strange for the Ymir Empire to send troops to reclaim the lost lands of its vassal.
If anything, it was strange that Freedom had already fallen for half a year before the Empire finally decided to act.
From afar, Hel watched as a cavalry unit thundered past.
Only when the last rider disappeared into the snowy horizon did she crawl out from the snowbank where she had been hiding.
They probably never imagined that a little skeleton could even pretend to be dead.
Coupled with her ability to suppress her aura, she looked no different from an ordinary pile of bones — that was how she managed to fool them.
"Looks like the three great empires are preparing to reclaim all their lost territories… and then seal the beastmen beyond the Watcher's Wall."
Hel murmured as she gazed in the direction the cavalry had gone, her expression thoughtful.
If things truly went as she hoped, then Heim's domain could finally return to peace.
She would no longer have to worry about the Witch of War.
But… would things really go so smoothly?
Somehow, she had a bad feeling — that the Empire's campaign wouldn't go as planned.
And indeed, events unfolded just as Hel feared.
When the cavalry reached the capital of Freedom, they were halted by the Death Knights guarding the city.
And the one who forced this army of ten thousand — an army led by a King-ranked powerhouse — to stop… was another King-ranked being.
"The old King of Freedom? I didn't expect you to end up like this."
The commander of the imperial army, a knight clad head to toe in heavy armor, raised his spear and pointed it toward the battlements.
There stood an old knight shrouded in a thick, deathly aura — the former King of Freedom, once the mightiest warrior of his nation.
"Captain of the Second Imperial Knight Order, why have you brought an army to invade my capital?"
As the old king spoke, the death energy around him thickened, chilling the air for miles.
The once-clear sky darkened under the weight of his power, clouds rolling in like an approaching storm.
"King of Frey," the legion commander declared, "have you forgotten the duties a ruler must uphold? As a king, you should have remained true to your faith — to the light and to the Empire's will. Since you still possess your mind, why cling to this rotting shell instead of returning to Valhalla?"
The old king laughed bitterly.
"Valhalla? That is nothing more than the delusion of fools who fear death. My master, the Witch of the Underworld, the goddess who governs the Yellow Springs, has already told me the truth. There is no Underworld. No Beyond. No Valhalla.
When people die — they die. Their souls slowly fade away with time, until nothing remains."
"Blasphemy!"
The commander roared, lowering his spear and charging forward.
He knew the man before him was no longer the king he once served.
The moment he became an undead, he ceased to be the ruler of Freedom, ceased to be a noble of the Empire, and ceased to be a child of the Light.
He was now a heretic — a servant of an evil god.
"The stubborn one here is you!"
The old king leapt from the walls, his twin greatswords flashing as he met the charging knight head-on.
The clash of two King-ranked powerhouses was nothing short of apocalyptic.
Several of the undead flies Hel had sent for reconnaissance were annihilated by the shockwaves.
Terrified, she immediately withdrew the rest, ordering them to keep a safer distance.
"The Underworld and the Beyond… don't exist? What does that mean?"
As she retreated further away, Hel couldn't stop thinking about their conversation.
According to the Sanctum Church, Valhalla was where the brave and faithful went after death —while ordinary souls merely crossed over to the Beyond.
Meanwhile, the Supreme Church claimed that all dead souls would enter the Underworld,
and only the heroic dead would be welcomed into the divine realm of the Death Lord.
But according to that old King…
the Witch of the Yellow Springs had never found such a realm at all.
If even the one who held the divine authority over death could not sense an Underworld…
then perhaps it truly didn't exist.
Otherwise, why would the Witch of the Yellow Springs, knowing that slaughtering all living beings was a doomed path to godhood, still persist on it?
Was it because… she had no other choice?
Hel pondered quietly.
She had already reached Tier Five, and within a few months she could likely advance to Tier Six.
Tier Seven was the mortal limit.
She would soon have to decide her own path to apotheosis.
As the embodiment of death, her divine duty was to bring death to all living things.
But did she really have to become a walking catastrophe — a calamity to all life?
Or… should she instead create something — a realm for the dead to belong to?
A true Beyond. A real Underworld.
Perhaps that was the world's missing piece.
Hel shook her head.
In truth, she still knew too little about the continent.
Maybe when she had time, she should talk more with the Witch of Magic — that old and wise scholar among witches.
Perhaps she could glean some inspiration for her own godhood.
There was also the Witch of Fate, of course — that ancient monster who had lived for who knows how many eons.
But Hel didn't particularly want to get too close to her.
People who toyed with fate were rarely anything but scheming devils —the kind who smiled while stabbing you in the back.
So Hel had been avoiding the Witch Council for some time now.
Even her magical correspondence with the Witch of Magic was done through the Fate Cards' communication feature.
While Hel was lost in thought, the battle between the two Kings neared its end.
The legion commander, afraid of harming his men, was holding back.
The old king, being undead, no longer cared for such things — and fought with reckless abandon.
Even so, the commander — supported by the Empire's superior resources — held a slight advantage.
The duel raged for hundreds of exchanges, the ground torn and the sky dimmed.
Then, suddenly —from within the city, a new figure burst forth, charging straight at the legion commander!