—WHOOOOSH.
The land of winter lay at the northernmost edge of the continent.
In that place where snow fell throughout all four seasons, a pillar of blue light suddenly surged into the sky.
—WHOOOOM.
The impact sent the white snow scattering through the air like mist.
“Oh... this place is......”
“So this is the North we have only heard about.”
—CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
A group of mages looked around and murmured in quiet admiration.
Watching them was a middle-aged mage who clicked his tongue softly.
His name was Raphael, a resident of the North known as the Master of the Blue Magic Tower.
“When I begged them for support, they would not visit even once if their lives depended on it.”
Raphael muttered too quietly for anyone to hear and furrowed his brow.
When he had begged them to come to the North and replace his aging equipment, they had pretended not to hear him. Yet one dose of Northmedi had brought them running with their tongues hanging out.
They had even prepared a large-scale teleportation array they normally refused to use because it consumed too much mana.
Raphael might have been one of the Masters of the Magic Towers himself, but mages truly were no gentlemen.
He sighed at the thought.
—SWISH.
Then he looked toward Gray Castle, faintly visible in the distance, where the Grand Duke of the North resided.
Fine. He admitted it.
Whatever else one might say, drawing those high-nosed old coots from the Magic Towers here in one stroke with a single medicine was impressive.
‘I brought them here as promised, so the rest......’
Depends on what you do, Your Grace.
Raphael murmured to himself, then lightly clapped once to draw everyone’s attention.
He pointed toward Gray Castle.
“Now then, I will guide you from here. As you can see, the North is extremely cold, so please take care.”
The others nodded in understanding, pulled their thick coats tighter around themselves, and laughed heartily.
“Honestly, Raphael. It would hardly be the North without a cold like this.”
“It is a splendid view, if anything. Ha ha.”
The representatives answered in cheerful harmony, gathered together in a warm and friendly group.
The sight was heartwarming enough to bring a smile to any observer.
Raphael also gave them a thoroughly sour smile and clenched his fist.
‘Those... those damned, shameless old coots...!’
Yes, yes. Please live a fucking long life.
Raphael muttered to himself and released another deep sigh.
But only for a moment.
“Very well. Let us set out immediately, my esteemed seniors.”
Raphael forced himself to smile.
The corners of his mouth trembled faintly, but there was no chance that men bewitched by the angel called Northmedi would notice.
***
How much time had passed?
Before long, the group led by Raphael safely reached the village.
The first sight that greeted them upon their arrival was none other than—
“Heave!”
“Hup, hrrngh! Whew!”
The men of the North were moving around while carrying logs and boulders.
As for where they had left their shirts—
Every last one of them had stripped to the waist and was putting on a full-blown festival of masculine physiques.
“......?”
Raphael narrowed his eyes in confusion, but before he could speak—
“Hmm? Why, is that not Master Raphael?”
They quickly spotted Raphael and the group of mages.
—THUD.
They lowered the logs they had been carrying on their shoulders.
Heat shimmered around them like a mirage from their sweat and body heat.
—HISSSS....
Yet what stood out most of all was their physiques.
Behold!
Those forearms looked ready to burst, and those grand pectorals were magnificent.
Every man before them boasted muscles that might as well have been carved from stone.
“Oh......”
“This is... the North?”
The elderly men from the Magic Towers behind Raphael let out exclamations they could not conceal.
Mages were commonly imagined as pale and feeble weaklings.
These men truly were the sort who shut themselves away in cramped rooms to do nothing but research, making them a stark contrast to the Northerners.
The scene looked as though withered branches had been placed beside mighty logs.
Their admiration lasted only a moment.
The elderly mages cleared their throats for no reason and wrapped their thick coats even more tightly around themselves.
Raphael stared at the muscle-flexing Northerners and let out an incredulous laugh.
“What in the world are you all......”
Even Northerners did not walk around half-naked in weather like this just to show off their muscles.
If anything, these fellows normally complained every day that they were freezing to death.
What kind of idiotic stunt was this?
But before he could finish speaking—
The men of the North hurriedly slung their arms around Raphael’s shoulders and covered his mouth.
“Ha ha! Master Raphael, it has truly been ages since we last saw you here in the village!”
Raphael had come down to the village only recently to buy provisions, so he had no idea what they were talking about.
More importantly, these bastards normally spoke in the North’s distinctive dialect. What wind had blown through their heads and made them start using standard speech that did not suit them at all?
“Did all of you eat something rotten or......”
But at that moment—
One of them, a man with exceptionally massive muscles—
Baldus, the village’s young chief, covered Raphael’s mouth again and whispered.
“Shh, come on, brother. How can you be so slow on the uptake? You think we’re doing this because we want to?”
“......What?”
He had already thrown away the standard speech from moments ago.
He spoke in his usual rich dialect.
“So please, get those gentlemen moving and hurry them over to Gray Castle. At this rate, we’re all really going to freeze to death!”
He stamped his feet as if he were freezing and urged Raphael onward.
A moment later, Raphael looked between him and Gray Castle and let out a small sound of realization.
Damn it. It was the Grand Duke again.
“......His Grace ordered you to do this?”
“Yes! His Grace said he’d pay us quadruple and told us to put on this bullshit whenever unfamiliar gentlemen came to the village!”
“Good heavens.”
Raphael gave an incredulous laugh and smacked his forehead.
—SMACK!
Oh, Your Grace.
You truly are determined to milk these mages for everything they are worth.
Raphael glanced behind him.
—SWEEP.
The men of the North were already laying it on thick with dazzling patter for the old men from the Magic Towers.
“S-So every man in the North possesses a body like this?”
“Bwahaha! Of course. This is the North! The North! A man needs a body like this before he can call himself a Northerner.”
Each of them struck a pose and showed off his rugged, masculine muscles.
Every pose drew exclamations of admiration from the crowd.
“Ha ha, we owe it all to the Kolheim that grows wild in the North.”
“And more importantly......”
The men glanced around, then whispered to the North’s guests.
“This stuff is reeeally good for men, but I just cannot put it into words. I mean, every night, my wife—oof! She just! Ah!”
“Oh......!”
Their sales patter had reached its absolute peak.
Raphael watched them and asked Baldus—
“Do not tell me that line was also......”
“Yes. His Grace gave it to us.”
“Good grief. The North is in fine shape.”
Was this the North or a den of merchants?
In any case, the Grand Duke of the North was absurd for ordering it, and the Northerners were just as absurd for obeying him.
It was enough to leave Raphael speechless.
But on the other hand, he had no choice but to admit it.
Walter had deliberately distributed Northmedi and even prepared a show like this.
For all Raphael complained, he had personally tasted Northmedi’s powerful effects as well.
And once a man had tasted them—
Raphael knew better than anyone how difficult it was to break free.
The old men from the Magic Towers swallowing such third-rate theater whole was proof enough.
“Come to think of it, I saw His Grace puttering- puttering- around Gray Castle, preparing something or other... Have you got any idea what it might be?”
“I cannot say I have no idea at all......”
At Baldus’s question, Raphael rubbed his chin and stared anxiously at Gray Castle.
If this bullshit was already happening at the entrance to the village, what in the world was Walter doing inside Gray Castle?
But only for a moment.
“Still, what choice do we have?”
“......”
“Now that matters have come this far, we must see them through to the end.”
Remember.
The North had to prosper first if the Blue Magic Tower was to survive.
Raphael renewed his resolve and clenched his fist.
“Come, my esteemed seniors. Let us proceed to Gray Castle.”
Raphael led his seniors from the Magic Towers, who had yet to recover from the North’s festival of masculine physiques, toward Gray Castle.
The sight was reminiscent of the Pied Piper.
***
Time passed, and they entered Gray Castle.
Within the banquet hall at its center—
Raphael and the other mages were seated together.
What made the scene unusual was their appearance.
The mages and even the maids attending to them all wore half-masks over their faces.
The scene was reminiscent of a masquerade ball.
The moment they had entered Gray Castle, the maids had been waiting to greet them with the masks.
They were part of the rules for the banquet.
The first rule, as they could see, was that everyone in the banquet hall had to wear a mask.
The second was that no one could use another person’s real name. They had to address one another by aliases they had chosen for themselves.
The Master of the Golden Magic Tower—or rather, ‘Count Dran’—spoke to Raphael.
“Rapha... no, Sir Bould. The North has many amusing events. Ha ha. Had I known, I would have visited long ago.”
Sir Bould.
That was Raphael’s alias for the banquet.
Raphael laughed and looked at the man in the elaborate golden mask.
Then you should have come when I asked for support at the last meeting, you fucking bastard.
Or so he nearly said.
Raphael nodded and smiled faintly.
“Seeing how pleased you are brings me joy as well, Count Dran.”
“By the way, when will the Grand Duke......”
“Ah. His Grace should be making his appearance shortly.”
That was what Raphael said, but even he did not know when Walter would appear.
Fortunately, everyone had shown interest in the events prepared by the North so far, but Raphael could not be sure how long that interest would last.
There was only one thing he wanted in this situation.
Please. Please do not ruin this atmosphere.
It was obvious at a glance that Walter had scraped together every coin he did and did not have to arrange this occasion.
‘If all of this comes to nothing......’
Raphael was certain.
The North would be ruined.
Above all, from the moment Raphael made his agreement with Walter, he had boarded the same boat.
In the end, he had no choice but to trust him.
Walter Levior, the head of House Levior.
The Grand Duke of the North.
The master of the North who had inherited the Heart of Winter.
And then—
—CLICK.
In an instant, every light in the banquet hall went dark.
Pitch-black darkness filled the hall, leaving them unable to see even an inch ahead.
Then—
—SCREEECH.
The scraping sound of a violin broke the silence.
—RAT-A-TAT-TAT....
Timpani and drums began beneath it.
And that was not all.
A double bass and flute joined in, followed by an organ and harp.
Then—
—BLAAAAARE...!
A thunderous trombone filled the banquet hall.
FLASH!
Every light in the hall flared to life at once, illuminating the balcony on the second floor.
A man in a black half-mask stood there.
—FLAP!
Wearing a black fur coat, he strode proudly onto the balcony.
One, two, three.
At his restrained gestures, the grand orchestra began to play in unison.
“Oh...!”
Exclamations rose throughout the hall.
Before they knew it, the banquet hall had transformed into a stage overflowing with a symphony.
But that was not the end.
—DUM-DUM-DUM-DUM...!
As the majestic symphony resounded, the rhythm began to quicken, starting with the beat of a small drum.
FLASH!
Lights ignited on both sides, revealing choirs.
““Northmedi, your wife loves it! North~medi, the answer to men’s troubles. Every day, just like the North!””
Lyrics reminiscent of a certain commercial jingle rang out together with a beautiful aria.
The melody was nothing short of sacred—in the sexual sense.
How much time passed like that?
—SWEEP.
At a gesture from the man in the black half-mask, every instrument and every voice stopped at once.
He bowed courteously.
—SHHHH....
White crystals reminiscent of snow drifted through the air.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Winter White. As the lord of Gray Castle and the host who arranged today’s gathering, I offer my greetings to the exalted sages who have personally traveled all the way to the North.”
This was Walter Levior, the Grand Duke of the North.
No—
He was Winter White, the sole owner of , which would soon spread throughout the royal capital.
This was the beginning of his magnificent debut.