Chapter 171 : The War Begins (1)
A strange chill prickled down my spine.
Something was here.
Then the stench hit me, a nauseating odor that stabbed at the back of my throat. It was the unmistakable reek of concentrated demonic energy, so foul it made my lungs seize, a primal instinct screaming at me to stop breathing.
My head snapped around.
Where?
A presence that strong had to be close. Very close.
I shut my eyes, extending my senses, my Aura pulsing outward in a silent wave. It swept across the ground, mapping the cathedral and its surroundings, searching for the source of the unnatural presence.
A moment later, I found it.
“…There.”
The word had barely left my lips when I conjured an arrow of pure Aura and loosed it into empty air.
KRA-KOOM!
A deafening explosion shattered the cathedral’s left wing, the concussive force ripping stone and stained glass apart. Just like that, the festival was over.
“What was that?!”
“Demonkin, again?!”
The Templars and the congregation stared, their faces a mixture of shock and horror.
The Saint had just destroyed the holy cathedral. The very notion was unthinkable.
“Captain, have you lost your mind?!” Lancelot yelled, his voice strained with disbelief. “I know you dislike the Pope, but this is—!”
“Quiet.”
I cut him off, my gaze locked on the ruined wing. I couldn’t afford to be distracted, not for an instant.
The demonic energy I sensed from that direction was subtle, yet its depths were immeasurable.
“No! This isn’t the time to be… Holy shit, what is that?”
Lancelot, who had been on the verge of flying into a rage, saw something in the wreckage and fell silent. So did I.
“…This is insane.”
The scene unfolding before us left me speechless.
From the heart of the wreckage, a figure was rising. A figure every soul on the continent would recognize from nightmares and cautionary tales.
“That’s… what I think it is, right?” Lancelot asked, his voice tight with dread.
“I’m afraid so.”
“…Damn it all.” He cursed, his knuckles white around the shaft of his spear. His reaction was only natural.
A hulking man, his entire body bound in chains. A strip of cloth covered his eyes, but his mouth was twisted into a grotesque, knowing smile. This was the being who had inflicted more harm on humanity during the last Great War than any other.
The Dimensional Leaper. A Demonkin.
“Get the people of the Holy Kingdom to safety,” I ordered Lancelot and the unit, already charging toward the chained man.
The creature’s terror wasn’t just its strength. It was its ability to remain cloaked from anyone below the rank of Grand Master.
And its power to summon an army.
A dry, rasping cackle escaped its lips. It pulled a framed mirror from its back and plunged it into the flagstones. The silvered surface flared with an unbearable light, tearing open a shimmering portal in the air above.
“Dammit!” I snarled, firing another Aura-imbued arrow.
<Divine Beast Invocation>
A colossal dragon materialized, its jaws agape as it lunged for the Leaper.
But it was useless.
The creature simply laughed, unafraid. It knew the divine beast couldn’t kill it.
It was right.
BOOM!
“My, what an aggressive welcome.”
A Demonkin in a pristine white suit stepped through the mirror, brushing a fleck of dust from his shoulder.
Seeing him, a guttural roar tore from Roxen’s throat. “YOOOOUUU!”
But the newcomer ignored Roxen completely. His eyes—and his mocking smile—were fixed solely on me.
“It has been a while.”
Pepia, the Count of Madness. He had appeared in the heart of the Holy Kingdom.
“Let’s save the pleasantries for later,” he said, his smile widening. “Business comes first.”
Behind him, an endless tide of monsters and Demonkin began to pour from the portal.
“Now, try to survive. Or perhaps you’ll run, just as you did last time.”
The second war between mortals and Demonkin had begun.
* * *
The walls of the Imperial Capital were in an uncharacteristic state of alarm.
“You! Halt! Do you know where you are?” a Guardian Knight demanded, his hand on his sword. “To approach the Empire in such a state… a visitor must be properly attired and—!”
“Move… aside.”
“The insolence…!”
“I said, get out of my way!”
A blood-soaked man, his arm missing and his leg bent at a sickening angle, tried to force his way past the guard. The two were locked in a tense standoff.
“You have a death wish!” the knight snarled, his face contorting with anger.
One had to have a liver not just of steel, but one that had been torn from their body entirely, to be so audacious.
“Must I cut you down before you learn some respect?!”
He would have struck down an ordinary intruder without a second thought. But this man was clearly the victim of an attack, not an aggressor.
Under normal circumstances, the knight might have shown mercy.
But an order had come from on high: defend the walls with your lives against any and all suspicious persons.
He felt a pang of pity, but an order was an order. He was a mere knight, not a commander. His duty was to obey.
“Be gone,” the Guardian Knight said, his voice low. “This is the only mercy I will offer.”
The bloodied man ignored him, instead turning his face toward the towering imperial walls and screaming with what little breath he had left.
“Your Majesty! Your Imperial Majesty!”
The sound was raw, desperate.
Enraged at being ignored, the knight drew his sword.
“…Fine. If you’re so eager to die, I’ll gladly grant your wish.”
Just as he raised his blade, the man collapsed, his strength finally giving out. His voice fell to a ragged whisper.
“Wiped out… They were all wiped out…”
“What?”
“The Demonkin… They wiped out the Ranger Corps…”
With those final words, the man’s head dropped, and he began to sob, his body wracked with grief.
The Guardian Knight’s expression froze, a knot of dread tightening in his gut.
“Are you saying the Demonkin have appeared?”
“…”
“Answer me!” the knight roared, shaking the man’s shoulder.
The ranger looked up, his eyes hollow, and gave a weak, shuddering nod.
“…Hell.”
The knight hastily called over another soldier, ordering him to carry the news to his superiors.
A short while later, the report reached the Emperor’s audience chamber.
“Your Majesty! The Demonkin… they’ve appeared!”
“…Speak,” the Emperor commanded, his voice a low baritone that betrayed no emotion.
The knight recounted everything he had learned.
“…A second great war is upon us.” The Emperor leaned back on his throne, pressing a hand to his temple.
He had known this day would come, but it had arrived far too soon.
The First and Second Princes were still at each other’s throats, the nobles and royalists poised for civil war. To face an external threat of this magnitude before settling their internal strife… it was the worst of all possible scenarios.
Worse still, the report mentioned one of the Twelve Nobles had emerged from the Demonic Realm.
The Grand Duke had warned him they were as powerful as the former Legion Commanders, but he had hoped it was an exaggeration.
This is, quite literally, the worst-case scenario.
With the Ranger Corps annihilated, their eyes and ears in the Demonic Realm were gone. Their only remaining source of intelligence was…
Baron Louis Vinn Berg. And the North.
Rumor held that the young baron was on the verge of becoming a Grand Master. The Emperor was suddenly grateful for the relationship he had carefully fostered.
“Send missives to all kingdoms under treaty with the Empire,” the Emperor commanded, his voice ringing with authority. “Inform them that we face a continental crisis. I am declaring martial law.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Arm every knight and soldier. Thanks to the Mithril provided by Baron Louis Vinn Berg, we will not fall so easily this time.”
He rose from his throne, his gaze sweeping over the grim-faced knights assembled before him.
“Knights of the Empire, do not fear death.”
Shing.
He drew the sword at his waist, its polished steel gleaming in the torchlight.
“For I myself will go to the battlefield and lead the Imperial Army.”
The hero of the first war, Emperor Caliban Fortia, clad in his suit of magical artifacts, had announced his return to the front lines.
* * *
Dammit!
I scowled, twisting the necks of the Demonkin swarming me.
<Battle King First Form: Dragonbreaker>
CRACK!
They died easily, but it brought no satisfaction. The catastrophe unfolding around us couldn't be solved by killing a few grunts.
“Lancelot! Carve a path!”
“Yes, sir!”
<Stormbreak>
WHOOSH!
Lancelot’s spear whipped up a furious gale, blasting a clear line through the horde directly to Pepia. I sprinted down it, barking orders.
“Kai, Roxen, cover me! Hans, you and Mihaila evacuate the civilians!”
“Understood.”
Before my words had faded, Kai and Roxen were at my side, their blades a blur as they cut down any Demonkin that got too close.
Hans and Mihaila began gathering the panicked civilians and guiding them away from the fighting.
With Hans’s healing and Mihaila’s divine power, casualties should be minimal.
Even Mihaila, so reluctant to use her divinity in the Holy Kingdom, had cast her reservations aside.
That left the true problem: Pepia and his portal. Smashing the mirror was our first priority.
“Kai, take the Dimensional Leaper’s head.”
“Yes.”
Kai melted into the shadows, reappearing an instant later behind the chained creature.
His mastery of stealth was now so profound, one could mistake him for the Veilmaster himself.
The problem was, even the Veilmaster would be no match for one of the Twelve Nobles.
Just as I expected, the moment Kai moved to slit the Leaper’s throat…
“A bit hasty, aren’t we?”
Pepia smiled languidly and caught Kai’s twin daggers between his fingers. He had blocked both Mithril blades with casual ease.
Then, as if to remind us of his status as a high-ranking Demonkin, he closed his hand with a smile.
CRACK!
With a sickening crunch, Pepia shattered the Mithril daggers in his bare hand.
“Oh, dear. Your weapons seem to be broken,” he mused. “Will you still fight?”
“…Yes.”
Kai’s voice was a low growl as he vanished back into the shadows. Gripping the hilts of his broken blades, he began circling, waiting for another opening.
“Hoh. A human who can wield the darkness to this extent,” Pepia noted, a flicker of genuine admiration in his eyes.
But it was fleeting.
His hand shot into the air, closing around an invisible throat. Kai materialized, choking, lifted off his feet.
“What a shame,” Pepia sighed. “Had you been born a Demonkin, you might have earned a seat among the Twelve Nobles.”
With a derisive scoff, he began to pour demonic energy into his grip, intent on crushing Kai’s neck.
Kai didn’t even scream.
“Impressive willpower, for an enemy,” Pepia admitted, nodding once.
He conjured a blade of pure demonic energy over his free hand.
“Now, die.”
The very instant the blade began to fall—CRASH!
Roxen appeared before Pepia.
“Your opponent is me,” Roxen snarled, his eyes bloodshot as he forced his lips into a broken smile. “You infernal dog.”