Chapter 179 : The War Begins (9)
After the battle concluded, the Grand Duke began to thaw the ice.
“Huh…?”
“What… what happened?”
The Templars and my soldiers stared blankly at the melting landscape. From their reactions, it seemed they had no memory of the battle at all.
It made sense. If the ice could both trap and defend while leaving those inside conscious, it would be an absolute defense. The Grand Duke’s technique, it seemed, was not quite so omnipotent.
“What in hell happened?” Lancelot strode over, demanding an explanation.
I kept it simple. “Roxen took care of it.”
“…Seriously?” Lancelot asked, his eyes filled with disbelief.
I nodded shamelessly.
It wasn’t a lie. He may have only dealt the finishing blow, but it was Roxen who had ended the creature’s threat.
“Hand him over to the Inquisitor-General. He’ll die after a lifetime of agony.”
“…It does seem that way.” Lancelot nodded, glancing at Pepia.
The creature was still screaming, a sword embedded in his chest, rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Ugh…”
Lancelot grimaced and shook his head.
In any case, for a sudden invasion, we had weathered the first battle well.
The Holy Kingdom was half-destroyed, of course, but that could be rebuilt.
“Then I suppose I should begin.”
“Begin what?” Lancelot asked.
I paid him no mind and walked toward the victims.
The victims of this war. The people who had been twisted into grotesque mounds of flesh.
Some had died in that state; others still breathed. I could not bring back those who were already gone, like Roxen’s family…
But I can save those who are alive.
And I could free the dead from Pepia’s grasp.
With the Halo—a power known as a divine miracle.
Vwooooom.
I summoned a vast amount of Aura, channeling it into the Stigmata.
Blood trickled from the mark as a crown of thorns materialized above my brow.
I raised my hand and pointed toward the surrounding horrors.
In that instant, a wave of pure, silver light radiated from me, my sanctified Aura washing over the Holy Kingdom.
It swept through the grotesque mounds of flesh, unraveling Pepia’s corruption and restoring them to their human forms.
“Huh?”
“I’m… I’m alive.”
The restored believers looked around, dazed. Some broke into tears, offering prayers to the Goddess.
I swallowed the groan that threatened to escape my lips.
My head throbbed from the massive expenditure of Aura.
But I could not stop.
Next, I extended my hand toward the dead.
The bodies of Roxen’s family and the others dissolved into motes of light, rising into the air like a thousand silver butterflies before fading into nothing.
Watching his family go, Roxen managed a faint smile.
“…Go on ahead,” he whispered.
With those words, he returned to my side. Lancelot watched him with a strange expression but said nothing.
Finally, when the last mote of light had vanished, I released the Halo and closed my eyes.
My head was pounding, but I could not show any weakness here.
Just then, a hand steadied me.
“You’ve done well.” Lea was at my shoulder.
She had wanted to fight, but the Grand Duke had frozen her to keep her safe.
She had every right to be disappointed, but I was relieved. No matter how strong she was, she had not yet reached the level of Grand Master.
I could not know what might have happened.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for saving my father.”
“It was necessary to win the war. You don’t need to thank me.”
“Please don’t keep trying to push me away.”
Damn… she sees right through me.
I let out a soft, wry laugh and steadied my breathing.
Just as I allowed myself a moment of relief, a lone figure appeared on the horizon, approaching the entrance to the Holy Kingdom.
He was just a small dot, but something about him felt ominous.
<Clairvoyance>
I should have been focused on recovery, but I activated the ability just in case.
“…Dammit.”
A curse rose in my throat.
The soldier’s face was streaked with tears, his body covered in blood.
He carried a large banner.
It bore the crest of the Empire, set against a field of black.
My blood ran cold.
“…It seems the Empire has been defeated,” I said in a low voice to those beside me.
A black standard. The Empire’s signal for absolute defeat.
“Urgent news! Urgent news! The Imperial Capital… has fallen to the Demonkin!”
* * *
Caliban Fortia, Emperor of the Fortia Empire and hero of the First Great War, tasted his own blood.
There was only one reason a man of his formidable power, armed with the Imperial Family’s unique Dark Relics, could be in such a state.
Age.
Age was a cruel thief. It had stolen the hero’s boundless stamina, leaving him with only experience and grim determination.
He had cut down countless Demonkin, as befitting his legend, but his efforts were rendered meaningless. The Imperial Army was facing a crushing defeat.
The Emperor ground his teeth at the scene unfolding before him.
The Imperial Palace, the symbol of the Empire, was burning. Imperial citizens were being slaughtered in the streets.
To make matters worse, the Empire’s own elite knights had become puppets, turned against their comrades by the Demonkin’s power.
It was all because of him—the demon who had appeared out of nowhere.
A boy who looked like a mere child.
The war had turned the moment the blond-haired boy appeared.
“Please, run…!”
“N-no…!”
Tears streamed down the faces of the Imperial Knights as they swung their swords. They were killing the very people they had lived and bled with for decades.
Puppets in a horrific play.
Watching them, the boy burst into gleeful laughter.
“Puhahaha! More! Kill more! Isn’t that what war is all about? Killing and being killed!”
The Demonkin forces swarmed, slaughtering the Imperial Army.
The Imperial Army killed their own, weeping as they did.
What kind of hell was this?
…This is impossible.
The Emperor clenched his fists, his lips raw.
It should have been impossible for Demonkin to appear so deep within the Empire’s borders.
Had they not activated the Dark Relics? The devices had been placed throughout the capital to prevent dimensional travel, a lesson learned from the First Great War.
And yet, they had invaded.
How?
The demon boy sneered at the Emperor, his eyes seeming to mock him for his confusion.
…Could there be a traitor?
The boy’s gaze sparked a hypothesis. If someone within the Imperial House was colluding with the Demonkin, it would make sense.
Only someone inside the palace could deactivate the magical wards.
However, even within the palace, only a few held that authority.
The direct imperial line. Himself and his sons.
…No.
The Emperor frantically scanned his surroundings.
If, by some chance, one of his own sons was the culprit…!
He would show no mercy.
It can’t be… It can’t be…
The Emperor fought to deny the thought as his eyes swept frantically for his first and second sons.
Then—something appeared before him.
“My, to have fallen so quickly. You’ve grown weak, Father.”
A familiar face. The second prince—the very son he had been so desperately seeking.
“Ah… ah…!”
But instead of roaring in fury, the Emperor only stammered, his mouth agape.
After all…
“My, wasn’t this the face you were looking for?”
Only the head remained, dangling from the hand of a masked youth.
The masked figure chuckled and tossed the head to the ground with a soft thud.
“I brought a gift, but you seem displeased.”
“…You… bastard.”
“Yes?”
“You baaaaaaaaaastard!”
The Emperor’s eyes blazed as his Aura erupted.
His Mithril sword gleamed, radiating a menacing energy as the magical devices around him hummed to life, turning their hostility toward the enemy. He looked ready to burn away the last of his life force.
Seeing this, the young man only sneered. “Hah! If only you’d shown such fire when I died.”
“Silence!”
The Emperor roared and swung his sword.
But his blade was caught in the young man’s bare hand, failing to leave even a scratch.
“The man who wouldn’t even acknowledge his abandoned son now pretends to be human.”
“What do you know?!”
“I know everything.”
Click. The young man removed his mask.
“Because I was abandoned by you, too.”
“You—you are?!”
The Emperor’s rage evaporated, replaced by a hollow shock that stole the air from his lungs.
It was a face he knew all too well. A face he had not seen in decades, but one he had mourned more than any other.
“L-Leo! Is it truly you?!”
Leo Fortia, the Third Prince of the Empire.
His son, lost decades ago, now stood before him, fully grown.
The Emperor, stunned, lowered his sword. “What… what is this…?”
Impossible.
His son was dead. He had personally executed the High Elder of House Praha who was responsible.
This had to be a trick.
The Emperor gripped his sword tightly. He had to cut the impostor down, but his heart screamed that this was his real son.
“Are you truly my son?”
“I was your son,” Leo said, his smile a razor’s edge. “Now, I am a child of the Demon God.”
With a snap of a finger, tendrils of demonic energy shot forward, clamping tightly around the Emperor’s throat.
Shhhhaaaack!
The Emperor gasped, his body twisting, but he could not break free.
Finally, he gave up and glared at Leo. “H-how could you do this…!”
“Haha… You’re not even pretending to be happy to see me anymore.”
“After what you’ve done… you have the nerve to say that?!” the Emperor roared.
The day he lost his third son was the greatest regret of his life. He had thought he would gladly give his own life just to see him again.
But not like this. Not a son who had orchestrated the fall of the Empire and become a servant of a Demon God.
This was wrong.
He had not expected a touching reunion, but he had wanted to talk.
“Guhhh!” The Emperor choked for breath, glaring.
Leo’s eyes locked with his father’s.