Chapter 195 : The Marquis of Envy, Leo Fortia (2)
At that very moment, as the northern army clashed with the Demonkin…
I was adrift in a black, weightless void
Where am I?
Who am I?
I couldn’t remember a thing. My mind was a haze, my senses blurred as if by some potent drug.
Am I dead?
The thought was a reasonable one.
But then… a sound like tearing fabric echoed through my mind.
—My child, I will not lose you in the next life.
Agh… What is this voice?
I clutched my head, a scowl twisting my features. A splitting, crackling pain shot through me, as if my consciousness itself were being gnawed to pieces.
I wanted to scream, but no sound would come.
I pressed my palms to my temples for what felt like an eternity before the fog finally broke.
My name. My situation. It all came flooding back.
“…I am Louis von Berg. Son of House Berg, husband to the heir of House Praha.”
As my memories returned, the fog cleared, and sensation began to seep back into my being.
Right.
I had fought the Demonkin army, then closed my eyes to rest. I had entered my Mindscape to defeat Myu, one of the Twelve Nobles. And after that…
“Ugh…!”
Another throb of pain shot through my skull.
I forced myself to focus, my eyes scanning the oppressive darkness.
“…Where am I?”
Was this my Mindscape? Or had I pushed myself too far and finally died?
“…No. That’s not it.”
I dismissed my earlier thought with certainty. Someone facing death for the first time might have believed it, but this was not my first time. My experience told me this was not death, but the deep abyss of unconsciousness.
My body was simply resting.
It made sense. I had been pushing myself relentlessly. From the battlefields of the Holy Kingdom, across the northern mountains, to the duel with Myu, I had lived on the razor’s edge, never once allowing myself a moment of true rest.
This shutdown was inevitable.
“…I should regain consciousness soon.”
I assessed my state with cold logic. My mind was intact; this was merely the consequence of profound physical exhaustion. I would likely awaken within the hour.
Still… what was that voice?
The image of that little girl, her voice so strangely familiar. She looked like the one from my Mindscape, but older now.
…Who is she, to keep appearing to me?
I closed my eyes, picturing her face.
One possibility came to mind: the Goddess of the Beginning, Anatrasha. Since my Mindscape was connected to her, it stood to reason she would be the one to appear.
The question was why.
“…I don’t know.”
Why did she exist within my mind? Why did the sight of her make my heart ache? It wasn’t love—not the kind I felt for Lea. This was something else entirely.
Perhaps, in time, I would understand.
I sank back into the darkness. I figured I had an hour. Until then, all I could do was wait and think.
* * *
While Louis drifted in that inner darkness, the Demonkin scourge erupted across the continent.
Nowhere was the assault more sudden than in the Trading Kingdom of Diva.
In the waters off Diva’s coast, countless Demonkin swarmed the merchant fleets, tearing ships apart.
“Hold back the merfolk!”
“Bring the cannons to bear!”
War.
Not since Enoxia herself had settled in Diva had the kingdom known it.
“Do these creatures dare target Diva?”
Enoxia unleashed the Third Strike of her combat art: Annihilation.
KRA-KOOM!
Her fist struck the water, and the sea itself detonated. The shockwave erased an entire division of Demonkin in a flash of steam and spray.
“Tsk.”
Enoxia stood in the ensuing downpour of seawater and blood, a weary sigh escaping her lips. She’d had a bad feeling ever since the so-called Marquis of Fear had made his move.
It seemed the Demonkin army was finally on the march.
The Second Great War of Humans and Demonkin.
The prelude to a war she had prayed would never come again.
“I wonder how that student of mine is holding up,” Enoxia muttered, another sigh clouding the air.
The boy had no innate talent for her arts, but he’d practically stolen her techniques with his monstrous affinity for Aura.
His archery alone was enough to earn him the title of Divine Archer. The latest rumors claimed he’d saved the Holy Kingdom…
They’re calling him the ‘Holy Archer,’ are they?
“Heh. A fitting title.”
A wry chuckle escaped her. She produced a cigar, lighting it with a flick of her thumb. Smoke plumed around her head.
“Well then,” she said, the cigar clamped between her teeth. “Can’t let my student show me up. Time to get to work. Martel, you too.”
“…With respect, Lady Enoxia, think of the others. Not everyone is a living legend.”
“Then it’s our job to protect them, isn’t it?”
Her Aura flared like a sun. Enoxia launched herself back into the fray.
One strike, one kill.
The nightmare of the First Great War, the living legend herself, was back on the battlefield.
* * *
In the County of Berg.
“It seems the young lord is doing well.”
“He was always at his best when left to his own devices. It seems maturity has only sharpened that quality.”
“Indeed.”
Clang! Clang!
The County of Berg was also engulfed in the flames of war. A Demonkin army swarmed the lands, and the people of Berg were dying.
“Oh, no!”
Just as a child was about to be run through by a Demonkin’s sword…
Squelch.
The Demonkin’s head imploded with a wet crunch.
“These greenhorns call themselves an army?” Count Berg scoffed. “They’ve never even seen a true war. It’s laughable.”
He retracted his spear, his eyes glinting with cold fire. He had recently reached a new state of enlightenment, and he could feel his spear arts evolving with every thrust.
“I was on the verge of a breakthrough. This is perfect. There is no greater teacher than the crucible of battle.”
“Father.”
“Get the people to the shelters. I am more than enough for this rabble.”
Count Berg planted the butt of his spear on the ground.
He gathered his Aura, then unleashed his signature art. “Tempest Fangs!”
A storm of pure force erupted from his spear, splitting in two and lunging forward like a pair of colossal fangs. The tempest tore through the enemy ranks.
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Screams echoed across the field.
“Do not flee!” he roared. “The armies of the old Legion Commanders had more courage than this!”
BOOM! BOOM! KABOOOM!
The Demonkin were cut down, their corpses littering the blood-soaked earth. Just as the tide of battle turned…
“Well now… what else would one expect from the Holy Archer’s bloodline?”
A youthful voice drifted from behind the Demonkin lines.
“What?”
The Count frowned, his eyes scanning for the source.
A small boy.
A boy with a deceptively innocent face hopped onto a pile of Demonkin corpses.
“Hello,” he said with a bright smile. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“…Who are you?”
“Me?” The boy tilted his head. “In your terms, I suppose you’d call me a Legion Commander. We prefer the title of Twelve Nobles.”
The Count’s Aura flared, his stance shifting into one of lethal readiness.
“Oh?” The boy’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Most people just accuse me of spouting nonsense. The strong truly are different. I suppose there’s a reason you’ve lived this long.”
The boy sneered and flicked a finger.
A sickening sound of cracking joints and tearing sinew filled the air. All around them, the dead—both knight and Demonkin—began to stir, lurching to their feet.
Undead? The Count’s eyes narrowed. No.
They moved with too much vitality. They were too… fresh. True undead draw on demonic power that accelerates their decay, leaving them as skeletons or rotting husks unless they are of the highest order.
And he could sense no demonic energy.
Instead, he could feel a faint echo of the power they’d held in the final moments of their lives.
Which meant…
“Marionette,” the Count breathed, his voice laced with a new kind of venom. “You wield that cursed Aspect.”
“Bingo!” the boy chirped, clapping his hands. “You must be a veteran of the First Great War, then.”
Marionette. The demonic Aspect that had turned the First Great War into a singular nightmare. With it, neither the living nor the dead could find peace.
“Are you this generation’s War?”
“The very same,” the boy confirmed. “I killed the last one and took his Aspect. The old fool was obsessed with defiling human corpses.”
He shrugged. “So inefficient, don’t you think? War doesn’t need to be dirty to be won. And he called himself War.”
The boy snapped his fingers. The reanimated corpses twitched, their movements becoming perfectly synchronized.
“I’m different. I don’t grant my puppets the luxury of consciousness.”
A cold smile touched his lips.
“They are merely pawns. Tools to be used until their bodies fall apart, living or dead. But even I see the value in exploiting human emotion from time to time.”
The boy pointed a casual finger at the Count.
“Your son has become a significant obstacle for us. Lord Crio himself gave the order: turn everyone here into soldiers for our cause and bring them to the front.”
He put on a fake, mournful expression. “And a good subordinate follows orders. So, if you would kindly become my pawn, I’d appreciate it. It’s so much easier to play with emotions when the body is still intact. You’ll cooperate, won’t you?”
“…You’re a monster. It seems only psychopaths can bear the title of War.”
“Hah. Of course.” The boy’s smile vanished. “A mere mortal could never comprehend the grand design of the Demon God.”
He snapped his fingers a final time.
“A shame. I suppose I’ll have to take you by force, even if you get a little damaged in the process. Everyone,” he called out to the dead, his voice light and cheerful. “Fetch.”
With a collective lurch, the corpses began to shamble forward. They moved as one, a synchronized army of puppets on invisible strings.
A true marionette play.