Chapter 212 : Meryl, the Second Daughter of Praha (5)
All eyes followed the Duke’s finger to a single point on the map: the Trading Kingdom of Diva.
Of all the nations on the continent, it had suffered most in the war. It was also the only one where the fighting still raged.
“…Isn’t that where the old battle-witch lives?” the Veilwarden of Death Veil asked.
The Duke nodded. “Indeed. And thanks to her, the war there has yet to end.”
The war’s end had not been a victory.
Even with the Twelve Nobles gone, the Demonkin horde was not a force any mortal kingdom could stop. Most nations had suffered immense losses, surviving only by the skin of their teeth.
Their “victory” was only a byproduct of the Demonkin army tearing itself apart.
All that remained were kingdoms on the verge of collapse, their cities crumbling to ruins.
And yet, Diva was still fighting.
That meant they were holding their own.
Wry smiles touched the faces of those gathered.
“…‘The Battle God,’ they call her. And she’s done this all by herself?”
“I heard she’s the one who taught Louis Berg his combat arts.”
“…That damned demon of a woman.”
Their words carried a grudging reverence, but the conversation soon shifted.
“But isn’t the Educator there as well?”
“Martel, you mean? That old man?”
“Yes. It would be a boon to have him train our knights.”
“Premature,” the Ogre Chieftain rumbled, glancing at the Duke. “A human’s teachings would be a fine foundation for my people, but…”
His voice trailed off, the unspoken question hanging in the air: only with the Duke’s permission.
The Duke’s reply was swift.
“…I will extend one offer. If he refuses, erase him. If he will not be our ally, he will be our example.”
“Sounds good to me.” The Veilwarden nodded, her expression bored. A moment later, a cruel light entered her eyes. “Ah, in that case, may I be the one to kill him? There’s a new technique I’ve been wanting to try.”
The Veilwarden’s grin was a slash of white in the gloom. Her shadow flickered, and a crimson Aura bled from its edges.
The Duke watched her for a moment before nodding. “Do as you please.”
“Wonderful!”
The Veilwarden let out a cheerful cry and strode from the Imperial Palace. Following her lead, the others began to depart.
Soon, only the Duke and Hera remained.
Hera slunk toward the Duke, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “Father, you seem so burdened these days. Shall I help… lighten your load?”
Her manner was that of a common streetwalker, and the Duke’s brow furrowed in distaste.
“…Stop. She may have been a daughter I cast aside, but I find this insult to her memory… distasteful.”
“How could you say something so cruel…!” For a moment, Hera’s face crumpled in theatrical shock.
Then the mask dissolved.
A low, mocking laugh escaped her lips as she rose to her feet. “Ah, so you didn’t fall for it. You must have cared for her a great deal, then?”
“I did not care for her. She was useful, and I intend to repay that debt.”
“Hilarious. Weren’t you the one who threw her away the moment her purpose was served?” With a soft grunt, Hera perched on the arm of a nearby divan.
Watching her, the Duke’s expression remained stoic. “I did not throw her away. Her final purpose was to be given to you. That was the extent of her use.”
“…You’re insane,” Hera muttered, amazed.
He paid her no mind. The Duke remained seated, staring into the empty air.
“Everything proceeds according to her grand design,” he murmured. “The Empire. The continent. It will all be swept away.”
He stroked the ring on his finger, his touch as gentle as a caress.
He remained that way for a long, long time.
* * *
With a wet slice, another Demonkin fell.
Enoxia caught her breath, muttering, “…This damn war never ends.”
She hadn’t used a sword. She hadn’t used any weapon at all. A single, precise hand-chop had sheared the head from the high-ranking Demonkin.
Splash.
Her boots sank into the pool of blood the creature left behind.
The war had been raging like this for months. Every time she wiped out one invading legion, another would appear. Remnants, she guessed, from the hordes that had shattered the surrounding kingdoms.
“…This is hell,” Enoxia muttered, wiping blood from her face.
The Trading Kingdom of Diva was no great military power. It had survived this long only because of its status as a neutral state… and because her presence here had kept the other human kingdoms at bay.
The Demonkin army, however, was different.
They knew she was here, yet they pushed forward with overwhelming numbers, driven by some unbreakable command. They slaughtered indiscriminately, seemingly indifferent to death.
Only through Martel’s leadership and the knights who followed him had they held out this long.
But that protection was about to end.
“…Dammit, here comes another wave.”
A new horde crested the hill. At its head stood a figure radiating such malevolent power that the very air seemed to curdle around it.
At least the level of the Twelve Nobles.
“Martel, fall back.”
“…Are you planning to face them alone?” The word impossible was written all over Martel’s face.
But Enoxia just let out a dry laugh and began to draw up her Aura.
Far to the north, a boy barely out of his teens was slaughtering the Twelve Nobles one by one.
Louis Berg. Her disciple. The one who had given both her and Martel a new life.
Though she had only taught him for a few days, to her, Louis was a disciple like no other.
If that boy was sacrificing his own body to kill the greatest of the Demonkin, then she, his master, had to do the same.
“I can’t let my disciple outdo me.”
Enoxia Combat Arts, Fourth Form: Battle Fiend.
A colossal Aura erupted around her.
Crack!
Enoxia shot from the ground, a meteor hurtling toward the Demonkin horde.
CRUNCH! CRACKLE!
Demonkin were swept away like dead leaves in a gale, their bodies shattering on impact.
One.
Ten.
A hundred.
A thousand.
Ten thousand.
A hundred thousand.
Even as the number climbed into the hundreds of thousands, Enoxia did not stop.
Her Aura frayed, threatening to snap. Her limbs trembled with exhaustion. But she ran on sheer will, a whirlwind of destruction carving a path through the horde.
And finally, she reached the source of the ominous power.
Two figures stood there. One wore a string of massive prayer beads, its presence heavy and ancient. The other looked deceptively human, its expression one of utter boredom.
These two had to be of the Twelve Nobles. Killing them would end this.
I’ll kill them in a single blow…!
The memory of being beaten like a dog by one of their kind was a ghost of the past.
Since that day, she had resumed the training she had long abandoned. She had grown strong enough to defeat a Marquis-class monster.
She could surely defeat these two.
“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Enoxia roared, swinging her fist.
Enoxia Combat Arts, Secret Art: Battle God’s Advent.
The phantom of a colossal giant formed behind her.
And then.
The attack detonated, a tempest of pure force.
I’ve won.
The thought had barely formed when a bored voice drifted from the settling dust.
“…What’s this now?”
It was the human-like Demonkin.
He had raised a single finger and blocked her ultimate attack.
And at the same time.
<Ruined Monarch>
He unleashed a pressure forged from pure demonic power.
“Die.”
With that single word, a sound like cracking thunder filled her ears, and Enoxia’s world went black.
Darkness. That was all she could see.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that very moment.
“With this, I have taught you everything I can.”
“…”
“From now on, you are the Veilmaster.”
In the hidden sanctum of Death Veil, the continent’s most elite assassins’ guild, leadership was changing hands.
The reigning Veilmaster, once known as the Thief Master, passed the mantle to his successor.
The boy, Kai, accepted the title with an unnervingly calm expression.
With the Slayer's Birthright—the talent of a perfect assassin, a gift from the heavens themselves—Kai's ascension was a mere formality.
No one in Death Veil dared oppose it. The war with the Demonkin was too urgent, and the boy’s talent was too blindingly brilliant to deny.
“We pledge our loyalty to the Veilmaster.”
“By Shadow and by Silence.”
“By Shadow and by Silence.”
The assassins of Death Veil bowed their heads to Kai.
He looked down at them, his eyes impassive.
An emotionless gaze.
But as it swept over them, the assassins held their breath. To meet his gaze was to feel their blood turn to ice. It sparked a primal urge to kill—to kill each other, to plunge their own daggers into their throats.
Killing intent. It was the phenomenon that occurred when one with the Slayer’s Birthright awakened their power. And he was no mere Master, but a Grand Master. The outcome had been decided from the start.
“…What a hindrance.”
Kai muttered the words under his breath and left the sanctum. The assassins followed, but he ignored them, his gaze fixed on the mountain below.
The path was teeming with Demonkin, either plundering a village or simply passing through.
Truthfully, Death Veil had suffered little from the war. They were hidden, and as assassins, they had no reason to engage in frontal assaults. Furthermore, the guild had been preoccupied with the succession.
No one had called on them to fight.
“…The wind is cold,” one of the assassins remarked. To him, the new Veilmaster’s well-being was far more important than the fate of some dying village.
“Yeah,” Kai replied.
Then he looked elsewhere, his lips barely moving.
“Time to go, Young Master.”
“…Pardon, Veilmaster?” one of the assassins asked, blinking in confusion.
Kai offered no reply. He walked over to the former Veilmaster and held out his hand.
“Give me the divine artifact.”
“…And why would I do that?” the former Veilmaster asked, a weary irony in his voice.
“If you don’t, I’ll kill them,” Kai said, gesturing to the assassins behind him.
The former Veilmaster let out a dry laugh.
“…You little madman.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. A moment later, he unfastened the divine artifact from his waist and handed it over.
“Hm.” Kai spun the dagger, the symbol of Veilmaster, in his hand. “Nice.”
“Don’t lose it.”
“…I’ll think about it,” Kai replied curtly, his gaze shifting back to the mountain below.
Demonkin. They were obstacles on his young master’s path.
And it was his duty to remove them.
“…For the young master.”
The words were still a ghost on the wind as Kai launched himself from the precipice. He was a blur of motion, a whisper of steel.
A minute later, the mountain fell silent.
Every last Demonkin had been annihilated.