Chapter 47 : Enemy
Chapter 47: Enemy
“Welcome!”
The Red Flame Assault Unit had rented an entire mansion in the royal capital, Ortan, and was living there.
‘A hero here, a hero there.’
He wished he could twist all their necks.
Berje endured the constant waves of rejection and anger he felt everywhere with superhuman patience.
Among them, the strongest hero opened both arms wide to welcome Berje.
“You too, welcome. Since we’ll have to work together again for now, well.”
At the blatantly suggestive nuance, Hero Hillan Cargill lowered his head silently.
“This is our unit’s vice-captain. Franz.”
“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Franz.”
“Pale.”
“...?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Sir Pale. Isn’t today our first time meeting each other?”
“And?”
“In that case, isn’t it only natural that we ought to observe the proper decorum between us?”
“Rozel Charnte didn’t do that, though.”
“....”
Franz’s head turned. Rozel quietly avoided his gaze.
“Captain, a moment, please. This way.”
Franz dragged Rozel toward the back.
“What is this about?”
“What is?”
“You never told me he was that kind of person!”
Rude informal speech on a first meeting, as if he had eaten all manners for breakfast—and not even the slightest intention to fix it.
To Franz, who valued teamwork above all, this was the kind of person one simply could not accept.
“One person like that is more than enough.”
“We have someone like that in our unit?”
“....”
“...Hold on. What’s with that look in your eyes.”
“It’s nothing. But that man is a newcomer, first and foremost. No matter how favorably you see him, behavior like that only undermines discipline.”
“Discipline is skill. Formalities are trivial. If you follow formalities, will monsters pass you by? Will the Demon King spare your neck?”
“We’re neither monsters nor the Demon King!”
“Ah, whatever.”
“This damned—!”
“How about you show a bit of decorum? The moment I loosen things a little, you can’t even tell what should and shouldn’t be said.”
At the gentle yet firm tone that refused any rebuttal, Franz shut his mouth.
“And stop being fooled by the outside—look inside. Try feeling his mana.”
Rozel grabbed Franz’s face and turned it. Pale’s profile came into view as he quietly chatted with Hillan.
“Put some strength in your eyes and focus.”
“...You’re right, Captain.”
It was hot. And pure. Mana so clean it evoked awe, like gazing upon a spirit itself.
Franz couldn’t perceive the “innate potential” Rozel spoke of, but just confirming the quality of the mana was enough for him to realize that Pale was no ordinary individual.
“How can a human…”
“Maybe he’s not a human at all.”
“Half-elf, or some other mixed blood—rare, but not unheard of, right?”
“What matters is that I don’t want to let him slip away.”
Truly, she wanted him.
Rozel licked her lips.
“...It’s hard enough pretending not to notice.”
It was extremely blatant.
Even though the sound was blocked by manipulating mana, Berje couldn’t hide from the stinging gazes and ground his teeth.
“You must not explode.”
“I won’t. I can’t ruin the plan over something like that.”
This level of humiliation was nothing—less than a drop in the bucket—compared to what he had suffered from the Hero of the Red Sword right before his regression.
“We’re done talking. Let’s go to my room.”
A moment later, Rozel led Berje and Hillan away. At her glance, Franz stepped aside on his own.
Tak—
The door closed, and a faint smell of reagents pricked their noses.
“Sit there. I don’t have anything fancy to offer.”
Two glasses of cold water were placed on the table.
“Now, let’s talk.”
“Talk?”
“Technically, an interview.”
“I thought I’d already passed.”
“In my heart, you’ve passed more than a hundred times already. But my body’s rejecting it. If the back of my head tingles, I can’t accept it.”
“That’s unpleasant. To begin with, you were the one who made the offer.”
“I know, just think of this as a formality.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Name: Pale. From Hilderan. Exactly where in Hilderan?”
“Do I need to say that too?”
“You do. Because this says we couldn’t find anything on you.”
“You did a background check.”
“Don’t be too upset. If you were a spy sent to sabotage the hero’s march, we’d all be doomed, right?”
It was something that had indeed happened from time to time. In the hero’s march, where the world’s attention gathered, such incidents were ancient history from centuries ago—but in smaller assault units, they still happened occasionally.
“You were the one who first made me an offer.”
“I may act recklessly, but I like my aftermath clean.”
“I have no reason to tell you. And no reason to accept any constraints.”
“No. If I say it’s necessary, then it’s necessary.”
“Then I’ll withdraw.”
He must not withdraw. Berje absolutely had to join this hero’s march and witness Draxon’s death.
And yet he could refuse because he was certain—Rozel wanted this just as desperately as he did.
‘Knowing Rozel’s personality and the look in her eyes, there’s no way she’ll let me walk away.’
As expected, her eyebrows twitched, clearly not anticipating rejection.
“Are you saying you’ll throw away the chance to join the Red Flame Assault Unit?”
“It isn’t important to me.”
“Wasn’t there a reason you wanted the hero’s march to proceed as quickly as possible?”
“Sounds more like you than me.”
Rozel’s lips twisted. Her gaze shifted to the side.
“Hillan Cargill. Can you guarantee Pale’s identity without question?”
“Of course.”
“Can you stake your neck on it?”
Hillan hesitated for a brief moment, but soon nodded.
“...This is surprising. What kind of relationship would make you stake your life for him?”
To the extent of hiding his identity?
“Fine. I’ll trust him.”
“Can you trust Hillan?”
“I’m not trusting Hillan. I’m trusting the career he’s built and the honor he obsesses over.”
The Hillan Cargill she knew was someone who clung to honor and appearances more desperately than anyone.
“If he betrayed us, all of that would be gone. And I’d personally make sure it disappeared.”
Her sharp gaze swept over Hillan.
It was an entirely accurate judgment.
She smiled brightly.
“Instead, I have conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“I overlooked something suspicious, so shouldn’t I get something equivalent in return?”
“I joined because you asked me.”
Anyone listening would think he had begged her.
“Why are you being like this? You must want something too—otherwise you wouldn’t be asking to rush the hero’s march.”
“...What do you want?”
“Your mana, your blood, and your hair.”
From the first moment they met until now, Rozel Charnte’s goal had been singular.
Berje’s mana—dense enough to rival a spirit—and its heat.
She wanted it. If she couldn’t have it, she wanted to make it so she could have it.
She held out a crystal sphere.
“It’s a mana storage orb. Fill it with your mana.”
“I refuse.”
“What?”
“Who knows what you’d do with my hair and blood. I’ll give you mana instead.”
Even if the power of the Phoenix hid his demonic energy, his body was still that of the demon race. If Rozel, a high mage, researched it, she would eventually uncover the truth.
But mana belonged entirely to the Phoenix, so there was no issue.
“With mana alone, I still can’t figure out how you gained this kind of power…”
“Then twice. Once now, and once more when the Demon King dies.”
“...Fine. I’ll be satisfied with that for now.”
“...For now?”
Rozel nodded. It felt unsettling, but Berje extended his hand.
He closed his eyes and released his mana—carefully, so as not to stir his demonic energy.
“...You really intend to drain me dry.”
“It’s a rare opportunity, after all.”
Mana infusion took far longer than expected. Despite its appearance, the crystal orb’s mana storage capacity was enormous.
Rozel grinned as Berje pulled his hand away, feeling a faint dizziness.
“Good.”
“Now it’s time for you to keep your promise.”
He took a moment to steady his breathing.
“Perfect timing, too.”
Rozel shrugged—at that moment, a massive wave of mana swept through the entire mansion.
“...You must be swimming in money.”
“The Kingdom of Arkan has always been rich.”
Clank, clank—
Heavy armor clattered down the corridor.
Knock, knock—
“Come in.”
The door opened. A knight clad in full silver plate bowed his head.
“We greet the Great Hero, Rozel Charnte. Three hundred and one knights including myself, Genoa, and one hundred fifty-two mage soldiers have arrived.”
“Welcome.”
Rozel rose from her seat and extended a hand toward Berje.
“Get up.”
Berje lifted his head and met her eyes.
“The second hero’s march begins now.”
“...I like the sound of that.”
Berje grasped her hand.
* * *
In secrecy.
And swiftly.
That was what Rozel Charnte and the Kingdom of Arkan intended.
Before the other kingdoms noticed.
And even if they did, they planned to have completed the mission and withdrawn before any interference could occur.
Thus, the carefully selected elite force of several hundred appeared within the Ortan mansion via the dimensional transfer array.
The price of the mana stones used to power the array alone was enormous, yet Arkan valued far more what could be gained by slaying the Demon King.
“We can cover that cost with treasures from the Tower’s vault.”
“We can’t let an opportunity like this slip by.”
The Magitech Kingdom of Arkan always coveted rare monsters, demon-race byproducts and treasures.
Their value was immeasurable, and the magical achievements built upon the blood of monsters and demons were countless.
So they made a decision.
Something they would never have done under normal circumstances.
The hero’s march had failed, but it had inflicted great damage upon the Demon King’s Tower—and if Ormus hadn’t been eager to erase the Tower as quickly as possible, and if Rozel Charnte hadn’t shown overwhelming motivation, this plan never would have been set in motion.
With Ormus’s tacit approval, the secret second hero’s march began.
“The Golden Lion Knight Order, the Crimson Tiger Knight Order, the White Wolf Knight Order… my goodness, even the Blue Meteor Mage Corps, the Golden Galaxy Mage Corps, and the Red Sun Mage Corps…”
Hillan marveled as he observed the forces emerging from the magic circle.
Every single group was among the strongest in the entire Kingdom of Arkan—proof of how seriously Arkan was treating this operation.
As the fighting force was replaced with Arkan’s top elites, the mercenaries — including the Red Hawk Mercenary Company — were excluded.
Maintaining secrecy was of utmost importance.
‘The Blue Meteor Mage Corps, huh.’
The Blue Meteor Mage Corps had visited Berje’s tower in the past.
A tower’s environment followed its Demon King. Since Berje primarily handled fire, the interior of the tower had been filled with heat — and the Blue Meteor Mage Corps specialized in ice magic.
They had not reached the top, but if he remembered correctly, they had been troublesome enough that many monsters lost their lives.
Thus, six combat groups, the Red Flame Assault Unit, and the seventy-one heroes Franz had gathered separately moved together.
Berje exchanged no particular greetings with them. A few mages sensed his mana and expressed admiration, but they too gave him no real attention.
From their perspective, Berje was nothing more than an unwelcome outsider.
And so, with a set of greetings so minimal they hardly counted, the second hero’s march departed from Ortan.
“Are you confident?”
Berje flew up beside Rozel Charnte, who was leading at the front.
He acknowledged that this was not a weak force. But he still had doubts.
Even if there had already been one hero’s march, could a force of this scale truly kill Draxon?
Draxon had endured for nearly a century in the dimension known as Arein. He was not incompetent enough to fall from a mere one or two hero’s marches.
“Of course.”
Rozel Charnte smiled with complete confidence.
“A mage is someone who plans. And this plan is perfect.”
“It didn’t seem that way before.”
“That was because Balraf, that damned bastard, left out of nowhere. Or maybe Hillan Cargill wasn’t quite as strong as his reputation.”
“But the key point is still the Demon King. Do you have someone capable of holding him down?”
“Don’t say something so obvious. Do you think I’d trust Hillan Cargill twice?”
Right on cue.
She murmured.
Footsteps approached from far ahead — a presence massive enough to be unmistakably that of a “hero.” One whose aura did not fall short even when compared to Rozel Charnte.
The marching force stopped. A new hero joined them.
“Introduce yourself. This is Ralph Schmitz. He’s weaker than me, but I’m sure you’ve at least heard the name.”
A hero in heavy plate armor dismounted from his horse. He removed his helmet.
In that moment—
“...!”
Berje’s gaze fixed on him.
A handsome face.
Radiant golden hair.
Eyes blue like the sea.
A muscular body that didn’t match such a refined face.
Berje’s skin bristled. His heart pounded violently.
“Hey.”
Feeling something strange, Rozel nudged him.
“...What did you say?”
“I asked if you knew Ralph Schmitz.”
“I know him.”
How could he ever forget?
That man.
That bastard.
That son of a bitch.
Hero, Ralph Schmitz—
“I know him very well.”
One of the heroes who shattered his tower and mocked him to his face right before his regression.